As Zane stared into the older man’s buttery irises, he found his mind back in that snowy street of the village with the trio in black. He considered how the trio had moved in unison, so quick and without complaint at the brief command of their captain. How obedient they all were. How loyal.

Zane folded his arms as he played over how the silver-eyed boy had rushed in to save his friend from Lother’s and Tigris’s cutlasses. Zane wondered if Tigris would ever perform such a rescue for him. The bloody pirate would probably stoop down to dig the blade in deeper.

“Who are you?” Zane finally asked the aged man when the silence had gone on too long.

“My name is Mikal Migraithe.”

With that shallow answer, the man stood and limped across his cell on limbs still stiff from the beating he had taken from the crew on the way down. Zane watched, bored. He craved a good sleep before he was wakened to serve his shift as lookout. He turned to leave as the others had, but the man’s voice stopped him. “You’re very angry, boy.”

Zane’s back tightened like he could feel the man’s eyes upon it. And he didn’t know why he admitted it, or why he cared to even respond in the first place. But Zane heard himself say, “Yes.”

He left the belowdecks after that.

FIFTHLY

The morning sun was blinding. Zane lay out over the crates, shielding his eyes with an arm until a shadow blocked the light. He peeled his lazy eyes open, and a piece of half-rotted fruit hit his stomach.

He gawked and flew to sit up, growling a curse at Tigris. But he did not find his rival when he stood.

Sentra stared at him with her sleek black eyes, unblinking. The deck was mostly empty behind her, and Zane flexed his fingers as he considered how easy it would be to toss her overboard to face the octosiren lingering below the ship. Zane imagined the creature might grow impatient and bite out the ship’s belly to sink it soon.

Sentra dared a glance at the snowseas too. Zane prepared himself in case she struck. He would not go over the edge easy, and Sentra was no bigger than he was. But her glassy eyes shifted back to him.

It was bloody impossible to tell what she was thinking behind those horrid black eyes.

“I’m here to warn you,” she gargled.

Zane blinked, slow and doubtful. But the tightness in his limbs trickled away as he studied the enemy pirate. “Of what?” He was sure she was about to lie—all part of his mother’s game.

“Your mother wants you dead. She’s trying to kill you.”