“As expected.” I held up a hand and listened. Either Priest had quieted, or the din from the nearby crew’s quarters consumed his shouting. “Did you find the compass?”

“No.” He wiped sweat from his brow and grimaced. “Searched the jolly boat. Stripped the upper deck and every wall and barrel he passed last night to your cabin.”

“It’s here.” I pushed by him, heading topside. “Keep looking.”

“Jobah spotted sails off the larboard bow.” He waited until I turned around, his voice hushed. “A British slave ship.”

My heart rate spiked. “Sailing from St. Christopher?”

“We believe so.”

“Can we take it?”

“Aye.” He flashed a barracuda smile bristling with large, sharp teeth.

I grinned with him, teetering on the verge of sudden laughter.

With the cultivation of sugar cane on St. Christopher came the need for laborers. A gluttonous demand for strong, hard-working bodies. Hence the rampant importation of African slaves.

My family owned slaves in Carolina. Native women had cooked my meals, prepared my baths, and styled my hair. I was ignorant of what that meant until four years ago when I met Jobah.

The day I decided to attack his slave ship—a year before I met Priest and Reynolds—it hadn’t been out of heroism or benevolence. I had no idea what was crammed, starved, and shackled together in the cargo hold.

That horrific discovery had earned me a sword through the belly.

My hand fell to the scar that cut across my abdomen. Jobah had saved me that day. Not only had he escaped his chains and killed the guard who stabbed me, but he carried me off that ship and to my surgeon before I bled to death.

Afterward, he could’ve returned to his homeland with the rest of his people. Instead, he chose to stay with me.

Over the years, I taught him English and how to navigate a fifty-gun galleon. And he taught me the value of freedom. His firsthand accounts of his months aboard a slave ship still haunted me. He would always wear the scars of a slave, but he was no longer that man. In fact, he was the best damn pilot on the high seas.

“Prepare the larboard batteries.” I ascended the final ladder and rose from the dark belly of Jade, shouting into the sunlight, “Jobah! Gather your charts and meet me at the helm!”

“Your hat, Captain.” D’Arcy hopped into my path, holding out the black one I preferred that was cocked on three sides.

“Thanks, lad.” I jammed it onto my head as excitement washed over my heart.

Too bad Priest wouldn’t be up here to enjoy this. But he’d made his choice, and that choice wasn’t me.

Shoving away thoughts of my failed marriage and missing compass, I stared up at the mighty double-spoked wheel, which stretched almost as tall as the formidable African man standing behind it.