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“Why—” she started, shaking her head in confusion.

He addressed Sehild. “Did you hear me?”

Wide-eyed, the woman nodded. “I owe you and Riella my freedom. We’ll take care of her, I promise.”

Before the siren could argue, he lunged into the crowd. If she knew Artus lurked nearby, she’d go straight to him and kill him. And fair enough, too. But she needed to stay out of trouble, lest anything hinder whatever the fates had in store for her tomorrow night.

Jarin moved diagonally through the writhing masses of people, away from the patrol. The chaos of the music and drunken shouting and exploding firelights did a good job of concealing him. Soon, he was at the edge of the crowd, under the awnings of the shops and taverns surrounding the square.

He looked back, squinting through the smoke and darkness, across the square at the balcony where Artus had been standing. He was no longer there, and nor were his crew.

“Jarin. I’m sorry.”

He recognized Drue’s voice at once. Jarin turned to find the boy ashen-faced and with a silver blade at his neck. Fletch hovered behind him, grasping the knife’s handle, his one beady eye glaring at Jarin.

“Come,” wheezed Fletch. “Captain wants a word with ye.”

Jarin glanced back at the square, where the royal patrol advanced.

“Let the kid go,” he said to Fletch. “Threats aren’t needed. I’ve been looking for Artus myself.”

Fletch’s eye twitched. After a few moments of contemplation, he shoved Drue away. The boy stumbled, righting himself and watching haplessly as Jarin followed Fletch down an alleyway.

The atmosphere of the dingy alley was in stark contrast to the square. The festival noise became muffled, and the shadows were dense. It was a likely place to be slaughtered like an animal, thought Jarin wryly.

At the dead-end of the alley, Fletch backed away, disappearing toward the street and leaving Jarin alone. Less than a minute later, Artus swaggered down in Fletch’s place. Jarin watched him approach with grim resignation.

The captain appeared to be alone, but his lackeys would be waiting nearby for his orders, whatever they may be. Was he after Jarin’s head, or Riella’s Voice, or the amulet? Likely, he wanted all three. At least Artus wasn’t aware Jarin could be killed now.

Unless news of the curse breaking had traveled here from Velandia already? Surely not. For even the fastest vessels, Port Hyacinth was a day-and-a-half-journey.

“Jarin, my boy.” Artus grinned, his pockmarked cheeks like the craters of the moon. “Funny meeting you here. Tell me, how’s Ferrante? And your lovely siren?”

Anger surged through Jarin’s body. Should he slice Artus’s throat open right now and be done with it, blood oath be damned? The only thing stopping him was Riella. He couldn’t leave her to fend for herself. Therefore, he couldn’t kill Artus.

But, what if he did something else instead? Like Jarin said to Riella, there were more ways to stop the old captain than killing him. He could disarm Artus until he could get the siren to safety, far from Creta Square.

Jarin glanced past the old captain. A rickety ladder ran up the rear wall of a tavern, right to the roof. The buildings were crammed close enough that he could run straight across the roofs, evading Fletch and the rest of Artus’s crew.

Jarin crossed his arms in front of his chest. “What do you want?”

“Ah, you know what I want, boy.” Artus brushed his sun-destroyed hands over the lapels of his black jacket. He, too, seemed to be imitating a merchant. “Ferrante gave me faulty information, lad. He sent me chasing my tail all over the bloody ocean.”

“Least he could do. You nearly killed him.”

Artus gave a magnanimous shrug. “And your siren stole from me. All I’m trying to do is get my map back and secure her Voice, then I’ll be on my way. I’m owed that much, I figure.”

“Can’t help you. I don’t have either of those things.”

“Ah.” Artus cocked his head, eyeing the younger man. Despite seething with anger, Jarin was immediately wary under Artus’s appraising stare. His shrewdness was unmatched. “But you and your siren read the map. And I’ll bet she knows exactly where to find the amulet.” His gold tooth glinted. “Perhaps she can be my guide.”

“If you lay your hand on her, I’ll cut it off.”

Artus hooted with glee. “Oh, she got to ye, didn’t she? That must be one mighty fine magical cunt she has. You’re making me regret I didn’t?—”

Jarin forgot he was newly mortal. He forgot at least a dozen pirates were waiting to ambush him. Or, more accurately, he didn’t care.

He strode to Artus, knocked him backward against a barrel, and withdrew a dagger.