This could've gone better for Novari. For one, she could've gotten strategist out of Bardarian if he hadn't called her bluff. And second, the guard at the far end of the hallway was a major issue. This entire island was going to know what she was up to, and freeing Bardarian and the Avourienne was war.

Novari whirled around to face Bardarian, thinking of a way out of this. "The building is gas-lit. I need to shut it off."

"Turn off the lights?" the black-eyed man asked, glancing over her shoulder. "That's hardly helpful."

Novari found him hardly helpful. "Sirens require water to stimulate their vision. Banished Sirens are virtually blind in the dark. Once I get the lights off, they'll be stumbling around. Only about half of the people in this building will be able to see, and they're not violent."

"How do we make that happen?" Bardarian asked, painfully calm.

Novari took a deep breath to match his eerie control. "The majority of you stay here, working your way down this corridor. You." Novari pointed again at the man with the black eyes. "Your name?" She was tired of pointing.

"Everson. Adrian, if you'd like," the black-eyed man replied, a ghost of a smile on his face.

Novari snapped her fingers, choosing to ignore his arrogance for now. "Everson, you're in charge of this group. You fight your way down this hallway. Two right turns, one left turn. Another two right turns, another two left turns, then hold your ground. Can you do that?"

Everson made a curt nod.

"Repeat it," Novari said. Any capable man should know to repeat an order like that.

"Two right turns, one left, another two right and another two left, then hold."

Novari watched him for a mere moment. His memory was withered and used, but it was also reliant. She could see it in the vicious pits of his eyes.

"I'll meet you while you're holding. The smallest of you—that girl and the boy beside her, the two of you are with me." Novari turned again back to Bardarian. "I need you and..." She paused. "That one."

Bardarian nodded his head to the man behind him. "Britter."

Britter stepped out into her view, a long-haired boy with startling blue eyes. He looked fast and lean—exactly what Novari needed.

"Britter, the small ones and Bardarian are with me. The rest of you stay and follow Everson down the hall. Is everyone clear?"

Bardarian stepped around her. "They're clear."

Novari spun around to follow him. Her group pulled away from Everson's as she caught up to Bardarian. She walked softly, carefully, eyes darting as they rounded the corner, the opposite way Everson's team was going.

"Door on your right," Novari told them, pushing by to open it before they could. She turned around before she twisted the doorknob. She jutted her chin to the girl about her age and the young boy she'd picked out. "I need something to call you two."

The girl's seafoam eyes darted. "Tailsley." She nudged the boy. "This is Visco."

Novari turned back around, opening the door. She held up her hand to the crew behind her. "Wait out here. Give me one minute."

Novari slipped inside. Only Milia was in the room, her spinning at Novari's entrance.

"Novari! Hey!"

Before she could answer, the door burst open behind her. Bardarian and Britter came through, followed by the other two.

"Noises down the hall," Britter told her quietly. "Better to hide than fight."

He was right. Still, Novari didn't like it.

Milia's eyes darted to Bardarian. "Oh, you're—" She cut off. "What's going on?"

Novari glanced at Bardarian, then nodded to his knife. She didn't want to do this with her hands. Too intimate, too close.

Bardarian placed it in her hand, and her fingers wrapped around it as she stepped towards the bed.

"Hold on," Milia said, her laugh bubbling out involuntarily as she backed up. "You're not—Novari."

She took a deep breath in and stepped quickly. She backed Milia into the wall, didn't bother to do any of her fancy knife tricks as she raised it.

"Novari, please. I won't say anything—"

Novari put it across her throat. The goriest way, perhaps, but also the quickest. There was no scream of fear, no moment of pain. Novari wiped it clean on Milia's shirt and handed it back to Bardarian.

Milia's throat made a bubbling noise as she folded. Novari averted her eyes and reached up to the window, but she couldn't quite reach the latch. They were still mostly underground, and the window was over seven feet off the ground. Bardarian stepped around her, just able to reach the latch and push out the window.

Novari reached for his shoulder, placing him beneath the window. He laced his hands together and she planted her foot into them, pushing off onto the sill. In the countless times Novari had encountered a similar situation, she'd always been given help—a firm hand or two on her waist, a steady one on her back. Bardarian offered no such thing, and Novari wondered if it were indifference or respect. Perhaps on the Avourienne, people wouldn't use those situations to touch her. Perhaps on the Avourienne, she'd be more than a body and a face.

Novari rolled out through the window, the cool night air brushing her skin. Tailsley and Visco came next, boosted by Bardarian. Novari helped each of them up, whispering for them to press against the building. Britter came next, turning around along with Novari to help assist Bardarian up, who was already hefting himself to the sill on his own.

Novari watched the tendons and muscles in his shoulders flex and relax. Maybe after all, she was no different from the men who looked at her like that.

Britter started to speak, so Novari brought a hand to her lips. She pointed to the group of men across the grass, drinking by firelight. They were oblivious to Novari and her companions as they drank, but if they spoke or moved too obviously, they'd be caught.

Novari pointed to the two smaller crew members she'd picked out—Tailsley and Visco—and then nodded her chin to the fence.

The fence surrounded the entire building except the portion facing south, but the Avourienne was in the water to the north. Novari had chosen the smaller members in order to have them get under the fence.

Tailsley, whose eyes sparkled with unsurety, followed Novari's gaze. The Avourienne was just disappearing, the crimson sails growing invisible. Novari guessed her crew would be able to find her in the dark still.

Novari brought her hand to Tailsley's face, turning her eyes to the east, where she pointed to show them the spot on the fence they could slip under.

"Untie the lines," Novari whispered to her. "Make way for the ship."

Tailsley nodded, dark hair bobbing. She and Visco slunk to the fence, leaving just Novari, Britter and Bardarian.

Novari slid by them, going the opposite way. She crept along the building, then jumped up to reach the sill of the second floor. She boosted herself up, not caring to help up the men behind her.

After a long moment, she felt hot breath on the back of her neck. Keeping low, she moved along the sill, careful to stay away from the edge. She found her way around the sill until she knew she was above the gas room. Light slid out from the window under them.

Novari glanced back at Bardarian, only an inch away. Her reaction was to lean back, but she chose not to show that she even noticed. She whispered, "Wait until I tell you to move."

Not waiting for his answer, Novari slid over the sill onto the one below. She looked through the window. No one was in the bedroom on the other side, so she popped open the sill and nodded up to Bardarian.

Dropping to the floor in the bedroom, Novari turned to see Britter on the sill.

"Not you," Novari told him. "You're going seven windows down and four windows up. There'll be a man there who manages the backup switch. Kill him quietly."

Britter nodded and went back into the night. Bardarian glanced at him, then followed her through the window.

Novari turned away and opened the door. She glanced out the hallway.

And to her luck, Edward came around the corner.

Novari flicked her hand at Bardarian, telling him to stay where he was in the doorway, hidden from view.

Shock did not spiral across Edward's face. He lifted a pistol.

Novari raised her hands in surrender. She didn't move her gaze even an inch.

Edward's hands trembled. "Someone said you let the Avourienne crew out," he bit out. "Did you?"

Novari tried to take a step forward, but Edward slid his finger over the gun and cocked it. The sound resonated in the small hallway.

Novari stayed still. Edward took a few steps closer, his hand wavering ever so slightly.

"They found Milia dead." Edward stopped, still a few paces away.

Novari put on her poker face. And still, Edward saw through. He'd known her before she'd perfected that face.

"You killed her?" he asked in disbelief.

"I did it quick. She didn't suffer," Novari replied, eyes flicking to Bardarian, still against the doorframe. Edward hadn't seen him yet, but if he got any closer, it was over.

"Did it quick?" Edward tossed out the words. "She's still dead."

"If I let her live, she'd be the first to tell the entire island where I am. You know that."

Edward's features twisted. "You're sick. And not just because of Milia or Sam. For what you did to me. For the way you used me."

Novari shook her head. Not here. Not in front of him.

"You came to me," he insisted.

"I know what I did," she snapped. Too much emotion, too much showing. He caught it.

"I talked to Kiera," he said. "She's shit at keeping secrets; you know that. I'm surprised you told her what you did. But I think this all makes sense now, doesn't it? Bardarian got all in your head, got you caught up with the idea of someone with real power? The lover you always wanted? The one that finally manages to find you up in that egotistical league you play in?"

Novari bit back a laugh. That's some semblance of what happened. She hated Edward for his timing, hated Kiera for her big mouth, hated Bardarian for his presence. "That's not what happened," Novari replied steadily.

"It's not?" he snapped. "You don't get in your head over people; is that your stance?" He laughed, arid and dry. His voice came out mocking, "No, of course not. Not Novari Silta, every man's ultimate prize, the highlight of his life, forever destined to a life of lows after experiencing her." He took a step forward, anger so bright in his eyes. "You made a boy of a king, Novari, I have no doubt about that. But based on the way you raced to me, I'd bet he made a fool of you, too—and by the Devil." He gritted his teeth. "It was damn time."

Novari looked at Bardarian. All she'd ever heard was how cocky, how arrogant a man he was, and yet he never seemed to display those traits. He was leaning carefully, chin tilted down and eyes clear, listening to her response. Novari met his calm gaze, then flicked her eyes down to the knife in his hands. He looked down at it, then back at her, tilting his head.

Novari looked back at Edward. "Fair point. He and you can make friendship bracelets, braid each other's hair and bond over your mutual hatred of me."

Edward shook his head, stepping closer. "You killed a friend. You're betraying this entire island. Your mother."

"My mother would be proud of me for this," Novari said truthfully. She glanced at Bardarian. He nodded once. She took a careful step forward. She'd have to do this right.

"You know what?" Edward asked, not noticing her step. "She would. Because she was sick and twisted. Just like you."

Bardarian tossed the knife into the hallway, right behind her ear. She reached back to catch and toss it in one graceful move, right to Edward's forehead. He was dead within a second, his pistol clattering to the ground.

Novari took a deep breath, glancing over at Bardarian, who stepped out of the doorframe, looking at the knife in Edward. "Quite the throw," he said.

She could be brisk, could pretend to be unbothered, but he'd see through both.

He didn't gloat, mock or do any of the things he was entitled to. He walked forward, picked up the pistol and the knife from the lump that used to be one of Novari's friends and glance at her for instruction.

She stepped forward, passing by him without a word. As she did, she felt the ghost of his fingers on the small of her back. She wanted to blame the act on his display of authority, but he probably just couldn't see in the dark as she could and was trying to stay on track. Still, it reeked of intention.

He pressed the hilt of the knife against her shoulder, and she took it, wiping the blood on her sleeve. The only sound in the dark hallway was his soft footfalls, so much more agile than a man his size should be.

"I don't want to talk about it," she whispered.

"I didn't talk about it," he said back.

Novari shook her head, rounding a corner with care. "You're thinking about it."

"Then refrain from reading my mind."

Novari could feel his fingers on her back. So brisk, so easy. Fine, then. He was being polite, professional.

"But on the topic of it," he said, stopping her by curling his thumb around her side.

"We're not talking about it," Novari snapped back. In truth, she could push past his thumb just fine. But then he might not be able to find her in the dark, of course.

"We have to," he replied, breezy and reasonable. "You're about to become my deckhand, and I said things to you about what we'd be if you were a sailor."

Oh, right, those things. She couldn't see much more than the outline of him in the dark, but she could sense his sincerity. That note of commitment that always sent her running.

Novari made a little gesture with her hand. "No."

"No?"

Novari pointed to the end of the hallway. "We're in a rush."

That thumb was still curled, still stopping her. "You can't pretend it never happened."

"Sure I can. Off we go, now."

She saw his head shake. He lifted his hand—away from her back, in surrender.

Novari kept walking, and he caught up to her with only a few steps away from the light room. The door was locked, as it always was, and her mother wouldn't tell her where the keys were, as she never would.

Novari took the knife and jammed it between the frame and the lock, leaving the hilt free. She looked at Bardarian.

When she stepped away, he brought his boot down over the knife, snapping the lock open. He watched it swing open as if he hadn't thought it would work.

And there it was again, that little crack in his glassy exterior, that fear that he wouldn't live up to what people imagined of him. It was in the roll of his shoulders when Novari stood next to him, as if the height difference between them wasn't enough. His biggest competition was the best version of his reputation.

Novari had never experienced issues with self-confidence, especially in her looks. She never saw a point; if people so clearly classified her as beautiful everywhere she went, as they did with Bardarian, why not believe them? Why not embody a reputation rather than wrestle with it?

Novari pushed open the door. Perhaps she would rather a self-doubting man than an arrogant one. As a captain.

The lighting was low, but she found the switch quickly. She snapped it off, and immediately it cut the gas, leaving the room in darkness. Spinning around, she reached forward to find him, placing her palm on what she assumed was his shoulder.

Her eyes adjusted to the moonlight from the window, and she glanced up as she moved by him. His irises were the colour of Myria, that dark, endless blue. There was something awfully funny about someone so objectively beautiful, struggling with confidence.

He glanced at her in the darkness, his profile barely visible. He shut the door behind them as whispers rounded the corner. Novari reached down to pick the knife back off the ground and crept along the wall, feeling Bardarian behind her.

Two people rounded the corner, and Novari stepped behind the first one, leaving the other for him. They were both silent for the most part, until Novari heard the snap of someone's neck. She glanced at the man on the floor, annoyed. Kills like that were beyond her strength.

She turned to Bardarian, shoving him down the hallway when Siren voices came into earshot. They were stumbling, blind, and they passed by without noticing them. She pushed him into the left hallway, enjoying her limited time being able to order him around before the dynamic switched.

There was a noise behind them, and she whirled around to see a figure stalking through the darkness. Tall and lean—lithe. Bardarian twisted the pistol into the hallway, and Novari slapped his hand. "How can you not recognize your own sailor?" she asked.

Britter stepped closer, hands clean. Since the gas hadn't come back on, Novari assumed he'd done his job properly.

"Captain," Britter whispered, glancing between them, "where to?"

"Another left and we should find the rest of your crew," Novari told him.

"Your crew," Britter corrected quietly, passing by to move forward with Bardarian.

Novari followed them, watching the back of Britter's head. His accent was thick; he must've been from the north, where the consonants were smoother, like a drawl. He moved like he was confident and sure, his muscle lean and lithe, like Novari.

Novari hadn't met a lot of people from the north, other than those assassins the King had sent. her words were sharper, easier to take as pointed or harsh—Myria's tongue. Bardarian was somewhere in between, his words short of sharp but still mouldable. Chorro, he'd told her.

The accents were rather hard to hear. In fact, most people wouldn't consider accents a part of the ocean. They didn't notice the way the words curled in certain people's mouths. But Novari always did. She loved the way people from Myria talked, their words so easy to gauge.

The hallway was quietin front of them as they took the final left. Unsurprisingly, the crew of the Avouriennewere leaning against the hallways, unbothered and unbusy. Novari took adeep breath. Now the hard part.