Vance gave no order to the press-gang, but the brutes surged forward. Two enormous men flung themselves at Asa, grabbing his arms. Asa struggled and pulled away. They pressed after him. In a flash, fists were swinging—Asa’s and theirs—and the rest of the gang pounced. They tackled Asa to the deck, the sound of bone and muscle against wood thunderous. Asa kept struggling even as the men piled on him. Then two men slipped cudgels from their belts and swung them.

“No!” I shouted. My voice so high, so piercing amid the thick bruising sounds.

Heads spun to me. Miss Coates had finally spoken. But the men turned away just as quickly, far more gripped by the violence.

The press-gang kept beating Asa, every second an eternity.

My eyes blurred. My lips went numb.

“Steady, Little Salt,” Hackett muttered. “It’s almost over.”

But it wasn’t. It went on so long that men began to take turns on him, catching their breath like they were at some mundane task. Izra buried his face in the captain’s side and began to cry. Some of the Ambrosia’s crew turned away. Stars speckled before my eyes and I felt myself swoon.

“Yield, you stubborn fool,” Hackett hissed, his grip the only thing keeping me standing.

Finally, the press-gang stepped back.

Asa lay on the deck, unmoving. Blood poured through his lips and streamed from his nose. Both his eyes were sickly swollen. His shirt and jacket were torn away, and welts and gashes covered his arms and his chest.

The world tilted.

Was he dead?

He coughed—a muffled, pained sound. Tears of relief spilled down my cheeks.

Vance sauntered over to him. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Lane? Was that another objection?” He nudged Asa’s shoulder with his shoe. “Mr. Lane? I guess not. Bring him.”

The men in the press-gang heaved Asa up. Then they carried him off the Ambrosia—and out of my life.

Chapter 9: Lady

After Asa was taken, I couldn’t get him out of my mind. I hated myself for standing by as he’d been beaten. I worried about him and prayed he’d recover, but I wasn’t a fool. I knew men died from much less than he’d suffered. Nights were the hardest times as I’d lay awake for hours, wading through every moment we’d shared—our last conversation especially. Without him, the cabin felt too empty. Too dark. Asa had taken the stars with him.