Raking a hand through his hair, he shook his head. It pounded with all these conflicting ideas about her. “I don’t know. It’s complicated. I need to … process. But thank you for telling me.”

Perry nodded. “Woe betide anyone who mentions it within her earshot, so whatever you do, don’t say a bloody word about it.”

“Of course, I—”

“Sails!” The call came from aloft, shrill. “Starboard, sails!”

Was that panic in the sailor’s voice? Knigh and Perry exchanged looks, the lines between her brows saying she wondered the same.

“Men-o’-war! Three!”

There was a beat of stillness, then the deck erupted in movement.

Friend or Foe?

“Three Albionic Navy men-o’-war.” Vice lowered the spyglass and wheeled on Knigh. “I thought we were legit now. Why are your friends attacking us?” Was this a trick? Had he fooled them all along?

Despite his usual mask, his gaze kept flicking to the approaching sails and a line formed between his brows. No, he had no part in this. And if even he couldn’t hide his worry, they were definitely in trouble.

He wasn’t the only one—the crew hurried across the decks and up the shrouds, eyes and hands on their tasks, but their faces were creased in concern, and they only spoke to pass on an order.

Knigh licked his lips and glanced at FitzRoy, Perry, then Vice. “I—I don’t know. We’re flying the right flag.”

The Albionic jack quartered on a red field fluttered overhead. The flag of marque announced them as Albionic privateers—or at least it was supposed to. They’d raised it as soon as they’d identified the warships, but it had made no difference.

FitzRoy folded his arms. “And they’re still on an intercept course.”

“An attack course, more like,” Vice ground out.

“Vice,” Perry said, eyes fixed on the growing sails and the men and women working aloft, “can you—”

“No.” She sighed. She’d been pushing The Morrigan on since the cry went up ten minutes ago, but the Navy was still gaining on them. “As light as we are, even with just two masts, we should be able to keep pace with a man-o’-war, but”—she squinted at the trio of ships—“they’re fast. Maybe they have a sea witch of their own?”

“We have to stand down, then.” Perry tore her gaze from the approaching sails and turned on FitzRoy. “We must raise the white.”

FitzRoy glowered into the distance.

“Captain?” Perry lifted her hand as if to shake his shoulder, but she stopped short of touching him.

“No.”

Vice’s heart dropped at the word. She was all for throwing caution to the wind, for challenging the odds, but …