“A captain’s hat,” Remy finishes for me.“That man is the captain of one of the ships.”

His tone is almost reverent, and I glance athim. His eyes serious, he appears enthralled by the scene unfoldingbefore us: a captain greeting a new lieutenant who looks more likea boy.

“I could have killed him,” I say, standing,watching as the small boat leaves the shore, riding the waves alonga sunlit path of sparkling ocean, all the way to a ship that looksstrangely as if it’s been left for decades to rot and weatheraway.

My father’s words ring in my ears:

Sometimes the more important choice is notwhen to take a life, but when to spare one.

But this wasn’t my choice—it was Remy’s. Ihope it was the right one.

~~~

“We have to tell someone,” Remy says for thefourteenth time.

I shake my head. “Who? Your father?”

“My father, your father, one of the otherRiders…anyone.” The more worked up Remy gets, the more his hands dothe talking along with his mouth.

We’ve been walking for an hour, slowlyworking our way back to the camp.

“And what will you tell them?” I ask.

“That we saw the Soakers and…” His voicedrops away sharply, like a knife blade disappearing into thesand.

“And what?” I prod.

“And nothing,” he says, stopping. “You’reright. There’s nothing to tell. When the ships left, they sailedaway from us, which the Riders already know. We’d just get introuble for being this far south.”

I stop too. “My mother lets me run as farafield as I want,” I say, pride pulling at the corners of mylips.

“And look where that got you. You almost gotyourself killed today.”

Anger rises in my chest. “You don’t knowanything,” I say. “I swear to Mother Earth I’d have killed thatboy.” I push Remy away because he’s gotten too close.

“Maybe,” he says, laughing. He sits in thesand, looks out to sea. “But that man would’ve killed you for sure.I saved your life.”

“You did not,” I say, every muscle in my bodygoing tight. “I can handle myself. I’ll be a Rider before you.”

Remy laughs again, and this time it sounds sogood I can’t help but relax the tension in my body. I slump downnext to him. “What the hell’s so funny?”

“You are already a Rider,” he says, mimickingmy tone from earlier, when I’d said the same thing to him. He looksright at me, and the sun, which is arcing back toward the horizon,lights up his brown eyes.

I roll my eyes, but I can’t stop the smilethat forms on my lips. Turning away to hide it, I say, “Youfollowed me like you were hunting a jackrabbit. Why?”

“Look at me.”

“No.”

He grabs my arm and I feel the same warmth,the same breathlessness that I felt before, when we were closetogether atop the mound. It’s like when the sun breaks through theclouds on a warm summer’s day, and you feel it on your skin,melting together with the breeze and becoming a part of you. Igrimace, as if a nest of biting ants have slipped into mypants.

I look at him and my breath catches in mythroat. The intensity in his expression takes me by surprise. “Youseemed upset when you left the stables. I wanted to make surenothing happened to you.”

Although I feel a flutter in my chest, Iscowl at him, shake off his hand, stand. “I don’t need you lookingout for me,” I say. “Don’t follow me ever again.”

I run, refusing to look behind, although Ican feel Remy’s grin on my back.

I run the entire way back to the camp.

Chapter Nine

Huck

The captain of theMayhem is a big man, broad-shouldered and bearded, not unlike myfather.

The similarities end there.

His silver medals are smudged and rusty, theexact opposite of my father’s, which are polished every morningbefore he pins them to his shirt. His uniform is wrinkled, fadedand dusty, like he’s been keeping it in a corner of his cabin, onlybringing it out when absolutely necessary. He blinks twice toooften, like he can barely keep his eyes open.

“Is this my new lieutenant?” he asks in abooming voice as we approach.

Hobbs strides forward, pushing a scrollforward toward the captain. “Here are the boy’s orders,” hesays.

Ignoring Hobbs’ verbal jab, I hurry to catchup and step past him and his scroll. “Lieutenant Jones, at yourservice,” I say, extending a hand, trying to look confident,although my legs are shaking. I lock my knees and look the captainin the eye, like my father taught me to do. Always look a man inthe eye when you meet him. Not only will it prove your strength,but you’ll discover much about theirs.

The captain locks on my gaze, his blue eyesred and swollen. I’m not sure about this man’s strength, but hedidn’t get much sleep last night. But neither did I, so I guessthat makes us even. The thought brings a smile to my lips.

“Captain Jebediah L. Montgomery, the Third,”the captain says. “But everyone just calls me Jeb,” he adds with ared-eyed wink. Turning to Hobbs, he snatches the scroll and says,“Thank you, Lieutenant.”

I expect Hobbs to leave, but he stands there,unblinking, his usual scowl blanketing his face. I think CaptainMontgomery expects him to leave, too, because he says, “Thank you,Mr. Hobbs,” again.

“Read the orders, Captain,” Hobbs says,looking out to sea absently.

“Are you giving me a direct order,Lieutenant?” the captain says, his voice taking on the shape ofanger, but not quite reaching the thickness of it.

“Just read them,” Hobbs says, still staringat the ocean, ignoring the captain’s question. A show of disrespectlike that to my father would earn him a week in the brig, or worse.I’ve seen my father send a man into the sharp-tooth infested drinkfor looking at him the wrong way. A ship is only as strong asthe men that occupy it, he used to tell me. And the admiralmust be the strongest of all.

This’ll be good, I think. I wait forit, for the explosion, for Captain Montgomery to order his oarsmen,who are waiting to launch the landing boat into the water, to bindHobbs, to send him back to The Merman’s Daughter to be dealt withby my father.

His eyes narrow and his nose turns up, but hedoesn’t say anything, just calmly unties the blue ribbon from thescroll, unfurls the brittle pages, and reads the long, elegantscript that I recognize as my father’s handwriting. I try to readalong, but the tall captain is holding it too high for me to seemuch more than a few words.

Thankfully, he mutters parts of it as hereads: “Captain Montgomery…I hereby present my son…a lieutenant onThe Sailors’ Mayhem…improve efficiency, morale, order…” He looks upat me at that part, chewing on his chapped lips. Before I can stopmyself, I look down at my feet, trying to count the grains of sandon the toe of one of my boots. I’m not sure what that says aboutmy strength, but it can’t be good.

Only when the captain continues reading do Ilook up. “Lieutenant Hobbs is ordered to oversee Lieutenant Jonesas he becomes acclimated to life on a new ship.”

“What?” I say at the same time as thecaptain. Both of us turn to look at Hobbs, who ignores us.

“There’s no room for another lieutenant on myship,” the captain says.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” I say.Especially not one like Hobbs.

“They’re not my orders,” Hobbs says to thesea. “The Deep Blue knows I don’t want this anymore than you do.The admiral insisted.”

“No,” the captain says, and the soft breezeof relief washes over me. It’s the captain’s ship—his rules.

“The admiral said you’d say that,” Hobbssays, finally looking away from the ocean, meeting the captain’sstare. “He also said his decision is final, and if you make me callhim off his ship, well, let’s just say you don’t want to do that…”Sometimes the implied threat is more effective than the threatitself, or even carrying out the threat. This whole meeting isbecoming a demonstration of the lessons my father taught me growingup.