Vallin raised his eyebrows. When he realized this was serious, he rolled his eyes.

"Don't roll your eyes at me," Everson whined.

"No lovers on the ship."

Everson laughed. "That's a rule not to bring them along with you. If they happen to already be here, it doesn't count."

"No lovers on the ship."

Everson gave him a sideways look. "If she picked you, that rule would suddenly disappear."

Vallin shrugged. "I guess we'll never know."

"Come on, Vallin. She wants me."

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes again. Of course she did. Myrians were drawn to Myrians. "I'm trying to lead a crew here," Vallin told him. "Allowing that woman near anyone is asking for civil war."

"Again, I'd like to bring up the colour of her eyes. The legs. Oh, the—"

"Fine," Vallin said. "Do what you want." One week tops before Everson started to creep her out. They'd run their course. Then she'd run it with Britter, then Rusher, maybe even Tailsley too. Probably everyone but him. Vallin couldn't stop her.

Everson grinned, sly and gleeful. He segued back into Sirennia—how they'd get in, what their deal would be. Vallin already knew how it would go, so this was just for show.

When Everson talked for long enough, Vallin felt his thoughts wander. He'd spin his chair, then glance outside on the deck. She wasn't visible. His ship, and yet it felt like she ran it.

Is my life here going to be better if I do things for you? Vallin couldn't believe how her head worked. Sleep with the boss, get a raise.

"Vallin."

Vallin glanced up. Everson was pacing. He lifted his hands. "I asked you a question."

"Repeat it."

"I'm tired of repeating myself."

"Repeat your question," Vallin said. Everson was easy to rile up—one of his lesser traits.

Everson was watching him carefully as he gritted his teeth. "I asked if going to Sirennia at all is in our best interest, even with the deal upgrade. We've had enough of Sirens."

"It's in our best interest," Vallin replied, turning away.

"Give me one good reason," Everson demanded.

"I could, but I don't like how you asked," he said, leaning forward.

"Funny game you're playing. I'm trying to bring up a valid point." He tossed the knife he was holding at the wall.

"You're just playing the devil's advocate. You always are. Let's do this, Vallin. Let's go kill ourselves this way. Let's push the border—"

"I'm arguing against danger in this situation."

Vallin spun around quickly. "Did you just cut me off?"

Everson sighed, running his hand through his hair.

"I think you did," Vallin said. "You just talked over me."

"Yes, I did. It's not that big of a deal. Everyone does it."

"I did not crawl my way here to wear a fancy hat. I did it so I would never be cut off again and if I was, I could kick the person who did it out." Vallin pointed to the door.

"Oh, come on," Everson said with a laugh.

Vallin kept his finger on the door.

Everson raised his hands. "Fine. Fine. I still think we're playing a dangerous game going to Sirennia." He stalked away, closing the door behind him.

Vallin had heard all he needed from Everson, but that didn't make him feel any more in control. In fact, with her out there, he felt like the Avourienne might split apart and explode at any given moment.

He sighed, getting to his feet. He wandered into his room, then wandered back out. He could go outside, or at least down to navigation. The sky was beginning to darken, and the crew would be gathering in the common room, celebrating their escape. But she could be there. She probably would be there.

Vallin rolled his eyes. It was his ship. He tossed open his door, jogging the steps down to the navigation room. Rusher wasn't in there, and neither was anybody else. There was a chant coming from the common room, so Vallin headed out onto the deck, the cool evening air beginning to settle.

"Captain! Can I have a talk quick?" came a shout from across the deck.

Vallin turned around as Miller hurried across the deck, Sirennia sparkling in the distance. They'd go in tomorrow. For now, they'd dropped anchor.

Vallin made a gesture to get Miller to talk as she neared.

"It's about Silta," the doctor started. "Remember when she said she knew medicine? Well, she does. Quite well. How is that possible?"

Vallin drew his eyebrows. The pact between doctors was firm and undying. They did not share their knowledge with anyone other than fellow doctors. Miller wouldn't even show anyone how to throw a stitch.

"I'm not sure. Is the pact different among Sirens?"

"Shouldn't be. Sirens heal on their own very quickly; they don't have much of a reason for doctors among them, but there was probably one for the people on Canale."

Vallin didn't see this as that important. "Is it a problem?" he asked.

Miller searched his eyes. Vallin had known her for a long time. In fact, she was the third person he'd brought onto the current crew, after Bates and Jackson. She'd been a loyal and invaluable addition. She'd been fifteen; he'd been nineteen. She'd smiled at two warmly and added 'captain' to all her requests. Three years ago, when Vallin had broken three ribs and had another captain drive a shard of glass through his side, Miller had laid him down in the captain's quarters and fixed everything. Her hands were kind and gentle, experienced. There'd been a moment where she glanced up at him with an undying sort of admiration, and Vallin was tempted to bridge the distance. He'd shook himself out of it, but he had a feeling she'd sensed what almost happened. For some reason, it made him trust her more.

"It's clearly bothering you," he said. "Just say it."

She took a deep breath. "She's a better fighter, Captain. Smarter. Probably could best me in medicine. I'm not sure I really have a purpose on this ship over her."

Vallin sighed, leaning against the rail. "She lacks your experience—"

"Not if she practices. She's got these beautiful long fingers and—sorry, I know you hate being talked over."

Vallin smiled. "You see, that's where you're different. You're respectful. I like you." He leaned in a little closer. "No one's taking your position, Miller. Forget about it."

She swallowed visibly. "And what about Tailsley? She's going to make both of us useless."

"She makes the men look useless, too, Miller." Vallin began to walk away. "She makes me look useless. Have a drink, darling, and lighten up."

"Give your liver a break, Captain, for angels's sake," Miller called out after him.

Vallin shook his head as he pushed open the common room door. The space was warm and humid, smoke curling from cigarettes and rum stinging the air. Vallin glanced at his chair at the front of the room, where Everson was slouched. Britter and Rusher were there. Silta was next to Britter, leaning over him to talk to Everson on the other side. Figures she'd found her way over there. She was infectious and quick spreading to every aspect of his life.

He could've turned around, avoided watching any of this, but he lost his opportunity, because Silta caught his gaze, and now he was stuck. He blew out a long breath and headed over.

"Captain!" came Britter's drunken shout. "We're having Silta read us. She did Alexander already. Absolutely ripped him apart."

Vallin glanced at his strategist as he snapped at Everson, who got up and moved out of his seat. He kept his eyes off Silta. "Something about a pathological need to lie?" he asked, feigning disinterest as he glanced out at the room.

"Obviously. She's very good. Can she do you?"

Vallin glanced at her. He would rather drown at the bottom of the ocean with weights on his wrists.

"I'm not doing anyone else," Silta told Britter. "I'm not a toy, love."

But he hated that even more. Her, protecting him from whatever secrets she could air of his to his crew. Perhaps he should've liked that she was attempting to prove loyalty, but he guessed that wasn't her intention.

"You're absolutely a toy," Britter was saying, "and if you won't read the Captain, please fight me. One match. Please."

"I'm not fighting you."

Everson grinned. "What about me?"

Silta glanced at him, and Vallin saw something flicker in her expression. She wanted to try; she wasn't sure she'd win.

Vallin leaned back, crossing his ankle over his thigh. "She can read me," he said.

Silta glanced at him, those beautiful eyes sparkling in the dim lighting. Vallin felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"Excellent," Britter said. He leaned forward. "Tell us all the truth of your little Canale secret sessions."

Silta held Vallin's gaze, but he didn't give her anything. Finally, she leaned back with a sigh. She'd changed into the crew uniform, that little symbol that declared her one of his near the collar. She had the short sleeve on, revealing a kill ring on her bicep, and a few more tattoos scattered over that tan Myrian skin. Vallin had never liked tattoos; he thought they were distasteful. He'd surely never wanted to mark every kill into his skin like that. Still, he found himself counting the lines, realizing that in the grand scheme of things, she was still so young. His would've been four times that size.

"Vallin Bardarian, twenty-six," Silta said, glancing out at the room. "Came into possession of the Avourienne at sixteen, was probably doing drydock duties a few years before that. Involved father who was morally spirited. Uninvolved mother who'd lost her sanity. He says he hasn't interacted with them since he left, but that's not quite true. He sends them money every few months, I'm sure."

Vallin snapped his fingers at Rusher, who leaned beside him and threw Vallin a bottle.

"She's right so far, Captain?" Britter asked, thoroughly intrigued.

Vallin cracked his bottle, then glanced up. "She's right."

Britter turned back to Silta. "Go on," he pressed.

"He grew up on the border of Myria, but I doubt he had very many friends. Men were jealous of him; women didn't like his spontaneity and desire to move. He formally changed his father's last name, Darian, to establish his own brand. Bardarian."

Vallin looked up sharply. "You get that just from looking, did you?"

Silta tapped the collar of her shirt. "Just from looking."

Britter whistled. She'd taken his shirt off on Canale, most likely seen his family tattoo on his chest. Had she ever really wanted more of him? Or had she taken that off for more information, specifically to see the tattoo that almost all Myrians or those near the border had?

"Relax," Silta told Everson, who was eyeing Vallin. "His shirt on Canale had a tear."

"Not as fun," Britter noted.

Vallin hadn't said anything yet. He wasn't sure what her game was, but he hated it. He hated the resurfacing of the memory, hated the way nothing meant what he thought it did.

Britter laughed, flicking the cork of his bottle at Vallin. "Lighten up, Captain. Plenty of us have changed our names. It's not uncommon."

"I have no problem with my name," Vallin replied.

Everson cleared his throat. "Go on," he said to Silta.

She gave a theatrical sigh. "He's left-hand dominant, but he trained himself to be ambidextrous. Must have three knives and a pistol on himself at all times or he feels bare. Has a fear of small spaces. Fell in love with a woman a few times, I'd guess twice before, but never enough to do much about it. Is drastically more intelligent than he pretends to be. Has wicked aim on a pistol. Can I be done?"

Britter shook his head. "We want to know what happened on Canale."

Silta glanced at Britter. "No."

Everson raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

"Embarrassing on my part," she replied. "Flipped my loyalty with those lovely eyes."

Britter and Rusher might've laughed, but Vallin and Everson didn't. One glance at his first mate made Vallin realize Everson thought they were fighting for her. Vallin gave him a look. He hadn't done anything to push that narrative.

"Dare I say I find your story unrealistic?" Everson said. "You don't strike me as the type to be swayed easily."

She shrugged. "I can be convinced."

Everson grinned and elbowed Britter in the side. With an exasperated noise, Britter got up, addressing the group.

"Drinks, anyone?" he asked. "I'm being evicted."

Rusher nodded, so Britter left to get refills, leaving Everson to start a conversation with Silta that Vallin couldn't hear, but he watched her carefully. When she was speaking, Everson glanced at Vallin and gave him a vicious look.

"You know what I want to know?" Britter asked when he came back, tossing a bottle to Rusher. "I want to know the coolest way you've ever killed someone. Silta, you first."

Silta looked away from Everson. "Airborne knife to the head. Darian threw it to me, though."

Vallin placed his empty bottle on the table loudly as he leaned forward. "Call me that again and it'll be your head." He looked out at the men. "All of you."

Britter snorted. "Mine was a pistol shot from a moving carriage. A real record-breaker, if I do say so myself."

"Broke a man's trachea," Everson said. "With my leg."

Rusher snorted. "I put an axe to someone's gut. Very messy. Captain?"

Vallin finished his bottle. "Broke a man's trachea," he said. "With my hand."

The only person to immediately laugh was Silta, ever the quick mind. Britter and Rusher let out little snorts a moment later, but now they'd realized that Everson and their captain were having some sort of internal argument. Vallin didn't care about Silta—he just didn't like the way Everson had acted like he'd done something wrong. So he was giving him a gentle, harmless reminder of who called the shots.

Everson's jaw set, and he gave Vallin the dirtiest of looks. "One of your lapdogs hold him down while you got the glory?" he snapped.

Silta placed a hand on Everson's knee. "We call that a sore loser, love," she said, but left her hand where it was.

Everson sputtered—which was rare for him. "I'm not a sore loser, doll. I could kill Bardarian in a minute."

Silta grinned and shook her head. "So could I. Politics are a funny thing."

"Both of you, be careful," Vallin said.

Silta's smile disappeared quickly out of Vallin's peripheral. She ran her tongue over her teeth, irritated.

"Oh, he's got you on a tight leash, doesn't he?" Britter said, amused.

Her jaw tightened ever so slightly, and Vallin found himself satisfied. He wondered how she'd make him pay for it.

She leaned forward and stood, spinning to face the group and walking backwards. "It's late for me, boys. I hope you have a grand time destroying your livers." She moved past Everson, who glanced up, expecting an invitation to go with, but she just left the room.

Vallin watched her leave, and so did everyone else. Everson groaned out loud and collapsed back onto the couch once she was gone. "This is your fault," he told the rest of them.

"Hardly," Rusher said, drinking from his bottle. "She's shooting higher than you, mate." He nodded to Vallin.

Everson scoffed, getting to his feet. "I guess we'll see." He followed her out.

Vallin peeled at the label on his bottle. He could do the same thing, he knew. Knock on Silta's door like Everson was about to and finish what he'd started.

And the funny thing was, Silta would let him, maybe even pretend it was what she wanted—because as Rusher said, she was shooting for power, and Vallin had it. But he had never once wanted someone who didn't want him, not even her.

So he took a drink instead.