Page 70 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

Griffin brightened immediately.

“However,” Kazimir continued, his tone brooking no argument, “you’re sleeping tonight. Actual sleep. Even if Thorne has to knock you upside the head like he did Sebastian.”

“That won’t be necessary, my lord!” Griffin squeaked.

I rolled up my sleeves. “Thorne, help me set up targets.”

We commandeered two crates from the cargo and cut rough holes in the tops, spacing them about twenty paces apart on the deck. The ship’s gentle sway would add an extra challenge, as would the wind.

Kazimir disappeared below deck and returned with two bottles of something that smelled strong enough to dissolve iron. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it properly. Miss a throw, take a drink.”

“That seems unwise,” Griffin said.

“That’s the point,” I said, using tongs to fish out a liver. It squelched wetly in my grip. “Oh, that’s horrible. Perfect.”

“I’ll keep score,” Captain Brecca offered, abandoning her charts with the barely contained glee of someone who’d seen a lot of weird shit in her career but nothing quite like this. “Haven’t seen entertainment this twisted since the Pirate King’s birthday bash. That ended with three deaths and a marriage proposal.”

“Just keeping score?” I asked. “Not playing?”

“Can’t drink on duty.” She pulled out a small notebook. “But I’ll take side bets on who vomits first.”

“My money’s on the pretty lord,” Thorne said, nodding at Sebastian. He hadn’t bothered to lower his voice, but Sebastian didn’t seem bothered by the assessment.

We divided into teams through the simple expedient of Kazimir claiming me before anyone else could speak. That left Sebastian, Griffin, and Thorne to sort themselves out.

“I’ll take Griffin,” Sebastian said, surprising everyone.

“Really?” Griffin’s voice cracked slightly.

“You’ve got good hand-eye coordination from all that delicate enchantment work,” Sebastian reasoned. “Also, Thorne scares me.”

Thorne shrugged. “So I’m alone?”

“You could wait for Nyx to return from hunting,” I suggested.

“I’ll manage.”

The first round was educational. The organs had vastly different aerodynamics—brains threw straight but splattered on impact, hearts were dense but had an unfortunate tendency to bounce, and the mystery organs (we’d given up trying to identify some of them) flew in completely unpredictable arcs.

Sebastian’s first throw, a kidney, went wide by three feet and slapped wetly against the deck.

“Drink,” Brecca called cheerfully.

Sebastian took a careful sip and immediately coughed. “What is this?”

“Pirate moonshine,” Kazimir said.

My throw landed dead center with a satisfying splat. “Ha!”

“Beginner’s luck,” Thorne said, then landed his own organ—possibly a gallbladder—right through the hole.

Griffin stepped up, holding what was definitely not a human heart. It had too many chambers and a suspicious number of valves. He squinted at the target, adjusted his glasses, then threw with surprising accuracy.

“Yes!” He did a little dance that involved a lot of flailing limbs.

Kazimir’s throw was perfect, because of course it was. The liver sailed through the air and through the hole without even touching the sides.

“Show-off,” I muttered.