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He looked at me, his expression softening even further. “I’m sorry, Sam.”

My heart became uncomfortable in my chest. Was that sincerity? Had hiscondition…improved?

“Do not look at me like that.” Benedict visibly swallowed and collected himself. “Years have passed. I have changed. I have seen the girland…”

Hope. It lit a far corner of my heart, tremulous and dangerous. “And?”

“She looks like us,” he said again and blinked hard. Twice. It was such a studied, subtle motion that I would have fallen for it, if I had not known him so well.

My hope died. Benedict had not gotten better. He had simply become better at pretending.

He lowered his voice. “She is a piece of us, brother. I cannot have her and do not want her. Butit…changedme, knowing she is in the world. It makes me want to be someone she can respect, when she’s grown.”

I was caught between desire to believe him and the knowledge that I could not.

He saw the strain in my face. He leaned forward, smelling of salt and coffee and latent magic. If I had slipped into the Other then, I would have seen it all aroundhim—thesoft, reddish hue of a Magni. But where the average Magni might exert a gentle influence over those around them, manifesting in charm or charisma, Benedict’s was sullied. Broken. Twisted.

Benedict’s magic turned the mind itself, transforming lies to truth and poisoning himself further in the process. He was trying to turn my own thoughts, right now.

And it was all my fault. His degradation, his condition. I had seen it before it came to pass, but unlike Fisher’s death, I had not had the courage to thwart Benedict’s unraveling. Or my own.

“You are ill, Benedict,” I said softly. “You will only make it worse. Do notlet…donot let what she did to us destroy you.”

“Mother did not make us,” Benedict bit out, breaking my gaze and glaring off over the sea. “You and I are Black Tide Sons. They took advantage of her.”

I started to correct him, but bit my tongue.

My brother scoured my face for a moment, eyes narrowed. Then he leaned closer and dropped his voice to a whisper.

“How is your head, big brother?” he asked with more snideness than concern. “How are the visions?”

My throat clogged. I started walking, continuing our turn of the deck.

He caught up in two strides. “Well?”

“I manage,” I returned.

“What do you see now?” Benedict ducked past me as we descended the forecastle stairs. He glanced back as he began to saunter across the waist of the ship, throwing out his arms. “Tell me my future.”

Benedict’s words were laced with magic. They snatched at me, threatening to plunge me into the already pressing Other.

I dug my fingernails into my palms. Fresh pain made my eyes spark but it kept me rooted.

“I do not look into your future.” I stopped walking. “You know that.”

Not since that day.

He fell back in at my side as I started up the stairs to the quarterdeck. “Fine. Then tellme—andI ask this with genuine, familialconcern—howare you?”

Familial concern meant something quite different to him than it did me, but I took what I could get. “Well. I am Slader’s second. We have been commissioned to hunt down Silvanus Lirr.”

“Second!” Benedict clapped me on the back, startling me. “Good for you.”

I shot him a sideways glare.

“As to Lirr, there is a challenge. Slippery bastard.” He glanced over atDefiance. “I am jealous, I admit. Captain Ellas will betoo…Thiscruising about, shaking our shields at the Mereish has got her terribly restless. Who would have expected we would meet like this, you the pirate hunter, practically a brigand yourself, and I the respected Navyman?”

“Yes, who would have thought?” I repeated bitterly.