Hands tight on the rail, Knigh scanned the ever-shifting waves. At his side, Vee did the same. Out on the water, movement flickered, and he sucked in a breath to shout that he’d seen Llyr, but then a gleam of cold moonlight followed. It was only the shadows playing tricks.

The crew discussed who could swim—not many of them. And it didn’t sound like they were confident in their skill.

“I need to”—Vee pulled the shawl from her shoulders—“if I get in there, I can—”

“No.” His stomach lurched, and he yanked the shawl back into place. “Vee, no.”

“Don’t you—”

“I’m not telling you what you can’t do,” he hissed. “Yes, you’d be the best person to go in any normal circumstances, but”—he pushed the soft wool onto her shoulder, letting his hand rest there just a moment—“but you’re not well enough. You’re freezing and I can see how much it’s taking out of you to hold us still. That boy needs you to keep the wind in check.”

Was she always going to be like this—weakened, because of his betrayal?

Her jaw knotted, and she glanced out across the waves, nostrils flaring. “Gods damn it, Blackwood. I hate it when you’re right.”

“Sorry.” He winced.

She was right about one thing—someone needed to get in the water and find him. It was the only way.

How must it feel out there? Cold. Alone in the dark. Unable to swim.

Teeth clenched, Knigh nodded to Vee before turning and threading through the crowd to Billy.

He leant against the stern rail, hand clenched upon it, pale in the lantern light. His usually bright expression had vanished and his round eyes squinted out over the water. A balding sailor beside him held a coil of rope in one hand and its end in the other as if ready to throw it out to Llyr.

“Billy.” Knigh clapped him on the shoulder. “I can swim. I’ll go.” He nodded to the sailor, who blinked once before handing over the rope. Eyes on the sea, Knigh tied one end around his waist.

There was movement behind him. “Knigh”—Vee grabbed his hand—“no. What are you doing?”

Knigh? She hadn’t called him that since Portsmouth. It was always Blackwood.

When he looked up from the knot, her expression made his guts twist. Eyes wide. Brows knotted more tightly than the rope at his waist. She was afraid.

She shook her head. “If you go in there I—I can’t pull you back in.” She squeezed his hand, gaze beseeching. “Please, Knigh, don’t.”

Turning his hand, he caught her chilly fingers. “I have to.”

Alone in the dark and the cold, unable to swim …

Knigh shuddered. The poor boy could be dead already.