Tension knotted in Fitz’s jaw. “And why are you making these alterations to my ship?”

“Because they were incorrect.”

Vice snorted. “It can’t be that wrong—The Morrigan’s still afloat and thriving, and this is how we’ve always done things.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, grey eyes coolly amused. “That’s the problem.”

She bristled, and Fitz mirrored her, back erect, hands clenching.

Blackwood appeared unmoved. He went on, “Your methods were less effective, and, in the case of the black powder, I had concerns they might be dangerous.”

“Then you take it to the Captain,” she bit out. It couldn’t have been that dangerous, the ship hadn’t exactly exploded. “Chain of command and all that. Isn’t that what you have—what you bloody worship in the Navy?”

“You mean you have some sense of order on this—”

“On this what?” Fitz’s voice was low, sending a chill down Vice’s back.

Great, that was all she needed, Fitz in a rage. Irritated was one thing, but if he lost his temper …

Blackwood swallowed and cleared his throat softly. He must have realised he’d stepped close to the line. “I’d heard pirate crews prided themselves on having no hierarchy, on living in a kind of”—he waved his hand through the air in a gesture far too loose for him—“anarchic chaos.”

“Does my ship look like an example of chaos to you?”

For long seconds, Blackwood looked back at Fitz. His chest rose and fell as if he were about to reply, but no words came.

Dear gods, answer him, man.

Fitz worked his jaw, a sure sign of building fury. If Blackwood didn’t speak soon, he’d blow, just as dangerous as gunpowder. Gods only knew what Fitz would do then.

She coughed softly and patted her chest, calling the attention of both men to her—anything to break the painful tension hanging between them. Eyes wide, she stared at Blackwood, willing him to speak.

“The Morrigan is a sound vessel.”

Marginally better than nothing. She exhaled.

With an audible pop, Fitz pulled his teeth apart. “Quite.”

This could still go badly. “Blackwood,” she said—gods, where was she going with this? “Didn’t I hear you telling Perry yesterday what a good state of repair the sails were in?” It was almost true—Perry told her he’d said something positive about their canvas when he’d made the suggestion about the hammocks.

“Very kind of you.” Fitz’s tone was frigid, but he didn’t sound like murder was imminent anymore.

She swallowed and forced a stiff smile.

“Blackwood,” Fitz went on, “I’m sure it must be … challenging for you adapting to live aboard a pi—privateering vessel and one where you’re not captain. However, I trust I won’t need to remind you again that this is my crew.”

Blackwood folded his arms. “I’m sure you won’t.”