Perry widened her eyes. “A good one. When he goes after a bounty, he gets it. Because he’s clever—don’t say it.” She lifted her hands. “I know you tricked him into a drink with you, and I bet you wish you’d bedded him, too, just to add to your tweak of his nose, but you caught him unawares. From what they say, he’s cunning—as sneaky as one of us. You only got one over on him because he didn’t even realise he was playing your game yet.” She leant against the door, folding her arms. “Out on the high seas—it’ll be his game, and he’ll be alert all the while. Our best course of action will be to stay well away.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Vice muttered, folding her arms.

“Fun?” Perry stared at her, but instead of continuing with a half-shouted rant, she sighed and covered her face. “That’s what you really think, isn’t it? People’s lives could be at stake if we go after a pirate hunter’s vessel and all you see is the challenge, the fun, the chance to get a pretty ship.”

Vice frowned, swallowing. Somehow those softer words hurt far more than any of the times Perry had raised her voice. “And my captaincy, which he’s been promising me for almost a year now—don’t forget that.”

That was far more than just fun. It was freedom for her and whoever else ended up in her crew, hopefully, Perry. That was the most important thing—the only important thing.

Sometimes FitzRoy’s decisions were downright unfair. His refusal to grant her the promised captaincy was a case in point.

But not only that. He was so obsessed with Drake’s treasure, he’d pull them out of port to follow a lead before the crew had even had a proper chance to enjoy themselves and Perry had restocked the ship.

And even when his decisions were sound, they were exactly that—his. He chose where they went, what prizes they chased, who occupied which positions in the crew, when they stopped at port and for how long, what the rules were on board.

When she had her own ship, she wouldn’t have to rely on his decisions, his whims, or … him.

Perry rubbed her face and let her hands drop. “And is your captaincy worth other people’s lives?”

“Perry,” she said, rolling her eyes, “no one’s going to die. I do the risky parts, you know that. I always do.”

Because what did it matter? She could die doing something apparently safe, like eating a bad batch of mussels. Any of them could die tomorrow doing the simplest task—even something that didn’t seem dangerous. At least higher risks had the possibility of higher rewards.

“If something happens to me, it happens.” She shrugged.