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His eyes don’t leave mine. “The night patrol caught a smuggler in the Sorrowlands. It’s a two-day journey to the Royal Sector. Somewhere along the way, he was able to fashion—and hide—a makeshift blade.”

“You’re lucky he didn’t sever a tendon.”

“I’m lucky he didn’t stab me right in the heart. That was his goal.”

I think of how quickly he dodged the attacker in the candy shop—but I don’t want to think aboutthatCorrick.

I run my fingers along another scar, this time on his abdomen, and his breath shudders a tiny bit. “What about this one?”

“Ah … big man out of Steel City. Took a blade off one of the Hold guards.”

It looks like a puncture wound. “He stabbed you?”

He nods. “I was sixteen. I thought that one was going to do me in. It took ages to heal.”

Sixteen.I fight to keep a frown off my face. Sometimes I forget how long he’s been doing this, how young he was when he was forced to become someone terrible.

He has another deep scar on his lower back, I remember. I reach up to trace the jagged line to where it disappears under the waistband of his trousers, my fingers slipping under the edge of the fabric.

He hisses a breath, and his eyes close. “You’re killing me, Tessa.”

“Tell me about this one,” I say.

“That one wasn’t a smuggler.” He smiles, a little fondly, a little sadly. “That was the result of boyish nonsense with Harristan.”

“Climbing trees?” I say, and I’m only partly teasing.

“Racing horses in the snow. I was in the lead, but the horse slipped, and I came off. Harristan’s horse nearly ran right over top of me. I broke two ribs, too. I thought Mother was going to kill us both.” His tone sounds like it’s dangerously close to turning too heavy, so he presses a hand to my cheek, his thumb tracing undermy eye. “How about you? Any dangerous apothecary scars for me to discover?”

“Just one. Nothing exciting.”

“Hmm.” His finger keeps tracing the line of my face, but his blue eyes hold me captive. The boat rocks and sways, but I’m content to stay here and inhale his scent. I wait for him to try for more, because I’m here in his bed. I’m not sure I wouldmindif he tried for more.

But his hand keeps stroking my face, and ventures no farther. My eyes begin to drift closed.

“Are you afraid?” I whisper.

“No. I’m ready.”

I look up at him. “Do you really think we’re in danger tonight?”

He leans down and brushes a kiss against my forehead. “Let’s just say that I’ll be surprised if Blakemore lets us sleep till morning.”

We do sleep till morning.

Well, I do. I have no idea whether Corrick slept at all. When my eyes open, the room is almost fully dark, the remaining lantern burning through the last dregs of oil. The ship is tossing more violently this morning. I don’t know what time it is, but it must be early, because there’s barely any light in the porthole. We’re tangled up in the blankets, his breath warm against the shell of my ear.

Locked in this room, feeling the heat of Corrick’s body at my back, I could forget everything happening on the other side of the door.

The only reminder that keeps bringing things to the forefront of my mind is the brisk rocking of the ship.

“We made it to morning,” I say.

“Yes, we did. Hopefully he’s not waiting on the other side of that door to execute us.”

His voice is full of sarcasm, but there’s a note of truth hidden in there, too.

“What if the ships have drawn closer?” I say.