The bloody bastard. While she’d been locked in an iron cage, he’d been here sleeping on a feather bed, enjoying his freedom, enjoying his life.

A few steps took her to him. He looked peaceful—dark eyelashes against his cheeks, chest rising and falling slowly and—

There. The pouch.

She smiled, baring her teeth. Well, if he’d given up on Drake’s treasure, he didn’t need it. And he certainly didn’t deserve it.

There was no sign of the knot that held the cord in place and trying to pull it over his head could wake him. She drew the dagger.

Lords, Ladies, gods, and Wild Hunt, it was so tempting to put it to his chest, just below that pouch, slide it between his ribs and drive it through his stinking heart.

But he was asleep. This wasn’t a fight. He wasn’t even armed—his sabre sat on the dressing table. However much her fingers itched for revenge, it wouldn’t be right.

And finding Drake’s treasure without him—that would be an even better revenge, one he’d have to live through.

Nodding, she lifted the pouch and sliced through its cord. “I’ll have that,” she breathed. “Thank you.”

Eyes narrowed, she watched him for a moment. There was something distinctly unsatisfying about leaving him here. For one thing, he wouldn’t know what had happened to his precious clue.

Unless she left a calling card.

Oh yes, he’d wake up tomorrow, no pouch, then see … She squinted from the bed to the wall opposite—there hung a painting of the sea. Ha, perfect.

It took a minute to dip her fingers in the ash from the fire and smear a large V across the painting.

There. He’d know.

Smiling, she wiped off her hands on the curtain. She twitched it aside and peered out the window to check Knigh was still there. No sign of him but four figures in red coats strode through the street, stopping at an alley a few buildings away. The gold braid of their uniforms glinted in the lamplight.

Marines. Shit.

Had Knigh spotted them and hidden? Although without her, he was safe—they wouldn’t yet know what he’d done.

Wincing, she crept from the room, limbs complaining, begging her to just sink into the chair by FitzRoy’s fireplace … just for a while …

But she resisted.

The landing was quiet. She had to pause halfway down the stairs, when a wave of dizziness swept over her, almost pitching her over.

Eyes closed, she clung to the wall, just breathing.

The world tipped and tilted beneath her feet, as wild as a deck in a storm.

Come on … She bit her lip, pressing her forehead to the wall. She didn’t have time for this. If those marines did know she’d escaped and that Knigh had been the one to free her …