Witches of the Deep (The Memento Mori Witch Trilogy Book 3) by C.N. Crawford

who faced him in a line. With a flicker the sun disappeared behind the island, and the last tinge of pink drained from the sky.
    “None of you wants to be here—with the exception of our little bat.” Nod paused, arching an eyebrow at Fiona. “The rest of you bless us with your presence because your loved ones offered you as tribute. Most likely because you raped or killed the wrong person. But I’m not here to judge,” he added, flashing a charming smile. “Be warned that we have our own rules here, and you may forfeit your life if you break them. They are simple.” He held up his thumb. “Do not disobey me.” Another finger. “Do not disobey Lir.” A third finger followed, and he leveled his green gaze at Berold. “And do not meddle with any woman without her consent.”
    Meddling? Fiona barely suppressed a scoff. Is that what they call it? Still, the pointed warning only gave her another reason to warm to her new captain.
    Lir gripped the quarterdeck’s railing, his shirt still hanging open. She had to admit the guy had amazing muscle tone. “You’re here because we are looking for one new sailor. Whoever impresses us, and survives both encounters with Dagon, will join our crew. The rest of you will be sent back where you came from at the end of the trials. I know none of you wants to return to prison, but we don’t have room for failures on the Proserpine .”
    Fiona bit her lip. If the Picaroons sent her back to Dogtown, Estelle could rip her to shreds. Tobias wouldn’t even get a chance to step in and burn the village to cinders.
    One spot. There was only one spot here, and she’d have to beat out all these other miscreants.
    Lir descended the stairs and stood beside his brother. His full lips and sharp cheekbones were almost feminine—an odd contrast to the roughness of his voice and the size of his shoulders. “It’s entirely possible none of you will make it through this alive. Dagon killed every one of our last group of recruits.”
    “Except for Clovis,” said Marlowe.
    “Choked to death on an eel,” added Jacques.
    Fiona’s shoulders tensed, and she gave in to the fear that crept up her spine. She hated Lir for trying to terrify them, even if he looked like a Greek god.
    “All right, enough of the doom and gloom.” Nod draped an arm over his brother’s shoulder and blew a ring of pipe smoke. “If you make it on our crew, you’ll be granted the powers of a god. I’d say that’s worth a little risk. Dagon gives us life.”
    The other Picaroons chanted in unison, “Dagon gives us life.”
    Fiona bit her lip. With a god’s power, she could completely destroy the witch hunters. And Nod had seen something in her, hadn’t he? Or he wouldn’t have brought her along. Surely he thought she had a chance against Dagon.
    The Captain paced in front of them, staring into their faces as he passed each recruit. “If Dagon wants you to live, you will choose one of us as your mentor. Tonight, each of you will walk to the end of the plank and greet the god of the deep.”
    Fiona took a deep breath. She already knew she wanted Nod as her mentor, but she could settle for the shy Marlowe or the charming Jacques. Even Valac, so proud of his goat stew, had his own quiet appeal. All she knew was that she didn’t want Lir.
    Then again, maybe she’d choose the bastard just to piss him off. No one else is gonna sign up for his attitude.
    But there weren’t enough Guardians for all of them.
    Her hand shot into the air, and Nod raised his thick eyebrows at her. “Yes?”
    “There are six of us, and only five of you.”
    Ostap snorted. “Someone’s good at counting.”
    Lir ran a hand through his hair. The frustration in his sigh was apparent. “I told you: not everyone will make it through. At least one of you will die tonight, perhaps more.”
    The dawning reality of the situation tied Fiona’s stomach in a knot. What the hell am I doing here?
    The sky had darkened to a sapphire blue.
    Nod