Are you fucking kidding me?
I don’t even bother masking the groan that escapes me. Of course, the cursed compass is pointing at this guy.
“That means nothing,” I say, my eyes locking on the man again. “Maybe we were sent here to kill him. Maybe the Lady’s got some unfinished business with the bastard.”
I mean, it’s not such a far-fetched idea. Wouldn’t put it past her. The sea goddess loves her chaos, right? Sends a Marauder, a Serpent, and a clueless bard, all on a rickety deathtrap of a ship, chasing down some assassin because a piece of cursed metal told us to? Yeah, sounds like the Lady’s kind of entertainment.
I mean, I’d be entertained if I were her.
But as the words leave my mouth, the sky lets out a low, rumbling growl, like the universe itself just told me to shut up. The ship lurches, the whole damn island trembles, and I feel it deep in my chest—I’m wrong.
“Or… maybe not?” Vinicola squeaks behind me, echoing the thought that’s flashing through my mind.
The man flinches as the sky roars again, dragging in air like it’s his first breath in hours. His gaze snaps between Gypsy and the compass, darkening with something desperate. Something ugly.
“What have you done?” His voice rasps, rough like he’s been gargling nails. “You’ve started it, haven’t you?”
“Started what?” Gypsy snaps back, quick as ever, not wasting a breath.
He lets out this bitter, hollow laugh, eyes wild. “The fucking trials!” His voice cracks with rage and panic. His hand moves toward something on his belt—glass? Poison, maybe?
I step forward, grinning like I’ve already won. “One more twitch, mate, and you’re a corpse. Hands up. Whatever trick you’ve got hidden won’t help you now.”
His laugh comes out sharp, cutting through the noise like broken glass. “That’s rich, coming from a cripple.”
A cripple? Now that’s funny. Sure, I’m barely standing upright, but I’ve still got a pistol aimed at his chest. I can’t help but grin wider. “A cripple with a gun,” I shoot back, flicking the barrel in his direction. “I say we put him down right here.”
“Who are you?” Gypsy asks, lips pursed, nostrils flared. She’s got her hand on her own pistol now, but I can see the way her body’s wound tight. “Why are you here?”
The man smiles, but it’s not the kind of smile you want to see. His black eyes gleam with something sick, and then his lips curl into a sneer.
“If you’re going to act stupid, you might as well listen to the cripple and shoot me already,” he spits. “I’m not in the mood to play games with you lot.”
What a charming fellow.
“This cripple is going to do more than just put a bullet in you,” I say, forcing a little more swagger into my voice. Even if he’s built like he’s been training for a war, I’m a master at bluffing. That’s the trick, after all—make them believe you’ve already won. “Maybe I’ll take a leg, too. Welcome you to the cripple gang.”
His eyes narrow, and I see the spark of challenge. “I dare you to try,” he growls, low and dangerous. “If the sea doesn’t swallow you first.”
Ah, there it is—he’s playing tough. My kind of game. Something stirs inside me, that dangerous cocktail of fear for Gypsy, shame for this damn injury, and a whole lot of pride. A bastard like him? Needs to be taught a lesson.
I slide the gun lower, aiming straight at his gut. A slow, nasty death if I pull the trigger now. And I’m half tempted.
I chuckle. “You think the sea scares me?” I say, voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone. “I’ve faced worse than you, mate. Trust me.”
“Zayan, quiet,” Gypsy says. The stranger catches up to it quick.
“You heard your boss, champ,” he taunts, baring his teeth like a wolf. He glances at Gypsy, and for a split second, I’m on the verge of ripping him apart. “I’m the family of the captain of this ship. I own this damn place, which means you’re all standing on my property.”
“This place looks like it’s rotting from the inside out,” I mutter, glancing around the ancient wreck. “Try again, mate.”
“Believe what you want. Doesn’t matter. It’s too late for the three of you anyway.”
From behind me, I hear Vinicola’s voice pipe up. “I’m sorry, Mister, but I have to say, you’re not making a whole lot of sense. I mean, it’s probably crystal clear to you—truly, I admire your confidence—but for us? Well, we’re a bit in the dark here. So, if you could—“
“Vinicola, shut it,” Gypsy hisses under her breath.
But to my surprise—and probably everyone else’s—the madman pauses. His dark eyes drift down to Vini, and for a second, the sneer fades. It’s brief, a flicker, but enough for me to notice. Like he’s actually considering him. And then, just like that, the bastard’s half-smile curls back, meaner than before.
