Knigh wasn’t coming. There would be no last-minute pardon or a rescue attempt. She was stuck in here. Even when they released her from this cage to take her to hang, she’d be too weak to use her gift to save herself.

Every child knew the stories about the fae-touched or fae-blooded who tried to use their gifts when they had no energy left to give, when their bodies were too weak.

They died.

But if she was going to be hanged anyway …

It had to be worth a try. As soon as she was clear of this iron, she’d call in a storm or fog or a gale or something—anything that might help her escape. A lightning bolt striking the gallows would be a good distraction. Mist could cover her escape.

Assuming she was still alive to run.

The sun shone through the clouds, glinting on the water on the sleek backs of dolphins following the ship, leaping and twisting through their wake. She laughed and pointed them out to Perry and Saba.

He wasn’t coming.

She could have cried at the sight of him this morning, and her vision had blurred a couple of times as they’d talked. But, no, she hadn’t given him the satisfaction of seeing her cry, of seeing her weak, of seeing how much just the hint of a friendly face had meant to her.

Pulling her dirty coat tighter, she folded her arms against the cold and screwed her eyes shut. That wasn’t moisture coming from them.

It was the sea’s refreshing spray. It glistened in the sun, arching a rainbow over the deck and saying the fae approved of their work, of her captaincy, of …

She must have dozed off because there was a sudden metallic clang, close-by, and when she jerked, eyes opening, it was full dark. Even the brazier below had gone out and the nearest torches and—

“Vee?”

With a sharp breath, she flinched and blinked into the darkness. Edged in moonlight, there he was, back at the top of that wall just as he had been this morning.

Eyes stinging, she sagged against the cage, the iron uncomfortably hot even through her layers of clothing.

“You came.” Even to her ears, her voice sounded broken, but …

Did it matter?

He was here.

“I did,” he murmured, voice thick as velvet, “and I’m going to get you out.”

Hand covered with a handkerchief, he pulled something out of the lock—a poker? That must have been the sound that had woken her—him breaking the lock. He hooked it into his belt, like a sword at his side, and pulled the door open.

It was like a window had been opened in an unbearably hot room, and she gasped down the pleasant shock of untainted air.

“How?” She blinked at the impossibility of the open door.