“Vee?” Frowning, Knigh lifted his gaze from scanning the seas ahead to her. “What’s wrong?”

“Something’s”—she shook her head—“there’s something behind us that I can’t …” She sighed and shook her head again. “It’s fine, I can keep pushing us on our course.” She smiled and squeezed his hand.

Onward.

But as hard as she pushed The Morrigan, the men-o’-war still gained, as did that blank wall. One ship split off to port, another to starboard, and the third kept on their tail.

Damn it, they’d be surrounded within minutes—and they were still almost half an hour from Inagua.

If she angled The Morrigan to stop the two closing in on either side, the one off their stern would catch up. All she could do was keep focusing on speed. Sweat broke on her brow and chilled her back. Her muscles burned.

“Gunports opening,” the call went up.

Vice’s heart thundered, and she gave Knigh a long look. “This is …”

Jaw set, he nodded. “I know. I’ll be your hands—just direct me.” His grey eyes were dark and strong as steel—maybe that was what made his level gaze reassuring even as they faced imminent fire from three warships.

Hard to starboard, sudden. Timbers groaned.

An instant later, the first ship opened fire with a dozen deafening booms. The shots sent water spouting high, splashing The Morrigan’s decks and crew. But it was only water—a miss.

They hadn’t expected such an unnaturally sharp turn. A ship couldn’t move like this without a sea witch who could turn the currents and keep their sails full to prevent them being caught aback with the change in direction. A ship taken aback risked losing a mast or worse.

Thank the Lords and Ladies, and especially that unknown fae father for her gift.

She blew out a long breath. She squinted at the gunports of the second ship, now ahead of The Morrigan.

The deck shook as her crewmates returned fire with the chase cannons. Knigh bellowed some command about the sails.

She squeezed his hand. “Ready starboard cannons—double shot—tell them.” Then she plunged back into the water, pushing them hard at the second ship. To strike their side would be suicide—it was the strongest part of the hull—but it just might make the other crew panic, and the speed would help her next manoeuvre.

At the last second, she veered to port, the warship passing just feet away to starboard, its hull towering thirty feet above The Morrigan’s deck.

Its gunports flashed, spurted white smoke, and cannonballs skimmed the waves. But again, they hit the water harmlessly.

Vice nodded to herself and wiped her brow with her cuff.