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Dedication

For anyone who’s ever been told they were too much. 

For everyone who’s ever mistrusted themselves.

Epigraph

Well-behaved women seldom make history.

Laurel Thatcher Ulrich

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Punishment

At the bow of the ship’s boat, Vice stood and surveyed the island she’d chosen. A hill rose at its centre, and a slender stream carved a line through the rainforest, so they’d have fresh water. Sun beat upon the curve of a white sandy beach. If they were smart, they’d light a signal fire there, attract the attention of some passing ship.

If they weren’t, they’d die.

There were plenty of ways to die on an island like this. Scorched by the sun. Thirst. Starvation. Poisoned by a tasty-looking manchineel. Or the simple violence of one-time colleagues turned competition for food and water.

“Why do you listen to those animals?” The former captain’s gruff voice rose behind her.

She sighed and rolled her eyes, turning to him.

He huddled in the boat with his surviving crew. Even torn, his blue coat, so like a Navy uniform, must have been baking in this sun, but he kept it on. Maybe he was clinging to some sense of order. The fifteen men around him eyed her from beneath lowered eyebrows, mouths set, some with bloodied noses or cut foreheads.

Between them, ten of The Morrigan’s crew sat at the oars, backs to her. Beyond, at the little craft’s tiller, Perry raised her eyebrows at Vice, a grin making her teeth flash bright against her sun-beaten skin. She was enjoying this almost as much as Vice. It wasn’t every day you got to maroon the officers of a slave ship.

“Those animals?” Vice said, shaking her head. “Tsk, tsk, captain. That’s exactly why you’re in this mess.”

“I’m in this mess because you’re a pirate, but I thought even the notorious Lady Vice would put the wellbeing of her own countrymen above some foreign slaves.”

“My own countrymen understand Albion outlawed slavery centuries ago. My own countrymen understand that owning another person is an affront to the fae, and they’d never court such disaster as pissing them off so bloody royally. The moment you took slaves on your ship, you ceased to be Albionic, in my book.”

Never mind the fact it was plain wrong to claim to own another person—the way he spoke, he’d never understand that. She stood over him, looking down at his miserable face. “And away with your damn scruples flew any leniency I might have shown you for the sake of our shared country.”

The muscles in his jaw rippled, seething.

This might require some intervention.