The crate’s warding sigla gleamed even in the ship’s shadows, traced by golden sparks. Intrigued by the spells, Lithilian stepped nearer. The crate had been the only cargo loaded.

She ran her fingers over the wood. It vibrated beneath her touch, cold as bone. She began to unfasten the top’s latches.

“Wouldn’t do that,” Captain Ghar’s voice said from behind her left ear.

Lithilian yelped and jerked back toward Isthmar. His ears flickered and all his fur stood on end as he stared at Ghar, horror on his face. She followed his gaze.

The once tidy captain wore only salt stained rags. His hair hung around his face in a dirty, stringy curtain. Blood seeped from the corner of his mouth and stained his teeth.

Ghar contorted his face into a hideous harlequin grin. “Leave the nice box alone and go back below deck. We’re busy, right, Frey?”

The emaciated woman stepped from the shadows beside the captain, leaning on a long wicked-looking spear. Her ratty hair hid her face.

“Right,” Frey breathed.