Despite being irritatingly familiar with the awkward morning dance, Vallin had never quite figured out how to handle it best. He was an early riser, waking the moment the sun peaked out from the horizon, but for some reason, his company never seemed to be. They also had the vicious habit of curling and twisting themselves so tightly into him that he'd have to perform acrobatics to free himself. He stopped trying to be a host a long time ago. These days, he simply goes on with his routine and slams the door behind him to send the message.

Unlike everyone else, he didn't vow to himself not to do this kind of thing anymore, nor did he find his reputation anything but useful. He could get a deal out of any woman, threaten any man who already had a woman, and yet he maintained no weakness for others to exploit. Ballsy, confident and resourceful—a good look.

Vallin shielded the abrupt sun with his hand, squinting in the sunlight. He closed the door to his captain's quarters and took the balcony steps two at a time. He reached the deck and glanced out at the rail.

It was typical of him to spend the night on the ship when the rest of the crew was passed out in port somewhere. He usually took someone with him, but he preferred to be here when the sun rose. It was comforting to him, waking up to that empty ship full of possibility.

This morning, though, there was a heavy feel to the air, as if a storm had recently passed. He hadn't known one was coming, but the deck of the Avourienne was soaked and the sides of the hull had seaweed stuck to it from where the waves had splashed nearly to the rail. It had been a raging storm by the looks of things, but it was passed now. He squinted into the ocean to the east, where they were to continue their path today. The clouds were gathered and gray—the same storm that had rocked his ship. The Avourienne could handle a storm, but it would be much faster to simply go back the way they came. Practical was practical, logic was logic.

"You're much better company at night."

Vallin glanced over at Rhea briefly, then turned back around to pick a long strand of seaweed off the rail.

"You might as well toss me overboard," she said, letting out a loud laugh as she joined him. "You must have a girl already. In port somewhere?"

Vallin frowned. The clouds were heavy out there; he and Rusher should've seen this storm coming. Perhaps it had come from the south? Storms rarely came from the south.

"I don't," he said, turning to face her. Had her teeth always been that crooked?

She snorted and stretched out her arms. "That's insane. You should have four." She stretched out her shoulders.

Vallin said nothing, but he did watch her move. The grace of a typical woman, just not quite a confident one.

"I've gotta ask," she said as she continued to stretch.

"Please don't."

She laughed. "Oh, they always ask you, don't they?"

Sometimes, if they were sailors.

"What if I don't go back to the Starling?" she asked. "What if I stay here on this ship?"

Vallin sighed. She failed to see how utterly normal she was—and the Avourienne wasn't for those kinds of people, especially women. If they had some sort of special skill, perhaps he'd consider it, like Miller for medicine and Tailsley for a man who couldn't be convinced with charisma. Rhea, though, didn't have any unique talent. He could tell because he'd been in this business for a decade, and he knew what made a sailor and what brought them down. Rhea was not beneficial to him for anything other than one thing, and she wasn't incredible at that, either.

"I take exceptional people," Vallin told her, leaning against the rail. "That's not you, I'm afraid."

She raised her eyebrows, putting on a show of nonchalance. "Perhaps we do come for you one day," she said as she began to walk away, "and let us remember this moment."

"I look forward to it," Vallin told her. As she jumped from the rail to the cliff, he turned back around.

He should've seen that storm coming. He wasn't sure how long he'd stared at the clouds, but it was long enough for the crew to begin to stumble aboard. He waited at the entrance, his head clear. He didn't drink nearly enough to give himself a headache, but his crew often did.

"Bates, you look disgusting," he said. "Take a dip before you get back on my ship."

The first mate groaned and turned back around.

"Britter," Vallin acknowledged as the young strategist boarded. "You look well."

"Thank you, Captain," Britter said. "Water's the key."

The old scout boarded the ship shortly after, his face stuck in a permanent cringe.

"Jackson!" Vallin shouted.

The man flinched as he passed. "Why so loud, Captain?" he whispered back.

"If my voice is too loud, you drank too much."

Jackson mumbled something as he walked down the deck.

"Morning, Captain," Everson said to Vallin. His dark eyes were clear and his hair was perfectly brushed back, but there was evidence of a fight on him—the dark half-moons of someone's nails disappearing under his uniform, the slight discolouration over his jaw.

"Everson," Vallin acknowledged. "Storm rolled over us. Nasty winds out southeast."

Everson squinted out at the sky. "Shit. How'd we miss that?"

"Came from the south," Vallin said.

Everson sighed. "We go back the way we came, I guess?"

"Already set her course," he replied. "Get her ready." Not his job, of course, but the strategist obeyed with no complaints.

Bates stumbled back on board, water dripping from his clothes.

"Take a nap, Bates," Vallin ordered. "Next time you drink like that, I'll have Miller pump your stomach."

"Yes, Cap," Bates mumbled back. He trudged down the deck.

"Sails out!" Vallin shouted, turning back to the main deck. "Jackson, get up on that wheel in the next thirty seconds or I replace you with Starle. We all know he's looking for a specialty."

As Jackson plodded to the wheel, Vallin took a step over to the stairs and began to ascend the balcony.

"Kourvourk, we're starving," Vallin called across the deck. "If you don't cook something, Bates will eat you."

"Aye, sir!" Kourvourk's white hair disappeared into the kitchen.

"Trelly!" Vallin yelled to the crow's nest scout. "Why the hell aren't you up there?"

Trelly's dark eyes turned to his Captain, and he motioned an apology. He immediately began to climb the pole.

"Rusher," Vallin said to the navigator as he reached the top of the balcony. "Plot our new course; talk to Everson and he'll fill you in. Britter, you tell me what the hell happened with that damn storm."

"Aye!" Britter called back.

"Tailsley!" Vallin shouted. "Lift those ropes and tell Courtley to pull up the anchor. If he needs my help for it again, I'm putting a pull-up bar in his room."

The crew members did their duties as Vallin placed both hands on the rail in front of him. The ropes were lifted, and the Avourienne sailed from the cliff, passing by the slower ships casting off at the same time. When they came by the Starling, Vallin caught Slint's eye, steering her out of port.

Vallin gave him a wave, but the other captain did not return the expression. One day, sure. But for now, Vallin remained the King of the Sea.

The Avourienne slid through the water easily, the black hull glistening and crimson sails reflecting golden sunlight. They'd had a slight detour, but there were plenty of ships to raid back the way they'd come. Plenty of success to have, plenty of everything to be had.

So the Avourienne sailed away, in all her glory, captain perched atop his balcony and her crew making way for her. Sailing back to the Siren islands, fleeing a southern storm that no one could've predicted.

*

"Four on Britter," Rusher said. "He doesn't drink enough."

"Good man," Vallin noted. He tipped his bottle to the strategist. "Smart man."

Britter smirked back at his captain. "High praise, sir," he replied.

Vallin clinked his bottle. He liked his strategist. Very much. Or perhaps he was just drunk. "Four on Bates!" he shouted across the room.

"I thought you said Bates drinks too much," Rusher pointed out.

Vallin grinned. "I'm experimenting. If we can make Bates drink twenty bottles, that'll make him ten percent liquor. I've never seen such a thing."

Across the room, Bates rolled his eyes and turned away. He didn't take his four drinks.

"We sailing across the map, Captain?" Rusher asked, leaning back on the couch. They'd stolen that couche from some prissy privateer whose ship was most certainly growing coral.

"What, you mean the Kingsland?" Britter wondered aloud.

"That's the plan," Vallin answered. "Nice and warm up there this time of year."

"Fuck the King," Starle said.

"Fuck the King!" the rest of the crew shouted.

Vallin glanced over at Everson, talking with Rusher about their plans. His brow was clear and defined, expression focused. He looked back over to Bates, throwing a dart three feet from its target.

Drunk executions for sober decisions. He stood up, straightened his coat and shouted, "Eyes up!"

All pairs of eyes turned to him, silence immediately ensuing.

"I've made a difficult decision as of today," Vallin began, voice loud and clear. As famous as he was for these speeches, he rather disliked so many people watching him all at once. Still, that didn't mean he wouldn't put on a show when it was called for.

"My dear crew, we've been through it all, wouldn't you say?"

Echoes and yells filled the room, cheers and laughs. Vallin lifted his bottle to get them to silence again.

"You've all shown me and the Avourienne great loyalty, for which it's my job to organize your safety and your well-being. To keep up our reputation, to adapt where it is necessary, to do everything within my power to get this ship to thrive. Lads, I've decided to change my first mate."

Vallin avoided their direct gazes as they shouted with approval. They may be surprised that Vallin was bumping Bates, but they would not be surprised about who would take his place.

"Everson will be replacing Bates. Effective immediately."

The crew once again broke into whoops at once, their cries echoing in the room, leading him to breathe an invisible sigh of relief. It was the right decision for them, then, didn't feel off to them as it did for him.

Everson, who was being thrown about excitedly, offered him a steady grin, but something was missing from it. He nodded his chin towards the door, so Vallin followed him and left the cheers to waft away as they made their way out to the deck.

Everson glanced back at him, smile dissolving into something more serious. He tapped the rail, and the moment was quiet for a second. Then, "I didn't think you'd ever do it, Vallin."

It was the first time he'd ever said his captain's first name, but it suited him and his position now. "You'll take it?" Vallin asked.

Everson lifted his brows. "Of course I'll take it. I just..."

Vallin listened intently. Everson's voice was wrong, and the air was too cold for such a warm season.

"I'm grateful. And I want this. But—I've got a feeling, Cap." He was whispering despite the silence of the deck.

Vallin glanced to his right, where he could just see Sirennia disappearing under the veil of darkness.

"A feeling," he repeated.

"A feeling," Everson said again. "A bad one. A very bad one. Look, I get this sometimes, and I know it sounds crazy but I'm never wrong about it. "

Vallin wanted to tell his new first mate that he was acting insane, that he was just paranoid, but then he'd be a hypocrite. He knew this feeling, and he'd had it from the moment Sirennia was in the vicinity.

There was a noise from the captain's quarters.

Both men turned to the balcony, silent and still in the night.

"You hear that, Captain?" Everson asked, panic seeping in his tone.

"Relax, Adrian," Vallin said, pushing down his own fear. "I'll go see what it is. Probably one of those damn birds on my desk again. Stay here."

"I'll go with you," he insisted.

"You won't," Vallin told him, brushing by the other man. If there was something in that room, it was better they stayed separate. He ascended the steps quickly and looked back at Everson, standing at the bottom. He waved him off.

Nothing to worry about. It was one of those damn birds. He pushed open the door, leaving it that way behind him. The captain's quarters were dark and silent, everything where it should be. He glanced towards the balcony. Dark.

Vallin felt the ship rock. It was slight, but it was there—perhaps only to a captain who knew his ship as well as he did. Something had touched the Avourienne, whether it be a reef or something else.

He paused, darkness engulfing his shadow. He glanced again out the door, prepared to get back out there to figure out what was touching his ship.

Then he heard it again, and it called to him. It drew out tendrils of curiosity and faith and begged his feet to move in that direction. Go in there. Don't go outside. See what's in there. You want to see what's in there. It'll change your life.

It was coming from his bedroom, a rustling sound. A sound that birds didn't make. Vallin glanced out the door again. Back out, to save his ship, put a stop to it, or follow that little pull of fate. Go in there. See what it is. It'll change everything.

He walked towards his bedroom. He got those feelings occasionally—someone guiding him to some decision, but never quite like this. He didn't hesitate to open the door, but his body was still attentive. Nothing would be missed, not a thing.

Something was in there, through the darkness. He took a step into the room and felt air rush to his right, but when he turned, there was just darkness.

His room was empty. Standing still in the doorway, Vallin couldn't see anything unordinary. There was nothing in there after all.

Turn around. Turn around turn around turnaroundturnaroundturnaround—

"Oh, love, they don't exaggerate about you."

His hands were on the pistol, up to the threat without second thought. Someone was in his chair, lounging back, ankles crossed over the desk.

Fighting with his calm facade, Vallin took a step forward so the moonlight could give him a better view.

She tapped the desk a few times, eyes downcast as she ran a long finger down the drawers. "It's a good thing, though," she said. "Hardly anyone has an ill word to say about you."

Vallin took a step to his right, catching her eye when she looked up at his movement. Golden, like daylight. Like a Siren.

"Not quite," she noted. "But close."

Vallin took another step to the side, getting a better look at her. That rare sense of control slipping was bubbling up, the feeling that he wasn't going to win whatever fight was in front of him. Sirens were unstable on their feet—easy to beat on land, but she was no such thing. She'd gotten from his room to his chair with hardly a sound. She moved her fingers like a killer. She'd deduced his thoughts before he said them aloud. This was a threat, no matter what it looked like.

Vallin lowered the pistol a little; it looked weak to keep it pointed when she appeared weaponless. He tilted his head, trying to get a better view as he spoke with his utmost calm, "Eyes like that have no right to set foot on this ship."

"I really have no right to do most of the things I do," she replied.

His response came slow and careful, "Get off this ship before I shoot."

She slid her fingers over the surface of the desk, dropping something onto the wood. "Shoot," she said.

Vallin looked down at the object. It was a bullet. The bullet, his bullet. The one from his weapon. He looked back up.

"Look at you, love," she said. "Finally out of your league."

Vallin spun the gun so he was holding it by the barrel. "I can hit just fine." To hit, though, he'd have to get close. To get close, he subjects himself to whatever it is she can do in return.

She ignored him, placing her hands flat on the desk to stand. "Is that not what you long for, though? To be out of your league?"

Vallin watched her round the corner of the desk. She was tall, like most Sirens, but she lacked their typical fragile appearance, which was intimidating for him. She wasn't quite sharply pretty like a Siren, either, but rather unnervingly so, in that way that almost looked fake or drawn.

"Thank you," she said. "But don't you want to be in over your head, love? Isn't that the kind of twisted adventure a man like you lusts for?" She smiled, sharp canines ready. "I know you're tired of winning. I know you hate repetition."

Vallin did hate repetition, hated being able to guess things, liked a challenge, but he wasn't sure if she was any of those to him. She was a threat, without a doubt, but was she better than him? Logic said no. Vallin could, with the right angle and force, disable her. If she was a Siren, though, he could not win a battle against magic.

"I could care less for your soul reading of me," he replied. "You're getting off this ship—"

She acted while he was talking. While he was focused on the words he was saying and not on that tiny, nearly unnoticeable but telltale glint near her finger.

Why didn't he expect it? Numerous reasons. It wasn't logical to use a knife on someone who outsized you and your reach. Throwing was always an option, but then you'd be out of a weapon, and combat was too dynamic and knives too slow to ever truly hit what you meant to.

Unless, of course, you could predict exactly what someone was going to do. Exactly how much they'd react, exactly how much they'd recoil or flinch, and do the math in your head.

When Vallin stepped out of the way, using the pistol to deflect, her knife still knocked the gun right out of his hand—even though he'd only begun moving after the blade left her fingers.

The pistol hit the wall behind him, clattering to the ground.

Vallin had seen that genre of mind before, the wickedly brilliant who managed to combine combat intelligence with math and make themselves theoretically unbeatable, but they'd always lacked the raw skill to execute the moves.

Vallin glanced back at the pistol on the ground, then turned back to her. A tactic switch, then. He watched her, a subtle expression of entertainment on his face. "Oh, you're too good to be doing someone else's bidding," he mused.

She didn't smile, didn't react to the flamboyancy, but he did notice that little tug of satisfaction in her that he'd guessed himself unworthy of her physical game.

"It's not anyone's bidding," she replied, one step closer. He had a new respect for her now, and it worried him.

Still, he refused to take a step back as he said, "No? Kill me, then. You've got more knives."

She watched him carefully, any hint of satisfaction gone.

"Unless, of course," he continued, "your instructions are not to kill me, but only disarm me. Is that it? Just following orders?"

That kind of baiting almost always worked in Vallin's line of business—egotistical men who refused to acknowledge that they were not the ones who gave orders but rather the ones who followed them.

She made no indication of annoyance or dissatisfaction or anger or anything at all. She was a master of the poker face, dissecting his features like she couldn't quite understand something.

"Hands up," she said.

But ego. But reputation. Vallin Bardarian was a captain, the soul of the Avourienne. While he may internally long for challenge, he did not desire his hands above his head in any circumstance.

"No."

"Ego," she said. "Reputation."

"Yes, darling, you read people easily. It's impressive, but frankly, it's also unsettling. I don't prefer it to civil conversation."

"You're good at that," she noted.

"At what?"

"Deflection by way of animated charm."

"Nonsense. No one is more animated than you," he said.

There was a thing, something unfamiliar. Something beautiful and sharp and stunning. Some sort of sound maybe, something dazzling, something like...

Vallin stepped back, startled, out of the haze. She'd come closer, causing him to stumble back more, until he was a good distance from her. Was that—

No, no. The song hadn't come from her. It came from outside.

She may not be a Siren, but the real ones were here.