“If that’s the case, they’ll survive two days.” Rhona Styx stood with her arms crossed and a rifle slung over her shoulder. “I don’t like this any better than you do, Agnes, but our girls know what they’re doing. They’ll wait for us.”

“But we should be the ones waiting for them.” Agnes planted her hands on the round curve of her hips.

“Boys!” Donnally’s father cried in alarm. “Who’s on watch?”

Whatever happened on Donnally’s face was answer enough. His father cursed and raced toward the mainmast, but it wasn’t soon enough.

“Captain,” a young man named Bandi called from the bridge tower. “We’ve got trouble. An assault ship. They’re close, and they’re on course to box us in.”

“Damn.” Rhona’s jaw fixed in place as she swiveled to search the ocean.

Each and every time the Ghost had encountered a Bullet ship, they’d taken a single course of action: run. While Donnally was too young to remember any of their more narrow escapes, he’d been raised to believe that running was the only way to ensure they survived.

Right now, running was the furthest thing from his mind.

All he could think about was his sister. Had she fired those shots? Or had those shots been fired at her?

Would he ever see her again?

“Rhona?” Donnally’s father asked, coming to stand at her side. “Captain, your orders?”

Rhona’s eyes fell on Donnally. Her gaze was as powerful as the sun, and he felt warmed and emboldened at the same time. He feared for his sister almost more than he could stand, but he smiled for his mother, to show her he was afraid and also brave.

Rhona nodded and swallowed hard. “I’m afraid we have no choice,” she said. “Weigh the anchor and grab your guns. We’re going to fight.”

In the wake of those words, the ship seemed to transform. Commands were shouted in all directions, the anchor clanked in its channel, even the sea seemed to slap at the hull with more vigor than just a moment ago. Rhona swept forward, gathering her son into her arms and holding him tightly. She kissed his head and released him, saying, “Do as your father says. I love you, my brave boy.”

“I love you, too,” Donnally said, and then she was gone, climbing toward the bridge and disappearing inside it.

“Let’s move.” Donnally’s father caught his hand and pulled him toward the quarterdeck, where the rest of the children were being herded by a few tight-mouthed adults. Agnes was there, helping each of them over the side railing and into the remaining bow boat on the water below.

“I don’t want to go,” Donnally protested, fear spiking through him. “I want to stay with you.”