"Now that that's over," he said as the cell door slid open. "I need you in navigation."

Novari stepped out of the cell. "Navigation," she repeated.

He took a step back, and she pretended not to notice. He nodded to the stairs, so she went first.

She came up the steps, meeting a blonde girl coming out of one of the rooms. Her hair was thick and curly, her eyes warm and brown.

"Sir," she said, taking a step backward and waiting for them to pass.

Bardarian glanced at her, then placed his hand on Novari's shoulder. "This is Miller, the Avourienne's doctor," he said.

"I can clean her up when you're done with her, Captain," the doctor said, eyeing Novari's neck, where blood still stained her skin.

She searched Miller's face, smooth and unblemished. She was a stockier girl, probably pretty heavy on her feet. She was older than Novari, twenty-two or so. Her fingers were uncalloused and steady, a good combination for a surgeon.

"I can do it," Novari told her. She kept the edge out of her voice. She didn't like new people, and there were a lot of them on this ship.

"Unless you know medicine, I want it done right," the doctor said, far more confrontational a response than her kind exterior called for.

"I do," Novari said sharply. "Know medicine."

Bardarian pushed Novari forward, up the stairs, ending the interaction. "I said play nice," he said.

"That was me playing nice. Other people don't touch my injuries."

"Miller is talented. She'll do it."

Novari bit her tongue as they emerged onto the deck, the morning just appearing from the night. The breeze was gentler now, soft and kind. Bardarian passed her and opened the door to the navigation room.

Inside was a messy sort of clean. The maps curled at the edges, the sides peeling. Pencils and pens were strewn about the room, stacks of books and paperweights in piles around the room. At the table, a boy about Novari's age sat working on the map in front of him. He looked up quickly and stood, moving around the table. "Sir," he said.

"Alexander Rusher is our navigator," Bardarian said to Novari, moving to the corner of the room and glancing at the map Rusher had been making.

The boy held out his hand to her. "Hell of a scene you make. Silta, right?"

He was a popular, conventional type of attractive—white-blonde hair and electric blue eyes. He was taller than Novari, leaner too, perhaps. She took his hand only because Bardarian was staring her down.

"Silta," she repeated. She held his gaze until he looked away, either for fear or discomfort.

Bardarian leaned against the table. He crossed his arms. "I need you to get us into Sirennia."

"Haven't you been there before?" Novari asked. "To make your deal with the Queen?"

"No. She came to me."

Rusher cleared his throat and clasped his arms behind his back. Novari watched the slim muscles flex. Not very strong, but precise and accurate. "According to other ships, the currents are nasty in that area," he said. "Whirlpool effect and such. If you can give me some information on the depths, I should be able to work out the safest path."

Novari turned to look at the map on the wall, away from the men. "The currents are a farce. They're created by the Sirens when a ship enters. If you enter at night with the Avourienne, or if the Siren Queen is allowing your visit, you won't encounter them."

Rusher lifted an eyebrow. "That's helpful, thank you." He turned to Bardarian. "We go at night, then?"

Bardarian shook his head and glanced at Novari. "No need. Chart the quickest way through."

"Aye, sir."

"Be quick with it," he added. "I'd like my anger to be fresh when I go in there."

Novari turned around again. "The Siren Queen doesn't control Canale," she said, annoyed at how many times she would have to remind him of that. "She's not responsible for the attack."

Footsteps sounded down the stairs, agile and light. "Ah, but it's strategy," Britter said, coming into view as he tied his hair with a black ribbon. "If we blame the Queen for the mishap, we can perhaps sneak a better deal out of her. It was my brilliant idea." He gave her a dazzling smile and reached out his hand, more confident and outright than Rusher. "Liam Britter. You're something else." He tilted his chin down to look up at her, a subtle hint of respect.

That was a brilliant idea—perhaps something Novari wouldn't have thought of. She took his outstretched hand, feeling the gentle callouses. He was smaller than Rusher but far stronger and quicker, a combination that made for a nasty fight. Immediately, Novari found ease in him and immediately, she found unease in her ease.

"Silta," she said.

Britter dropped her hand, pulling the sides of his jacket closed as he stepped to her right. "Can I?" He gestured down.

Novari raised an eyebrow, slightly confused. He took her response as a yes and ducked closer, lifting one of her arms, then pulling up her sleeve to examine it. He ran his fingers down the length of the limb, varying his pressure. He was looking at her muscle, she realized.

He pressed down on her shoulder, then ran his hand over her shoulder blades. He crouched down to her ankles, measuring the width with the ring of his thumb and middle finger. Novari glanced up at Bardarian.

"Britter's an enthusiast for hand-to-hand," Bardarian explained, eyes following Britter as he ran a hand down the front of her thigh. "Says he's never met someone as talented at it as you."

Britter stood back up. He pressed his hands to her waist, brushing his knuckles over her hips. He dug his fingers in a little, and Novari almost took a step back. It felt oddly personal, his dissection of her frame.

"It's remarkable," Britter said, clueless to her discomfort. "You're nature's perfect weapon. Flexible, muscle in all the right places. The perfect height ratio. Slim and strong extremities, flexible. You're a crafted killer."

Novari searched his expression, unsure of a reply.

"Your mother was banished?" Britter asked, stepping back to examine her from a distance. "She must've passed down the Siren qualities that enhance you, no?"

Novari felt her chin dip down in a nod. "She had me after she was banished. I only have the physical traits."

"Which are?"

"The external things, like the eyes, the length of my fingers."

"The teeth?"

"No. That's from my father."

Britter nodded. "And internally?"

"Sirens are built for ocean pressure—" Novari started.

"Which means denser bones," he said, "and therefore denser muscle over top. Injury prevention, too. What about metabolism?"

"More efficient. It's designed for a colder environment."

He snapped his fingers. "So when you bring it to a warmer environment, everything works faster. Better use of nutrients, quicker processing." He shook his head. "You're the Devil's miracle. Captain, you see her?" Britter glanced back at Bardarian.

"I do. The royal blood probably helps," he replied.

Rusher's head snapped up, and Britter's did too. He gave her a sly smile. "Oh, he's kidding. Tell me he's kidding."

"He's not kidding," Novari said.

Britter grinned. "I know this old myth from where I grew up. Apparently royals can see through to the soul of a person."

Novari rolled her shoulders, sore from the cell. Soul-reading was a talent of hers, but she wasn't sure if it came from her father.

"Oh you can, can't you?" He clasped his hands together. "Read me. Please read me."

Novari sighed. "Twenty years old," she started, "born in the north, just west of the Kingsland—"

"How can you tell?" Britter interrupted.

"The accent," Novari replied. "And soul-reading myths are only pertinent in the West." She took a breath. "You're a strategist, a pretty good one, but your intelligence is limited by your memory, so you resort to writing things down—"

"How can you tell?" he asked again.

"Before, when you were listing my attributes, you said flexible twice because you forgot you said it the first time. And you have notes written on your hand."

Britter grinned. He glanced back at Bardarian, as though he was making sure his captain was hearing this. "Go on," he urged.

"You're close with Bardarian; you'd both give and trust him with your life. But you hate him for something."

That caused Britter's expression to slip.

"It's something that happened about two or three months back, which seems to coincide with when you joined the ship. The person you killed to come aboard. A wife?"

"Fiancé," Britter corrected.

Novari nodded. "There's a dent in your finger. Where you used to wear a ring."

Britter couldn't peel his eyes away. "Go on," he said.

Rusher had now looked up, his eyes on Novari as she continued, "You like your job, but you feel the pressure of both your age and Bardarian's reputation. You're terrified to love someone; you've vowed to never do it again. You broke your right leg a few years ago—"

"How can you tell?"

"You favour it slightly. And despite being dominant on the right side, you put your weight on the left when you stand."

"I could listen to her all day," Britter said, turning around to look at Bardarian. "All day."

"Me too," Rusher said, his eyes firm on her. "But it feels a little too powerful a skill if I'm being honest."

That was because Rusher was a pathological liar, and he didn't like somebody who could see through him.

Bardarian pushed off the table and made his way up the stairs in the back of the room. "If you're so enthralled with the woman, Britter, show her to her room. Get her new clothes."

Britter turned around with a grin. He nodded to the door. "Off we go, beautiful." He opened the door for her and pushed her through. "You want to share a room?" he asked. "I'm very clean."

Novari glanced back at him, and he grinned again and said, "I'm kidding. I'm not a superficial man, and you're far too serious for me."

"Liar," she said.

He never stopped smiling, spinning around as he went backwards down the stairs. "Well, yes. I've heard to be unattainable is a desirable thing."

Novari looked behind her. "It is, and you're not."

Britter waved his hand. "Whatever. I'm too scared to mess with Cap anyway."

Novari shook her head. "We're not anything."

"For now," Britter said slyly, turning around and leading her down the hallway. "But the most beautiful girl gets the most powerful man. It's statistics."

"I want his first mate."

"Who, Everson? Oh, I could've called that. I give you one week before he starts to creep you out. Here's your room." He pushed open the door to his right.

Novari leaned inside. There were two bunks.

"You can share with Tailsley," he said. "Newest crew member after you. She's quiet."

Novari glanced around. She didn't like the space. Far too small.

"If you've got more space, I'll reconsider your offer," Novari said, glancing up at him.

He grinned and gestured to the end of the hall. "Oh but you see, I'm important. Strategist. I get my own room." He opened the door at the end of the hall. "Corner room. Biggest room down here."

Novari glanced around at the room. "I want it," she said.

Britter leaned against the frame, a loose smile on his face. "What's the deal?"

"Confidants—and before you turn your nose up at that, remember who I'll turn to when somebody more powerful breaks my heart."

"You don't strike me as the type to suffer from such a condition."

Novari walked deeper into the room, sliding her hand over the made bed. He was a clean man. "You latch onto me, that gives you status aboard this ship."

"I have status. More so than you."

Novari shook her head. "Different type of status. Not respect, but popularity. But most importantly, you like hand-to-hand? I'll make you one of the best."

Britter pointed to her. "I have the suspicious feeling that you're going to be a very powerful woman. Promise me power."

Novari lifted her brows.

Britter shrugged. "When you become a household name, take me with you. When you become a captain, make me your first mate. Promise, and the room is yours."

Novari rolled her neck. "I promise." Like hell she would keep it.

Britter grinned—a look that made sense on him. He was a charming man, his eyes light and easy. Novari did see lover potential in him, but she also saw something far better in him—an alliance.

"It's a deal. Storage room downstairs has clothes. Follow me."

Novari walked behind him, watching his shoulders flex. Ready for a fight. He was naturally bubbly, but he was still wary of her.

"We have endless sizes, but I really hope you choose something tight. You stun the men, and I'll take their coins."

Novari looked at the storage room they'd entered. "Or we could switch."

Britter watched her pick out clothes. They were all black, fitted pants, coats and shirts. "You know," he began, "you'd be so much more exciting if you showed a little emotion when you speak. Really dazzle them."

Novari spun around, focusing her eyes on him. She grinned, looking up at him and tilting her chin down. She added her best spark. "I like to save it for the important moments," she whispered.

He nodded. "Just like that. That's perfect. Animate yourself a little." Footsteps sounded behind him.

"Britter, get the hell out of the way. You're taking up the whole hallway."

Britter glanced to his left, out of Novari's view. "Oh, and you're here for storage, then? Or you're here to charm our new Siren?"

Everson came into view, grinning at Britter. He walked backwards into the room, spreading his arms. "I'm here for weapons for Cap and I. Sirens took 'em all." He turned around to face Novari, reaching over her to the shelf above. "Although it's always a pleasure to run into the Siren."

Britter coughed once, quick. "You hear about my soul reading she did?" he asked.

"Actually, I did. Heard she aired your dirty laundry right in front of Cap."

Novari looked up at Everson without raising her face. "Yours is even worse," she told him evenly.

He searched her gaze for a moment, the humour dissolving. Then he pointed one of the knives he'd plucked from the shelf at her.

"I've decided," he said. "This is the woman I want. Desperately." He walked to the door, then turned around. "Let's have a go sometime, doll. I'd like to see how that talent holds up against mine."

"I have my guesses."

He grinned. "You're irresistible," he told her. He ruffled Britter's hair and disappeared down the hallway. "See you girls later."

Novari turned her gaze back to Britter. "How old is he?"

Britter glanced at her. "Twenty-five."

Novari shook her head. She'd put him at twenty-eight or twenty-nine. And she was never wrong about age. "You're sure?"

"Very. Why?"

Novari drew her eyebrows. Something about Everson seemed older. It seemed impossible that he was younger than Bardarian. But then again, Everson did look twenty-five, he just didn't act like it.

"As your confidant," Britter said, "I can guarantee you, the good life is with Bardarian."

"He pay you to sing his praises?"

"On the contrary. Bardarian is soon to be the most powerful man in the world, the richest, too. Nice to look at. Much better to his women than Everson."

Novari picked out a knife. "You can have him," she said. "I want to wash the blood out of my hair. Can you help with that?"

Britter moved down the hallway. "In fact, I can."