Ulrich stood straighter, and he tried to put on an air of superiority.

“So be it, stranger. I will accept your gift, if it is worthwhile, but then I must demand you leave the Fireheart at once.”

“Demand,” said the Wraith, his grin growing. “You amuse me.”

He tossed him a heavy bag that had been hidden behind his back. It thudded to the floor. Slowly Ulrich bent down, opening the top so he might look inside. His throat tightened, and he stepped away.

“What is the meaning of this?” he asked.

“I told you, a gift.”

Ulrich kicked it to Darrel, who opened it without hesitation. Pulling it out by the hair, the captain held a severed head, all the blood drained so that it did not drip across the cabin. The face was familiar, despite its pale color and obvious mutilation.

“Who…?” Ulrich asked, trying to swallow down the lump in his throat.

“Must I do everything?” the Wraith stepped off the bed, the movement startling both of them. Ulrich felt certain the man would draw his sword, but he kept it sheathed…for now. Once again Ulrich looked at the severed head, trying to make out the face. The bulbous nose, the slender chin. Familiar…

When it hit, he put his back to the wall and held out his dagger.

“An attack on one of us is an attack on us all,” he said, wishing he sounded braver than the panicked whine that came from his lips.

“Please,” the Wraith said, offering him an elegant bow. “I look forward to your retaliation.”

He kicked open the door and sprinted across the deck, leaving their line of sight before either could react. The moment he was gone, Darrel tossed the head back into the bag.

“What the fuck was that?” asked the captain.

“I don’t know,” Ulrich said, feeling his legs go weak. “But you’re holding the head of William Amour.”