“Now, now.” Thorne’s voice crooned from over her shoulder. He came around with a smirk on his face. “They may have orders to keep you alive, but I never said anything about keeping youunharmed.” He glanced at his crew. “I’d be careful with whatever actions you’re about to take.”
“I’m not— There’s no?—”
“It’s all over your face.” His brows jumped up as he smiled. “I thought you had thicker skin than that, Selene. It’s all in good fun.”
Selene threw on a smile. “I’m fine, Captain. Your crew is safe from my temporary urges.”
Thorne barked a laugh and gave the chain between her cuffs a slight tug. “As if there was ever any doubt.”
He climbed to the forecastle without a single glance back. Unhurried. Unworried.
Good.
Below deck, the oppressive heat of the galley hugged her with sticky fingers. The room was cramped and dimly lit, made worse by the cling of her own body heat.
Petrina stood over a loaf of hard bread, breaking it into pieces and tossing it into a basket, her nostrils flaring with every breath. She hated being the one who was stuck in the galley.
Selene’s quiet and aloof guard, Jesper, helped Manuel, the cook, with the final meal preparations. He hadn’t bothered to follow her to the main decks during either of her trips, and not even Thorne had seemed to care. Another bonus of their rigging race.
Petrina’s guard, an older man named Sebastian with dark brown skin and one-and-a-half eyes, was squeezed into a corner with folded arms anda rolled smoke dangling from his lips. As if sensing her attention, Sebastian turned that dead, white eye her way. A thick scar ran from his forehead, through that eye, and down his cheek.
Selene’s stomach swayed in the opposite direction of the rocking ship. “The crew is getting restless,” she told Manuel.
The cook motioned for her to take over the large pot of stew bubbling over hot coals.
Selene stared over the rim at what resembled bubbling tar, a churn of meat and root vegetables barely clinging to shape. The smell was worse than previous nights—it would take a lot more spices than usual to cover the taste of rot.
Petrina shot a pointed but questioning glance at Selene’s sleeve.
The glass vial beneath her sleeve, hidden against her inner wrist, suddenly felt like a burning weight. Petrina had a second one tucked into her sash. Neither could know ahead of time which would have the better access to the stew, and Selene thought she’d be prepared.
Now that it was time, it felt like the three crewmen in this room watched her every move. Even though common sense told her Jesper was focused on helping Manuel, and Sebastian, whose dead eye wouldn’t see her in his peripheral, was busy picking his nails.
Petrina cleared her throat and tossed the final chunk of bread into the basket. The men glanced her way, and she shifted under the weight of their attention. “Finished. I’m just going to help Selene.”
They looked away in response.
“You look green,” Petrina whispered, setting a stack of bowls down by the pot. “Get it together.” Then, louder, she said, “You need to add the seasoning.”
Manuel passed over a prepared bowl of dried herbs and ground salts, grunting for her to take it.
Selene hovered over the bubbling stew with the season and worked the vial of jellyfish venom into her palm. Petrina had spent many nights squeezing the murky, pale yellow into the vials. It wouldn’t kill anyone—only paralyze them. That was the hope, at least.
And since it wouldn’t kill them…that gave her just enough nerve to do it.
“Give me yours, too,” Selene whispered and flicked her gaze up to find Petrina’s brows knitted. “It’s a really big pot.”
Petrina swallowed. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Maybe it was the memory of Thorne’s arrow, or the way his men laughed at her afterward, but something in her had snapped. If this plan went wrong—if they waited too long—she wouldn’t be alive long enough to regret it.
Selene palmed the second vile and used the upended spice bowl to hide the spill of venom from any wondering eyes.
Jesper shifted beside her.
Selene tensed, expecting a question, a glance, a demand for the spice bowl back. For a moment, she imagined everything unraveling with one careless glance.
He only scratched his shoulder and turned away again.
