“And what about if something happens to you, and others—fools that they are—come running after you to help? Then what?”

Vice scoffed. They should know she’d be fine. She didn’t need anyone chasing after her, saving her—she hadn’t needed that in a long time. When she’d been young and stupid enough to believe she needed rescuing, the gods had taught her just how much of a foolish notion that was.

Her thumb ran over the smooth opal ring on her left hand. She clenched her jaw for a second. “Then make sure they don’t come after me. I can look after myself.”

Perry opened her mouth as if to reply but instead just sighed, shoulders sagging. “I give up.” She flung her hands in the air and stepped away from the door. “I’m not going to be able to change your mind. Go and speak to the Captain, then, see if you can get him on board with your ridiculous plan.”

Victory.

Grinning, Vice pulled on her boots. “Thank you.” She leapt up and gave Perry a rough hug. “Ah, you know I’ll take you with me when I get my ship.”

A low sound came from Perry’s throat, almost a growl, but her arms fastened around Vice and she squeezed back. “I have the worst luck, it seems.”

“Ouch.” Vice chuckled and pulled away. In an instant, Barnacle leapt up and draped over her shoulders. “You’d miss me if I left you.”

Perry sighed, shaking her head. “Can’t live with you, can’t live without.”

Laughing, Vice clapped Perry on the back and opened the door. “You could,” she said from the doorway, “it just wouldn’t be nearly as interesting.”

In the Tides

That woman. Knigh clenched jaw and fist until they both ached. How hadn’t he realised he was speaking to a pirate? And that particular pirate?

Shortly after the Arawakéan Union invited the nations of Europa to trade, the surge in piracy had begun. Being smart, the Union had soon made it clear to Europa that the pirates were their problem to deal with. And for the past two years, Knigh had dealt with it rather effectively.

Now Lady Vice had made him look like a novice.

Glowering, he continued his stomp around the docks. His uniform—or perhaps his expression—sent men out of his path with salutes or bowed heads.

He’d arrived at first light as the wharves woke to get information about her—where she’d docked, when she’d left, where she was going. That was assuming she had left. There had been no sign of her or The Morrigan when he’d ridden here from the Governor’s mansion last night. Still, it had been dark, and Port Royal had berths for over a hundred vessels, plus anchorage in the harbour for dozens more.