She glared back but released Lanard’s ear, then shoved him against a crate with the force of a man twice her size. A small punishment compared to the plank. Lanard’s naked back cracked against the wood as he tumbled to the ground. Naven ran over and assisted him to his feet, ushering him hastily down the stairs to their shared quarters.

“Via, go with them,” Lou barked. “Make sure Lanard knows where he sleeps and that it’s not a hammock anywhere near Dara.”

Via nodded like Lou had tossed her a fine catch and bounded after the men. She dipped her chin toward me as she passed, a silent thanks for my intervention. I raised my brow to her in an unspoken warning for whatever she had up her sleeve for Naven. Her chuckle didn’t reassure me.

Hannah wrapped her arms around Dara and whispered into her ear. The young lass’s weeping decreased as they moved toward the female crew’s quarters. By the time they were all gone, Lou had her back to me at the rail. The roaring wind had died down, and her wheat-blond hair had finally settled onto her shoulders in fluffed ringlets.

I approached her the same way I would a wild animal. I wondered at the real reason Lou had lost her temper with Lanard. I doubted a young couple’s frolic in the galley was cause enough to make a man shark bait. Execution seemed a tad dramatic.

When I placed my hand on her shoulder, she willfully turned around. Tears glossed her eyes.

She swallowed hard, crinkles appearing between her eyes. “Why didn’t you heal him?”

“Who?” I asked, a spiny weight settling in my gut. As I’d guessed, her anger, in truth, pointed directly at me. Lanard and Dara had only gotten in the path of her emotional tempest.

“My father. When you found him in the alley, why didn’t you use your abilities? Why didn’t you save Lianna when the siren slit her throat? Why would you let them both die?”

Understanding turned the uneasy ball in my stomach into a writhing nest of snakes. “Lou, I can only heal superficial wounds. I cannot mend someone from the brink of death.” In a lower voice, I said, “Not even myself.” I took her hand in mine and placed it over my heart. “If I were wounded here, I wouldn’t survive. I’m not immortal like my father. I’m still human.” I hoped she could feel the thumping in my chest and know that I was more like her than she thought. “I bleed like anyone else. I’ll age, and I’ll die. Just like you.”

With my free hand, I reached to wipe her tears, inching across the distance, mildly afraid she’d draw back or lash out. She didn’t, and my thumb dragged the droplets off her cheeks, drying her skin. She melted into my touch.