Fiona was in no mood for a party—and neither was Lir, judging by the grim expression he wore.
Still, when Jacques approached Fiona, holding out his hand for a dance and flashing his most charming mile, it was hard to say no. He pulled her into a reel, and as they stomped over the floorboards, she tried to shut Dagon out of her mind. If these were to be the last few hours of her life, a few minutes of respite would be nice. Over Jacques’ shoulder, she caught a glimpse of Nod sloshing his drink, singing about a romance between a selkie and a sailor.
As Jacques whisked her across the deck, he leaned in to her ear, whispering, “Don’t trust them.”
Ice rushed up her spine. “Who?”
“Nod. Valac. Marlowe. They lost their humanity when they met Dagon.”
“Marlowe too?” she breathed.
Jacques twirled her into the shade, away from the captain. “Ask him what’s in his satchel. Ask if he has Rohan’s ring.”
“Are you sure? Why would he do that?”
He twirled her across the boards. “No idea, but I saw him take out the ring to gaze at it when he thought no one was around.”
“Why haven’t you told Nod?” she asked incredulously.
“I told you: can’t trust him. You need to get out of here while you still can.”
Marlowe—but why? Anger kindled, and she couldn’t keep up the charade. She pulled away from Jacques, shooting a glance to Marlowe, who was trilling shanty at the top of his lungs.
Nostrils flaring, Fiona crossed the deck, trying to project a sense of calm. She could rip the satchel from Marlowe’s shoulders, but he was a billion times stronger than she was. She’d have to play nice. As she approached, she plastered a smile onto her face and extended her hand in invitation.
Marlowe grinned, taking her hand, and she pressed herself against him in a slow dance. He looked down at her, licking his lips. He probably didn’t get much female attention—not when he was around men like Lir and Nod, who looked like demigods.
As he spun, she caught a glimpse of Lir’s frowning face. Ignoring him, Fiona ran a hand down Marlowe’s chest and heard his breath catch. Just the way I want him—completely distracted. She ran her hand lower, and Marlowe grinned. Abruptly, she grabbed the bottom of the satchel, dumping it onto the deck.
Two things clattered on the floorboards: a small, white bone, and a silver ring that rolled across the deck, glinting in the ruddy sunlight.
Rohan’s ring.
Fiona broke away from Marlowe, snatching the ring from the floorboards. As if sensing the tension in the air, Valac stopped playing his fiddle, and silence descended. All eyes were on her as she turned the silver skull ring in her hand. Her gaze met Marlowe’s. “Did you kill Rohan?”
“What made you dump out my satchel?” he demanded.
Jacques clearly hadn’t wanted to accuse one of the other Picaroons publicly, or he would have done it himself. Her body burning with fury, Fiona simply shook her head. “It was an accident. Did you kill Rohan?”
Within a second, Lir was at Marlowe’s side, tearing the satchel from his shoulder. Marlowe paled as Lir pulled out Ostap’s wristband. “Did you find these in one of the recruits’ rooms, Marlowe?”
Nod’s shoes clacked over the deck, and the sun washed over his blue velvet suit, staining it purple. “Don’t lie to us.”
“I had to kill them.” Marlowe stared at the deck. “They broke your rules, Captain.”
“What are you talking about?” Nod barked.
Marlowe’s cheeks burned. “They were insubordinate. I couldn’t allow it. Berold threatened to meddle with Fiona. Rohan openly disagreed with your choices for the sailboat assignments. And Ostap argued with you about Fiona’s desertion. The only reason she’s not dead is that you never forbade anyone to leave the ship. Otherwise I’d have killed her myself.”
Still leaning against the mainmast, Ives shot her a smug look, as if to say I told you so.
“I forbade anyone from murdering the recruits,” Nod growled, his eyes darkening.
Marlowe met his gaze. “In your wisdom, you forbade the recruits from murdering each other. I’ve never broken any of your rules, Captain. I never would. I’m here to serve you, and to guard the relic in our ancient tradition.”
Fiona’s heart thudded. Nod can’t let him get away with this.
To her horror, the Captain grinned and clapped Marlowe on the back before turning to her and Ives. “Now you see what I expect of you, if you survive. I demand unwavering loyalty. Once Dagon blesses you, you will be mine. Together, we will protect the relic from falling into the wrong hands. This is our sacred mission.”
Fiona felt sick. Slave to a maniac. She turned, facing the ocean, and tried to keep down her lunch.
In the next moment, Lir was beside her. “It’s not too late,” he whispered. “You can still get out of here.”
“How? Will Nod let me leave?”
He shook his head. “No. You’d have to escape with me.”