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Another of Batara’s look-alike men yanked the plank from the pier, nodding curtly at me behind the helm.

Fear trickled over my skin, my body itching to shift, but I shoved it back. The moment I pulled out of this bay, my safety would fall to the depths of Davy Jones’s locker.

They could do anything to me. I was at the whim of Batara and how much “freedom” he was giving these men to keep me in line. And because of my binding vow, I had to continue forward.

Released from the docks, the gaff cutter glided out of port. My gaze twisted to the side, taking in the last glimpses ofThe Revenge. The ship was breathtaking, the epitome of a pirate ship, the black flag with crossbones flapping in the wind. I could feel it looking back, wondering why I was abandoning it.

My heart ached. That ship was my soul. My blood, sweat, and tears.

And now it was being held hostage, like my crew.

Swallowing, I coasted the cutter out of the harbor and into the bay. The dozen men Batara sent with me worked the rigs, preparing the main sail or setting up below, with two staying to watch over me.

With Hong Kong being my only lead, I set my navigation toward the east, the wind blowing my hair back, the smell of the ocean the only thing calming my thumping heart. In all the different scenarios Gage and I came up with for the mission earlier, this was not an outcome I imagined: sailing to China in the dead of night to find a nectar to save the emperor’s dying son.

The dim city lights grew further away, unsettling me. The possibility of never seeing my men or ship again blurred my vision for a moment. The weight on my shoulders pressed down on me as we headed into a stretch of the Singapore Strait renowned for being the most dangerous here. The Somali pirates waited to pounce on the heavily laden merchant ships not far from Batam Island. Normally, they left me alone whenThe Revengecame into port. But in this merchant gaff cutter, we were easy prey. A newborn calf walking into a lion’s den.

Keeping most of our sails down until we hit the open ocean, we slowly coasted through the still waters. A strange shiver ran down my spine. Deep into the witching hours, my body was tense; my ears perked at every movement and noise. My intuition was honed, my senses high. As much as I despised Croygen, he taught me a lot about trusting my instincts and believing what my gut told me.

“Come here, little Katze.”A memory came to me of the captain motioning for me to stand at the helm, calling me the way my father did. I was no older than six, on a night much like this, clear, warm, and still.“Take the wheel.”

“Really?” My eyes opened wide, and I ran up to him, not giving him the chance to take it back. “I want to be a pirate just like you.”

“Just like me, huh?” His eyebrow tipped up, a corked smile lifting his lip. “How about you become an even better pirate?”

I blinked in awe, my little girl mind thinking no one in the world was better than him.

“Do you know what a good pirate has to have?”

“A ship?”

He let out a laugh, the sound making me smile wide.

“That helps.” He crouched down. “But you know what makes a pirate better than others?”

I shook my head.

“This.” He tapped at my chest and stomach. “Instinct and intuition.”

“In-tow-u-sian?” I tried to repeat his word.

“You know that sensation in your tummy when you feel something but can’t see it? When you get prickles over your body and get scared? Like it’s trying to warn you of something?”

I nodded.

“That is your intuition. Your gut telling you something is off. Sometimes your eyes can’t see. Our vision can trick us, but your hearing, your sense of smell, little Katze…” He touched the end of my nose softly. “It will lead you. Your cat instincts will make you an incredible pirate. Even better than me. It will never steer you wrong if you learn to trust it. Hone it.”

I had worked a long time to perceive things my senses had yet to pick up, to acknowledge the nip at the back of my neck, a bitter smell of danger in the air like a fragrance, an itch crawling over me.

As it was doing now. My skin slithered with awareness of a threat as our cutter slipped deeper into the strait. The land on either side was filled with darkness and hideaways.

The hair on the back of my neck prickled as the high-pitched whine of a shoddy motor powered by a homemade battery filled the air. Since standard engines no longer worked, we had to come up with solutions and a means to propel our boats at faster speeds than wind.

The Somali pirates were the first to covet the idea of using makeshift batteries. They would come in as a horde, a handful of small boats, spreading out and surrounding their target, boarding the ship on all sides like an infestation.

The buzz of their familiar motors echoed in the dark now, heading toward us.

“Fuck.” I curved the wheel to take us closer to the shoreline, hoping to give us a little more time and only one side to attack. “Somali pirates coming in on the starboard side! Load the cannons and be ready to fire!” I yelled at the men because we were sitting ducks. The breeze was low tonight, and we weren’t far enough to pick up much speed.