The green sparks illuminated the name, written in thick black letters on the bow, and faded into darkness. George sucked in his breath.
No. No, he must have read it wrong.
He waited for another flash.
“George, breathe,” Jack growled into his ear.
The lightning flashed, illuminating the letters once more. It still said the same thing. George went cold. There could be only two possibilities for this ship to be here now, and he couldn’t deal with either.
Again. He had to see it again.
“What the hell is the matter with you?” Jack hissed.
The magic sparked off the boards, and he read the name again, for the third time, each letter like the stab of a sword into his gut.
George yanked the lens out of his eye. “We have to get down there.”
“You said we had to stay put.”
“And now I’m saying we have to get down there.”
He slithered backward off the dune and took off running toward the beach.
Jack caught up with him. They went to ground again just behind the “slaves.”
“Why?” Jack whispered, barely audible.
George paused for a second, weighing Jack’s right to know against his explosive temper. If Jack blew up, they would never get on that ship.
He deserved to know. Better do it now.
“Because that ship’s name is
Jack recoiled. For a moment he thought it over, and then the right gears caught in his mind. He made the connection between their last name and the name of the ship. His eyes sparked with fire. “Did they kill Dad?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is Dad selling slaves?”
“I don’t know.”
“He left us to rot in the Edge so he could sell slaves?” A snarl roiled through Jack’s voice.
George grabbed his shoulder. “Hold it in. Not until we’re on board and know exactly what’s going on.”
Jack ducked his head, hiding the changeling glow of his eyes, and sucked in the air through his nose.
They would have only one shot at this. The boats had to be close enough for Richard to be unable to do anything about their presence but far enough away that the sailors wouldn’t see any commotion.
George took a deep breath.
The leading boat rolled over the surf, its crew distracted.
Now.
George lunged forward, and Jack followed. They dashed into the line of slaves and thrust themselves behind Charlotte.
“What the devil are you doing?” Richard growled under his breath.
He didn’t even turn. The man must have eyes in the back of his head.
“Changing the plan.” George ripped off a piece of his shirt and twisted it around Jack’s hands into a makeshift tie.
“Go back,” Charlotte hissed.
Richard dismounted and walked toward George, pulling a pair of handcuffs off his belt. They stood face-to- face, Richard glaring down from the height of an extra four inches. It was a furious glare suffused with so much menace, it could end a riot. George stared straight into it. Today, he had the will to match it.
“You gave me your word,” Richard ground out.
George took a step forward, his voice barely above a whisper, meant for Richard alone. “The vessel’s name is
He took the cuffs out of Richard’s hands and slipped them onto his own wrists with a click. “It’s my father’s ship. Either the slavers killed my father and took his vessel, or he’s working for them, and he’s responsible for his own mother’s death. I need to know which it is. If you stand in my way, I will move you, Richard.”
FOR a moment Richard stood there, glowering, then he checked the cuffs on George’s wrists. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
He turned around and strode to the front, next to Jason.
George exhaled. To Richard, family was everything. He understood blood debts and the right to exact justice for one’s family, but it had been a gamble.
His father couldn’t work for the slavers. Even he couldn’t have sunk that low. Even Rose, who bordered on hating the man, always said that he was never mean or violent. Opportunistic, unwise, and selfish, yes. Could he be selfish enough to work for the slavers? George was thinking in circles. He had to get a grip.
The boats landed, their flat bottoms scraping the sand with a soft sibilance. An older man stepped out first, followed by four other sailors. Tall and broad-shouldered, he walked like a sailor, lurching slightly with each step, planting his feet firmly on the ground.
George peered at him, noting every detail. Gray eyes, dishwater-blond hair, cut short, older face, once probably handsome, but puffy from lack of sleep and likely too much alcohol, graying stubble on the cheeks . . . Was it him? He strained, trying to remember, but in his memory his father’s face was a vague blur. He used to remember. He used to know what his dad looked like, but the years had passed, and now the memories were lost.
“Crow,” the man said. “Where’s Voshak?”
“Hunter got him,” Richard answered, his voice a ragged growl. “Shot him on the edge of Veresk as we were riding out.”
“And Ceyren?”
“Got him, too. Arrow to the eye. A fucked-up thing to see.”
The man sighed. “That’s what he usually does. Somebody should take care of that fucker. He’s cutting into our profits.”
“Someone will take him down,” Richard-Crow hacked and spat in the sand. “Ain’t gonna be me, I tell you that.”
“I hear you.” The man looked past Richard at the slaves. “You did well for yourself.”
“Did all right,” Richard-Crow agreed.
Maybe it wasn’t him. Maybe the slavers had killed him and someone else captained the ship. It would be far better if their father was dead than profiting from the murder of his own mother.
“I take it you’ll be coming on board instead of Voshak,” the man said.
“Me and everyone you see here,” Richard-Crow growled.
The man raised his eyebrows.
Richard stepped forward, leaning in as if ready to punch. “I’ve been on a crew for four years. First, they gave the crew to Bes. Then, when his old lady killed him, they gave it to Carter. After Carter got his dumb ass shot, I went to them and told them to give me a crew. They said I ain’t got leadership potential. They gave it to Voshak instead. Well, their damn leadership potential is rotting in the woods. This is my crew, and I’m taking my wolves in to let them see that.”
The sailor raised his hand. “Okay, okay. I got it, spitting wonder. I don’t get involved in politics. I just ferry the merchandise. You want a ride to the island, you got it. Load them up.”
“Move them,” Richard snarled.
A whip snapped above George’s head. The slavers started forward, toward the boats. He was being herded like human cattle.
George moved, following Charlotte. He was hot and cold at the same time, every cell of his body keyed up, as if the core of his body were boiling. Sweat drenched his hairline.
The sailor’s gaze snagged on Charlotte. “Nice. I was always a sucker for a blonde with a good rack.”
George shut his eyes for the tiniest moment, trying to recall what little memories remained from his
