“How dare you? The number of times I’ve saved this ship.” She shook, body thrumming like the energy in storm clouds right before a lightning strike. If he didn’t—“I said, get your hands off me.” She wrenched herself from his grip.

He showed his teeth again, more sneer than smile. “Perry said it was too convenient the ship sent after us had a clue to Drake’s treasure—she was right. And you’d have known it if you had her sense. How could you let yourself be tricked by a Jack tar?” He shook his head, nostrils flaring.

Blackwood had got one over on her, and now FitzRoy wanted to give her up to him? Prick. She thrust her face into his. “In case you’d forgotten, I’m the only reason we slipped past him out of Kayracou—I tricked him. Without any help from you or Perry.”

“He was only there because of you.”

“Yes,” she spat, “because without me, you’re not worth chasing.”

Oh, gods.

She’d said it.

Her mouth fell open as if she could suck the words back in, but all that passed her lips was air, bursting in harsh breaths.

He froze. He wasn’t even breathing. Dark eyes bright, he glared at her, every visible inch of him rigid. A vein throbbed in his throat beside corded muscle.

Silence hummed between them.

Slowly, his chest rose, and he lifted himself to his full height. His shoulders squared like he was a sailor readying himself for inspection, but it was she who came under scrutiny as his gaze trailed her from head to toe. “You think you’ll be a great captain,” he said, voice soft as distant cannon fire, “but you are a child. A rash child, with power she shouldn’t have, who needs someone to direct her before she drops herself into hot waters.”

His stillness made her bite her tongue. That quiet voice was far worse than any time he’d shouted. She’d certainly never seen him this angry.

He shook his head. “No one will follow you because you’ll only lead them to death.”

Her face burned as his words settled in her mind. A child? She gritted her teeth. What a bastard. And lead them to death—what the hells did that mean?

“Avice Ferrers.”

Her nostrils flared at the name, but she held her tongue—it had already run away with her enough.

His eyes narrowed. “You are not fit to lead. You will never be captain.”

The words struck her, pushing her half a step back. Was he—no, he couldn’t be taking back his promise. He was just pissed off. Royally pissed off. That was all.

And maybe it was her fault—his being pissed off, not this business with the clue.