His lips tightened. Sparks flew off the fire as his gaze lowered to her palm where the silvery scar shaped like a padlock gleamed—the evidence of iron’s cruelty to the fae-blooded.

A long swallow constricted his throat, and finally, he nodded and put his hand into hers. Rough knots of calluses scraped her skin.

“Don’t worry,” she murmured, “I’ll take good care of you.” With that, she winked and pulled him into the fray.

Shell & Shipwreck

Almost a week later, The Morrigan was careened in a quiet cove on a nameless little island. Vice watched her crewmates climbing up scaffolds and ladders, scraping the hull clean. She crossed her arms—no sign of Saba.

Behind, raised voices approached. “… gave you the route of an unguarded Hesperian treasure ship—” That was Knigh.

“Yes,” FitzRoy said, “but do you think we’ll capture her without The Morrigan being in good order?”

Vice turned. Just the person—Fitz would know where Saba was.

“Look at the state of her,” Fitz went on, waving a hand at the ship pitched over to one side. His brows were lowered as usual when he was dealing with Knigh. “Getting rid of the weed and barnacles will speed us by at least three knots.”

She winced. They weren’t still arguing about this were they? The morning after the ball, Knigh had received a tip about the course of a treasure ship. Even better, the officer told him it was posing as a merchant due to a lack of guard and gunship support.

Since Albion and Hesperia weren’t technically at war, the Navy couldn’t attack directly. A privateer sailing under black sails could. Knigh had wasted no time in telling FitzRoy, but instead of being eager, Fitz had insisted they pursue his own lead.

Someone else had tipped him off that Drake had visited a cave on this little island and possibly left clues to his treasure. Fitz had also insisted that The Morrigan needed careening before chasing any treasure ship.

But the cave would still be there in a week, and they’d careened the ship less than two months ago.

Looking at her now, yes, Vice couldn’t deny the green slime and weed clinging to her hull or the barnacles studding the bow. But it was only a light coating of each, not enough to slow the ship significantly. Especially not with her gift helping them speed through the water.

FitzRoy’s jaw clenched, nostrils flaring, and he angled towards Knigh, hands on hips.

That was the problem. Two captains on the ship and Fitz refused to give an inch. And careening gave him an excuse that made it look like he was acting in his crew’s best interests rather than indulging a personal power struggle with Knigh.

She sighed. If anyone else had brought news of the treasure ship to Fitz, they’d be on course towards it right now, full sail.