By midday on the third day, we’ve lost sight of land.

We haven’t lost sight of those ships, though. Once the river dumped into the ocean, the other ships began to drift away, and now those two are the only to remain.

Captain Blakemore is suspicious. I’ve seen him in conversation with his lieutenant as they share a spyglass.

I’m suspicious, too. But it seems that we’ve grown so wary of each other that we know questions and demands won’t yield a single word of truth—or a single word we’d believe, anyway.

Now that we’re in the ocean, the water surrounding the ship has turned to a vivid blue that stretches on for miles, and the winds here are quieter than they were on the river. The storm seems to have moved off to the east, granting us starry skies at night, and brilliant sunlight by day. It’s hard to believe that our ships often wreck on the way to Ostriary, because the seas here are so placid and calm that the ship hardly seems to sway.

On any other journey, I might be enjoying myself.

I’m not the only one who’s grown irate. As the days have passed, the attitude among the crew has shifted. A weight seems to have settled over the Dawn Chaser, and I can’t

quite identify it. Tempers are shorter. Voices are sharper. Lochlan is still working with the crew—and of all of us, he seems the most at ease. I resent him for it. Even Rian has been keeping to his stateroom more than usual today, talking to Gwyn and Sablo, and I’ve seen them peer at the ships on the horizon more than once.

“They’re growing uneasy,” I say quietly to Rocco at dusk, when the others have disappeared belowdecks to get food.

“I can tell,” he says. “That makes me uneasy.” Me too.

Members of the crew have begun to form a circle on the widest part of the deck with their dinner plates, which means I should retire to my own quarters. But then Captain Blakemore comes up the steps with Tessa by his side, and I stop short.

She looks as beautiful in a vest and trousers as she did in the elegant finery she wears in the palace. Maybe more so, because it reminds me of Tessa in the Wilds, sneaking through the darkness to deliver medicine. My heart kicks at my ribs like it wants to punish me, and I probably deserve it.

The calculating side of me specifically told her to talk to

him, but right now, my heart wants me to go drag her away.

The captain sees me looking, and a derisive spark lights in his eye. He glances at Tessa, but his voice is loud enough for me to hear. “Come sit,” he says. “Everyone’s due for a bit of entertainment.” His eyes shift back to me. “Care to play a game, Your Highness?”

No.

But I force a smile onto my face and say, “Of course.”

They sit near the main mast, but I have no desire to torture myself further, so I choose a seat near Lieutenant

Tagas and her little girl. Kilbourne is on deck as well, lingering to my left, but he doesn’t sit.

“What’s the game?” I say to Gwyn. “Blade and Brawl,” she says.

I cast a glance down at Anya. “Well, that sounds a lot more exciting than knucklebones,” I say.

She makes a face at me, but her mother says, “It can be. It’s mostly to keep the crew from getting too antsy. Nothing’s worse than a bored sailor in the middle of the ocean.”

Anya tears her bread in half and offers it to me. “Here, Corrick. You don’t have any dinner.”

It’s so odd to hear a child say my real name, so I smile, charmed, and take the bread. She’s wearing a short- sleeved dress, and those scars down her arms are very visible.

It was war.

But she’s a child.

Maybe that’s my own naiveté talking. I tear a small piece of the bread and give her back the rest.

I glance across the circle to find the captain watching me. When my eyes meet his, he looks away and says something to Tessa, something too quiet to hear. She nods, but she doesn’t look up at me.

Usually, I’m good at figuring people out. With Captain Blakemore, I think what I hate the most is that I can’t figure out if he’s completely playing us both, or if he’s astonishingly earnest about his desire to help everyone. If he is, then I’m an ass who owes him an apology.

But … I don’t think he is. I want to know what he’s hiding. I need to know what he’s hiding.

Marchon, the navigator, rises from where he was sitting, and he draws a blade from his belt. The crew falls quiet.

“I’ll explain the rules of Blade and Brawl for our newcomers,” he says. “You’ll spin the blade to find your opponent.” He sets it spinning on the deck, and the blade glints in the fading light as it whirls. “Once it stops, you make a request, and they respond with a challenge. It can be anything: a race, a riddle, a wrestling match, anything. But it can’t take longer than a few minutes so the game keeps going.” The dagger comes to a stop, pointing straight at little Anya.

She squeals, sitting up straighter.

Marchon smiles. “Fine, Anya. I want those wooden dice you took off me last time.”

She leaps to her feet. “Then I challenge you to slip between the sail and the beam.”

He rolls his eyes. “Go ahead.” As the little girl squeezes through the tiny gap that a grown man could never fit through, Marchon says, “She gets to keep the dice because I can’t do that.” Anya skips forward to spin the dagger, and it lands on Tor, who’s taking a swig from a bottle someone passed around.

“Tor!” she cries. “Hmm. I want your spyglass.”

Tor snorts and rolls his eyes. “All right. Whoever can touch the highest point on the mast gets it.”

She scowls, but they step up to the mast and he obviously wins.

Gwyn leans close to me. “It’s a bit of a slow start because Anya was first. But once the crew gets going, the asks get bigger—and so do the challenges.”

“You can ask for anything?”

“Yeah, but you’ve got to be ready to battle for it. The other person picks the challenge, so they have the advantage.”

Tor’s spin slows and lands on Kilbourne, and a few whistles go up from the crew. The guard doesn’t move. Tor

glances from Kilbourne to me, and his gaze falters. “I … I can just spin again, Your Highness.”

“No,” I say. “The guards can play.” I look up at Kilbourne. “If you’d like.”

I watch Kilbourne size up Tor, and he grins. The guards are probably just as bored as the crew. “All right,” he says easily. “What would you like?”

Tor looks back at Kilbourne, sizing him up in return, probably wondering what kind of challenge he’ll face. Tor isn’t a small man, but the guards are well-trained warriors, and they look it.

Tor says, “Well, I wouldn’t mind that dagger you’ve got.” “Fine. If you can take it from me in less than a minute,

it’s yours.”

Tor’s eyebrows go up, and for an instant, I think he’s going to ask a question or request a new challenge, but instead, he lets out a shout and charges at the guard.

Kilbourne sidesteps smoothly, but Tor recovers quickly, and he nearly tackles Kilbourne on his second attempt. The guard shoves him away, and Tor slams into the deck so hard that he cries out. The crew whistles and jeers.

Tor is breathing heavily, glaring up at Kilbourne.

The guard’s smile widens. “You still have forty-five seconds,” he says, and a laugh ripples through the crowd.

Tor goes after him again—and Kilbourne puts him down again. Then a fourth time.

After the fifth attempt, Tor has blood on his lip, and he’s panting. Kilbourne says, “Ten seconds.”

Tor makes a final run, and he’s all but snarling from the effort, but Kilbourne sends him sprawling onto his belly.

“A valiant effort,” Kilbourne says, and there’s nothing mocking in his voice.

But Tor rolls over, and that dagger is clutched to his chest. “It sure was,” he says, laughing and coughing at the

same time.

Gasps and laughter come out of the crew.

Kilbourne swears and slaps the empty dagger hilt at his hip, then scowls ruefully down at the crewman. He laughs lightly. “I’ll get that back.”

“You’ll have to wait your turn,” Tor says, grinning. He limps his way back to his seat.

Beside me, Gwyn is laughing softly. “Tor was a bit of a pickpocket before he turned to the honest life of a sailor.”

“So that was all misdirection,” I say.

“Yes, but Tor looks like he’s regretting it. He’ll probably be asking your girl for a poultice later.”

My girl. I feel those words like a fist to the gut.

She looks up at my guardsman. “Go ahead, Kilbourne.

Spin the blade.”

He spins, landing on a crewman—and loses, when the challenge is to tie a complicated knot. The game continues. Sometimes the asks are simple: an extra roll, an hour of covered duties, a bit of gossip. Sometimes they’re bigger: a treasured book, a valued piece of jewelry, a night of companionship.

The challenges are varied, too. Some are physical, and enough blood is spilled that I hesitate to call the game friendly. Some are mental: riddles and questions.

I learn more about the crew during the game than I have in three days on the ship. I see who can fight and who can trick and who is quick to yield.

Across the deck, I watch Rian’s keen eyes determining the same exact thing when the dagger points to my guards. A bottle of liquor has been passed around during the game, and when it reaches Tessa, I see her hesitate.

There’s a bit of a lull in the conversation, so I can hear Rian when he says, “It’s very sweet. But there’s a bite.”

Her eyes flick up and find mine across the deck.

She holds my gaze, turns up the bottle, and takes a long drink.

I know she means for it to be a dismissive gesture, but I find myself watching the movement of the bottle, the way her throat moves when she swallows, the way the wind tugs tendrils of hair free. The way a few drops cling to her lips.

Her eyes haven’t left mine, and her eyes are full of fire.

She mouths three words.

Mind your mettle.

I smile in spite of myself. Mind yours.

Then she turns and hands the bottle to Rian, and it’s like she dumped an entire bucket of icy water over my head.

But then I hear a gasp from some of the crew, and I look up.

The dagger has stopped on me.

I’ve lost track of the game, so I have no idea who spun until Gwyn says, “I have half a mind to ask you for an hour of babysitting, Your Highness.”

A bit of laughter erupts among the crew. It’s funny, and I should laugh, too, but my thoughts are still tangled up in Tessa and Rian and the fact that I’m trapped on this boat.

“Go ahead,” I say, and Anya beams with glee.

I like the lieutenant, and I don’t want to upset her daughter, so I frown as if trying to think of a difficult challenge, then say, “Whoever can spell their name fastest wins.”

When Gwyn wins, I sigh and tap Anya on the nose. “I suppose I’ll be stuck with you for an entire hour.”

“Tomorrow?” she says hopefully. “Will you teach me a game from Kandala?”

“Sure,” I say, and I absently spin the blade. Someone passes the liquor my way, and I take a long drink without even thinking about it.

But when I lower the bottle, I find Tessa looking at me.

I feel too warm, and it’s too quick for it to be the liquor. The bottle is still in my hand, but I watch that weapon spin and spin, until my heart seems to beat in time with the rotations.

Suddenly, I realize it’s going to stop on her. As the blade slows, I can see it coming, and my breath nearly catches.

There are so very many things I want to ask for.

A night. An hour. A minute. Forgiveness.

Tessa isn’t watching the blade. She’s watching me.

The blade stops, but I don’t look down. She doesn’t either.

Someone in the circle whistles, and then another. A bunch of shouts go up. I swallow and pass the bottle to the next person.

But then I realize what they’re saying. “He’ll ask for the ship!”

“Nah, he’ll ask for his girl back.”

“Make him walk the rail, Captain!” What? I frown and snap my gaze down.

The blade didn’t stop on Tessa. It stopped on Captain Blakemore.

I’m frozen in place. My thoughts weren’t ready to realign so quickly. Across the deck, the captain has gone absolutely still, too. The jeering from the crowd has become a dull roar in my ears.

“Go ahead,” Rian says, and the crew quiets. He hates this, I can tell. “Tell me what you want.”

There’s been only one thing he’s refused me since the moment I got on this ship. “You know what I want.”

“Then ask for it, and we’ll fight for it.”

A dark cloud winds through my thoughts, cool and familiar. “You want to fight me?” I say darkly.

“You haven’t asked for anything yet,” he says.

“Fine,” I say. “I want to see the inside of that locked room.”

“Fine.” Rian stands and begins unbuttoning his jacket.

All right, then. Adrenaline burns through my veins. I uncurl from the deck and unbutton my own.

Rocco had been by the railing, but, seeing this, he’s at my side in an instant. “Your Highness.”

I shove the jacket at him. “Hold this.” “I must advise that you—”

“Stand down,” I say.

Tessa looks between the two of us. “Corrick,” she says in a rush. “Rian—stop. You don’t know— He can fight—”

“So can I,” we say at the same time, and we both scowl at each other.

I have no idea which one of us she was truly warning.

Then Lochlan says, “The prince broke my wrist with his bare hands,” and a little murmur goes through the crowd.

Rian looks at me steadily. “I’m hardly surprised.”

Despite my order, both Rocco and Kilbourne have moved closer. Any levity is gone from the air now. The whole crew has gone silent.

“If you wanted to fight for it,” I say, “we could have settled this yesterday.”

“That’s not my challenge.” Rian nods at the main mast, then walks to where the ropes and rigging are connected to the crossbeams. “I’ll race you to the top. Go.”

Before I can even process the words, he’s ten feet off the ground.

Well, damn. I don’t think. I just leap.

I’ve never done this, but I’ve watched his crew do it a dozen times now, and I’m no stranger to climbing. There are dozens of footholds, and this is easier than scaling the wall of the Royal Sector. Weeks ago, the rebels dislocated

my shoulder when they took me prisoner, and I feel it give a twinge now, but I ignore the pain. I look up at the miles of chains and netting and try to find a path, but I cling to the outer edge and swing myself higher with each pull, hooking the ropes with my feet to gain more momentum. Harristan taught me to climb when I was a boy, and I can still remember his voice. Just keep your eyes on the rope, Cory.

I’ve always been a strong climber, swift and nimble on the ropes. When Tessa and I were making rounds as Wes and Tessa, she was brilliant with medicine—but I was twice as fast at getting over the wall. I’d take the harder runs because of it.

To my left, the captain is quick, using a combination of ropes and rungs, but I’m nearly even with him. In another ten feet, I’ll be close to the first crossbeam and I’ll have better leverage. When he glances down to check my progress, I enjoy the flare of surprise in his eyes when he finds me nearly even with him.

“You should’ve picked the fight,” I say.

“You’re on the outside edge, and it’s a good way to fall.”

I brace my foot against the ropes and half leap, half drag myself ever higher—ahead of him. “I’ll take my chances.”

He redoubles his speed. “Did you really break Lochlan’s arm with your bare hands?”

“Yes.”

“And you claim there’s no basis for your reputation?”

“I never claimed that.” We make it to the beam, and the wind is strong up here. My fingers grip tight to the rigging, and I fight a wave of vertigo. I have to keep my eyes on the ropes, because if I look out over the sea, I know it’ll be disorienting.

I can’t believe we’re only halfway.

Rian puts a hand on the next section.

I let go of the ropes entirely, thrust my feet against the rigging, and jump.

For what seems like an eternity, I’m weightless, nothing around me but wind and sky. When my fingers close on the rope, a gust of wind catches the sail, and I nearly miss it. My feet miss the rigging entirely, but I haul myself upward with my hands, rope fibers tearing into my palms. That twinge in my shoulder turns into a needle of fire.

If I survive this, Harristan might kill me. Or Rocco might beat him to it. Down below, the shouts are incomprehensible.

There. My feet find the ropes, and I shove myself higher. The netting is narrower here as we near the top, with extra ropes and chains that make the climb more complicated. My breathing is ragged, my heart wild, but it’s worth it, because I gain a lead. I scramble along the ropes as the boat tips and sways with the current.

“If we catch a gust of wind,” Rian calls, “you’re going to end up in the ocean.”

“Save you a lot of trouble then, won’t I?”

But then, like he summoned it, a gust of wind hits the sails so hard that I lose the rope between my feet, and for a single terrifying moment, I’m suspended by nothing more than my grip on the rigging. It’s so sudden that I slip at least six inches. My palms burn, and I can’t breathe.

I make the mistake of looking at the water, and the horizon spins. The people down below seem to be a mile away.

“It’s there,” Rian says. “Just there. Swing your feet up a foot and you’ll find it.”

His voice is a bit closer, and for a second, I can’t comprehend what he’s saying. My thoughts are too focused on survival, and that means gripping this rope forever.

But then I swing my foot higher and I find the rigging. My hands are so badly rope burned that it’s a miracle they’re not bleeding, but the pain hasn’t set in like it has in my shoulder.

I stare across at Rian. I’m almost panting, my heartbeat a roar in my ears.

He doesn’t move. “Take a moment. Get your bearings.”

I don’t know if he expects me to take a breath or count to three or acknowledge some kind of fresh start, but I have no interest in those options. We’re ten feet from the top, and I know what I want. I break the eye contact and shove myself upward.

He swears and rushes to match my pace. We scrabble for the top of the mast at the same time.

But he taps it a second earlier.

For an instant, I almost can’t process that I’ve lost. We’re both a little red-faced and breathless, glaring across the inches of netting that separate us. Anger fills my gut, chasing breath out of my lungs, leaving me speechless.

His chest is heaving from the exertion. I expect to find victory in his eyes, but there’s only relief. That chases some of my anger away.

Whatever is in that room, he really doesn’t want me to see it.

Then he says mockingly, “At least you got to keep your dagger.”

“Can you not win honorably, Captain?”

“Honor!” he snaps. “What do you know of—”

He breaks off, staring out at the sea. I follow his gaze, and it’s like I’ve forgotten how high we are. The horizon tilts and shifts, and I want to close my eyes, but then I notice that those ships have drawn even closer.

“As I said,” Rian grinds out, “what do you know of honor?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. The rigging tugs and pulls at my fingers as he begins to climb down.

Fine. I can do the same.

The climb is a lot more dizzying on the way down. On the way up, I was singularly focused. I wanted to win. I needed to win.

When I’m less than ten feet away from the deck, the pain in my hands begins to match the ache in my shoulder, and I allow myself to drop, springing onto the boards. Rian does the same.

The silence between us is louder than the crew on the deck.

“Who won?” says little Anya.

“I did,” says Rian. “Despite the prince attempting to take advantage.”

“You chose the challenge, Captain. You chose it expecting to have an advantage. You can’t act as though I cheated just because I kept going.”

“I would have been well ahead of you. I only stopped to make sure you weren’t going to fall.”

“Corrick,” says Tessa. Her voice is a quiet rush. “Let me look at your hands.”

My eyes meet hers, and it’s a mistake. In her gaze, I see her worry, her unease, her longing.

For a moment, I almost give in. But I know what a mistake it is to seem vulnerable. I jerk my eyes away and press my fingers into my palms. “My hands are fine.”

“It’s done,” Rian says. “I won. I suggest you get over it, Your Highness.” He drops to a crouch and spins the blade.

I want to kick him in the face. I settle for claiming my jacket from Rocco. “You fought so hard to keep that room hidden that it’s making your claims of safety seem a bit suspect, Captain.”

He straightens to face me, while that blade keeps spinning between our feet. “I’ll keep my people safe the way I see fit,” he says.

The people on the deck have gone silent again, likely transfixed by this battle of wills. There’s a part of me that enjoyed the climb—but a larger part of me wonders if I would have enjoyed a good fight a bit more. But as I discussed with Rocco, we’re outnumbered here. If I threw a punch, I’m not entirely sure my guards would be able to keep me safe.

But still, Rian is glaring back at me. He’s waiting for it.

He’s ready for it.

Then the blade stops, and it’s pointing right at Tessa.