Shaking his head, he scoffed. “Listening to you, anyone would think you’re some poor, innocent victim in all this. But you’re not.” Let her hear the damn truth. “You like to pretend you’re some noble pirate who frees the enslaved, maroons slavers, and only kills in battle when it’s life or death. But you’re a murderer. You killed my betrothed. She was eighteen years old, and I don’t believe for a second she was a threat to your life. You killed Lady Avice Ferrers.”

She blinked again. The corners of her lips twitched. She covered her mouth, and a breath burst out of her—almost a chuckle. Then she guffawed and shook her head.

Why was she—

Head tilting back, she laughed.

And laughed. And laughed.

On Wilder Seas

She sounded half-mad.

Stomach turning, Knigh clung to the castle wall to force himself to stay in place and not climb back down to the ground and leave her to her madness. She was as bad as FitzRoy, laughing at someone else’s misfortune, laughing at her own terrible deed. But he had to stay here and face her. It was the only way to put an end to this.

Finally, it faded to a chuckle as she wiped her eyes. “Well, at least you’ve given me a good laugh before I go.”

Every muscle thrumming with rage, he snarled. “You’re disgusting. How can you murder someone and—”

“I didn’t murder her, you idiot.”

Denying it. Were all criminals the same? He scoffed, shaking his head, but when he met her eye, something about the flat look gave him pause. A thin thread of cold needled through him. “But you said—”

With an impatient sigh, she rolled her eyes. “I was speaking metaphorically—really, I thought you were an educated gentleman.” Cocking her head, she smiled, but it only made her eyes glitter hard and cold like the stars overhead. “I no more murdered her than you murdered the arrogant little boy you once were. Remember?

Disturb us, Ladies, to dare more boldly,

To venture on wilder seas

Where storms will show Your mastery;

Where losing sight of land,

We shall find the stars.”

The cold thread became twine, then thick footropes, then an anchor cable, grating on his bones, leaching away all the hot rage, all the warmth until he shivered. “That poem … How do you”—he shook his head.

Had Lady Avice told Vice the poem before she’d killed her?

But then the other things she said … That she hadn’t killed her. That …

The ‘arrogant boy’ she spoke of wasn’t dead, he’d just grown into someone very different, thanks to the Royal Navy. So, was Lady Avice Ferrers also alive and … just … someone very different?

His chest tightened. No. Not possible.

But she was still smirking back at him, amusement in her eyes, laced with bitterness.