Grief clawed its way into my chest, distracting me in my haste. With my gaze cast downward, I bumped into a hard body. “Oh, my—” I stopped mid-apology. A small gasp crawled up my throat. I hadn’t been prepared for Smitter—Hermes—to appear. My hands flew to my mouth.

“Captain Lou, are you feeling better?” he asked with a wink.

“I… I called you a clodpate,” I blurted. “Er, not now. I mean, earlier, at the tavern. I said that to your face…”

Smitter waved me off. “Already forgotten. I’ve been called way worse. You should hear Apollo’s rendition of that story. He’d consider clodpate a compliment.”

“Well, then…” What did one say to a god in passing? I scratched my head. “Thank you for your help with The Black Hollow. We, um…” I fumbled with my words. “…couldn’t have managed without you.”

He smiled, showing his gold tooth. “My pleasure. Keeping voyagers safe is part of my divine jurisdiction. I do also enjoy a bit of havoc, especially on a pirate ship. Most fun I’ve had in ages. The pleasure was all mine.” He bowed.

I bobbed my head, feeling a little awkward standing in the middle of the deck with a god bowing to me.

“If you are looking for Rylander, I believe he is in the galley.” His lips twitched.

“Thank you,” I said. I pivoted and headed in the opposite direction. I wondered what he was doing in the kitchen at this hour but didn’t question Smitter’s knowledge.

As I pushed through the doors, I stopped short.

Dara was pushed up against the wall, shirt unbuttoned. A man’s lips trailed down her neck toward her small, exposed breasts. Her hair looked as if a bird had tried to nest in it. But it was her silly grin that caught me off guard. She was allowing this.

The shirtless man’s face came up for air, and I saw his piercing green eyes and hairless face illuminated in candlelight. Lanard. My mouth hung open, recalling their disheveled looks earlier today when they’d barged into Rylander’s room. This had happened before.

“What do you two think you’re doing?” I snapped.

Lanard leapt from Dara, crashing into the pots and pans. They tumbled to the ground and rolled about the deck. I waited till the clanging stopped before interrogating, my unrestrained fury building by the second.

“Have you lost your minds?” My hands fastened to my hips.

“We… We were…” Dara started to cry.

“Oh, no you don’t. You don’t get to act this way and then weep.” I waved my finger in the air and directed my fury at Lanard. “And you! How old are you?”