With a tight smile, he nodded at Aedan and Perry, then passed his fingers over the guitar’s strings. At first, he played alone, the guitar murmuring a steady melody that lifted the hairs on Vice’s arms.

Then his chest rose, and he began to sing.

Low, almost mournful at first, his voice crept across the sand, painful in its beauty.

He sang about lost sleep, dreaming of possibilities, and praying to the gods, the fae, anyone who’d listen that those dreams might come true. His fingers picked across the strings, pitch and timing perfect.

It was an old Albionic song, but one she hadn’t heard in a long time. When, with a nod to Perry and Aedan, he sped into the second part, a solid, toe-tapping tune, it almost took her by surprise.

Aedan took up that beat, foot stamping into the sand as he pounded the drum. Perry’s fiddle rose and dipped around Knigh’s steady strum.

His voice, the sound warmed by a smile, lifted, optimistic as he sang about counting stars, seeking experience, finding riches beyond money.

Saba ducked by her. “Did you know he could—”

Vice shook her head. She’d been so absorbed in the music, so taken aback by his voice, she’d forgotten there were others here.

Saba’s dark eyes were fixed on Knigh, glinting in the light of the streaked sunset overhead and the licking fire before them. The dancers wheeled, arms interlocking before they spun off to new partners, kicking up sand in their wake.

And Knigh? He stared into the fire, his teeth flashing against his tanned skin as he sang. His fingers upon the strings moved with effortless speed. His toes tapped.

The music throbbed through Vice, reverberating in her chest, making her feet move even though she couldn’t get up and dance.

Lords, his song was infectious—his smile, too.

Shaking her head, she pressed the rim of the cup against her lower lip and blew out a long breath. Her lungs suddenly felt too small, as though she’d forgotten to breathe the whole time he’d been singing.

The tempo whipped up, accompanied by whoops from the dancers, and then with a last chorus and plucks on the strings, it was over.

The evening was cool and quiet, left with only the crackling fire and distant sigh of surf.

Knigh turned his gaze from the fire to her, eyebrows rising, the look loaded.

Or maybe it was just the music still reverberating through her that made her think that.

The crew erupted into cries and applause, and Knigh blinked as though surprised. Rising, he returned the guitar to its case and worked his way past half a dozen of the crew, who slapped his shoulders and offered bottles of rum and jugs of palm wine.

Saba leant in and grinned. “He’s good with his hands.” She nodded slowly, eyebrows arched. “Good to know.”