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Tor goes after him again—and Kilbourne puts him down again. Then a fourth time.

After the fifth attempt, Tor has blood on his lip, and he’s panting. Kilbourne says, “Ten seconds.”

Tor makes a final run, and he’s all but snarling from the effort, but Kilbourne sends him sprawling onto his belly.

“A valiant effort,” Kilbourne says, and there’s nothing mocking in his voice.

But Tor rolls over, and that dagger is clutched to his chest. “It sure was,” he says, laughing and coughing at the same time.

Gasps and laughter come out of the crew.

Kilbourne swears and slaps the empty dagger hilt at his hip, then scowls ruefully down at the crewman. He laughs lightly. “I’ll get that back.”

“You’ll have to wait your turn,” Tor says, grinning. He limps his way back to his seat.

Beside me, Gwyn is laughing softly. “Tor was a bit of a pickpocket before he turned to the honest life of a sailor.”

“So that was all misdirection,” I say.

“Yes, but Tor looks like he’s regretting it. He’ll probably be asking your girl for a poultice later.”

My girl.I feel those words like a fist to the gut.

She looks up at my guardsman. “Go ahead, Kilbourne. Spin the blade.”

He spins, landing on a crewman—and loses, when the challenge is to tie a complicated knot. The game continues. Sometimes the asks are simple: an extra roll, an hour of covered duties, a bit of gossip. Sometimes they’re bigger: a treasured book, a valued piece of jewelry, a night of companionship.

The challenges are varied, too. Some are physical, and enough blood is spilled that I hesitate to call the gamefriendly. Some are mental: riddles and questions.

I learn more about the crew during the game than I have in threedays on the ship. I see who can fight and who can trick and who is quick to yield.

Across the deck, I watch Rian’s keen eyes determining the same exact thing when the dagger points to my guards.

A bottle of liquor has been passed around during the game, and when it reaches Tessa, I see her hesitate. There’s a bit of a lull in the conversation, so I can hear Rian when he says, “It’s very sweet. But there’s a bite.”

Her eyes flick up and find mine across the deck.

She holds my gaze, turns up the bottle, and takes a long drink.

I know she means for it to be a dismissive gesture, but I find myself watching the movement of the bottle, the way her throat moves when she swallows, the way the wind tugs tendrils of hair free. The way a few drops cling to her lips.

Her eyes haven’t left mine, and her eyes are full of fire. She mouths three words.

Mind your mettle.

I smile in spite of myself.Mind yours.

Then she turns and hands the bottle to Rian, and it’s like she dumped an entire bucket of icy water over my head.

But then I hear a gasp from some of the crew, and I look up.

The dagger has stopped on me.

I’ve lost track of the game, so I have no idea who spun until Gwyn says, “I have half a mind to ask you for an hour of babysitting, Your Highness.”

A bit of laughter erupts among the crew. It’s funny, and I should laugh, too, but my thoughts are still tangled up in Tessa and Rian and the fact that I’m trapped on this boat.

“Go ahead,” I say, and Anya beams with glee.