Mihail glanced over, then gave his attention back to the sails and the sea. The young man had begged for passage to anywhere. His family was gone. Lost. He’d had a couple of pieces of jewelry in his pocket, little more than trinkets really, that he’d offered in exchange for passage. Mihail had declined the jewelry and found him a place in the cargo hold.

“Whatever’s on your mind, be quick about it,” Mihail said.

The young man hesitated, then said in a rush, “If I set fire to those two ships, you’ll be able to get past them?”

Mihail glanced over. Then his head snapped around for a longer look.

The same young man he’d brought aboard—but not the same now that the glamour had been dropped, revealing the face behind the human mask.

“You’re Fae.”

“Yes. A Lord of Fire. The…witch could quiet the fire. I can’t do that. But I can call it—and send it.”

Mihail focused on the two ships slowly moving to close the gap. If he tried to swing around them on either side, the other ships could attack him. That gap was their only chance now.

“You didn’t mention this before. Why? Afraid I’d throw you overboard if I found out?”

“Yes.”

That answer sliced his heart. “You don’t know much about us, do you?”

“No.”

What would the Fae Lord learn about them now?

“Captain?”

Do no harm. If he gave the order…Burning ships. Burning men. Most would jump into the harbor to escape the fire. Could they swim? Could they manage to stay afloat long enough for their comrades in the other ships to rescue them? How many of them had wives, children, families? If he gave the order, would he be any different than the Inquisitor who had killed that other captain and set fire to the man’s ship? Would he?

Do no harm. Not just his ship and the people on board her at stake. Those other ships following in his wake…They wouldn’t survive, either.

Great Mother, forgive me. “Fire the ships.”

The Fae Lord turned to face the ships, staggering a little to keep his balance as Sweet Selkie ran with the wind.

Fire bloomed in the two ships’ lufting sails. It burst from the wood in the bows. Oars caught the moment they were lifted from the water.

They burned so fast.

Close enough to hear shouts. Screams. Close enough to see men leaping from the ships, slapping the water in an awkward attempt to swim toward him.

He sailed between the burning ships, offering no lifeline, no rope, no help.

A burning mast cracked, fell. More screams.

Come on, darling. Come on. Get us past before those ships sink.

Sweet Selkie lifted as even more wind filled her sails, felt almost as if she were skimming the water.

The harbor mouth. The open sea.