Violet blurred in her peripheral. Selene spun toward it, unsheathing her Kopis knives. Metal clashed. Vibrations shot up her arms. A man with rotten breath grunted and thrust all his weight forward.
She ducked. Spun. Dragged her right-handed blade across the man’s side. His blood sprayed up the arm of her shirt.
He stumbled with a pained cry, shirt open to a long, bloody line ofopen skin.
A rolling silence went through the market.
The men filled the spaces like an acid fog, appearing in alleyways and cross-streets. Leaping from rooftops and from around stall lines.
A dozen. More.
Petrina put her back to Selene’s. Blood dripped from her blade. “What the fuck did you do?”
“I—”
He came through the parting crowd like a man who owned, not just the sea, but the world.
Handsome. Older, but no trace of gray in his short brown hair or thick beard shadow. He wore a brown leather waistcoat over an open-collared shirt. Hands loose at his sides. Smile loose on his lips.
A gentleman with teeth.
He paused only paces from Selene. Angled his head. Bowed. “Hello, Selene.”
Standing in his presence was like standing in the gaping maw of a shark. One with patience and time.
Selene adjusted the grip of her knives. “Who are you?”
His smile lengthened. “Captain Tristan Thorne.”
A chill rolled down her spine.
Suddenly, she was back inside a tavern room with Augustus and his parents, learning that Augustus had deserted his fleet to find her. Augustus had said something about…
“And what of Captain Thorne? His threat to our family? Are we ignoring that now, too?”
Cassia, from atop Mettius’s lap, had responded with bite.“Tristan Thorne will get what he is due when I am good and ready to deliver it. He can wait.”
Apparently, he’d stopped waiting.
Selene’s voice landed flat between them. “What do you want?”
Thorne’s teeth gleamed as he answered. “Retribution.”
Augustus braced for collision. Eyes open. Teeth bared.
The ship’s impact thundered. The splinter of wood rent through the air, and waves surged high against the hull.
One down.
The other enemy ship veered hard, swinging to their starboard side. Gangplanks arced, grating, iron-rimmed, launched like blades across the water.
“Felix!” Augustus shouted. “Now!”
Fuses lit in unison.
Across the waistline and stern, bundles hissed and popped, then soared across the water, landing all over the enemy’s deck. There was no explosion—that wasn’t the point.
Chaos was.
