“It’s a puzzle.” I swallowed down the knot in my throat, refusing to let my grief shine. “My father hid all his treasures, locked the map of the location in that compass, and gave it to me the day he hanged. The keyhole will reveal itself with the correct combination of movements. I wear the key around my neck.”

The sudden glare of a dozen pairs of eyes seared my throat.

“You can’t open it,” I said hastily. “Not without the secret instructions, which are locked inside my head. If I die, the combination dies with me. If you kill Priest and Ashley, I will die with them, for it would be too painful to live. You can torture me for the instructions, but I swear to God, Madwulf, if you hurt them, there will be nothing left of me to break.”

“She doesn’t know the combination. It’s a trick.” Priest tried to stand and rush forward, only to be shoved face-first into the sand.

“She never mentioned a goddamned compass or a secret map.” Ashley gnashed his teeth. “She’s leading you on a wild chase. Same thing she did to me when she sent me after Priest in Nassau.”

I fisted my hands in the rope. Irritating, overprotective arseholes.

“Gag the husband and pirate hunter and string them up to a tree,” Madwulf said absently, his gaze locked on the compass in his hand. “This opens with that green stone on your neck?”

“Yes, the key and a combination of movements.”

“All right.” He prowled forward and crouched at eye level with my kneeling position. “Open it, and I’ll let your lads live.”

A few yards away, Priest and Ashley roared and snarled behind their gags, uselessly fighting the men who trussed them to a palm-tree.

I blocked their torment out of my mind and focused on Madwulf’s offer.

Firstly, he couldn’t be trusted. Even if I could unlock the compass straight away, he would take the map, kill all three of us, and claim my father’s treasure. Secondly, I’d spent the last seven years trying to unlock the instrument without any luck.

But that was before my last conversation with Priest. Before he’d shared what he’d learned from the compass maker’s son.

Every instrument was built with a key and a list of verbal instructions. Something to hide on your body and something to hide in your mind.

The answer was buried in my head. I was certain my father had given the instructions to me. But how? In a riddle? A song? Christ, he’d taught me so many things over the fourteen years I’d known him, so much of it through lyrics and storytelling. I couldn’t remember half of it.

Right now, all that mattered was getting Madwulf and his band of outlaws off this island without killing the two men I loved.