Most deckhands, especially those slaving away on the Avourienne, fell asleep the moment they were released for the day, but not Novari. Her joints were unstrained and her muscles felt no exhaustion, but her mind was deeply rooted in both. Instead of downing a bottle of rum over harmless conversation and heading to her room like everyone else, she found her one salvation in exacting revenge on Bardarian.

To her, it wasn't a matter of what for, just a matter of how. To her, it was irrelevant that revenge was probably more torturous to herself than to him. To her, all that mattered was the sting of him pushing back on her hand, the shattering feeling of finally not being the one to draw the line, but rather having it drawn by someone else right in front of you.

It infuriated her beyond words, made her feel even more powerless than ever. And so, when Novari was done her tasks for the day, she made an effort to trail Everson. If he went to the common room, she sat with him. If he went to his room, she followed him there. She kept one hand on him at all times, intent on dousing Bardarian in as much jealousy as was humanly possible. As far as anyone else could tell, it made no difference to the Captain that his first mate and deckhand were as infatuated as ever, even after their gory display on the deck. Novari, though, could see the cords in his neck shift ever so slightly when Everson whispered her something, could see some muscle in his jaw tic when she would reply. Those moments were her only solace, the only thing that kept her in the first mate's room when the sky went down and the space turned dark. After he did what he wanted to her, after the ship was silent and the thoughts crept in.

She watched the waves flicker on the far wall, Everson's heavy arm slung over her waist. The air was musty and thick, the ship's cat nestled deep into Novari's stomach. Whale followed her everywhere, hesitating only when she entered this room. The cat would reluctantly pad in after her, refusing to leave her side until the sun came up.

Behind her, Everson let out a long sigh as he slept. Eyes wide open, Novari reached out to touch Whale's fur, her fingers warm. In her room, the cat purred. In here, he never did. She didn't like sleeping next to anyone, but she preferred the cat to Adrian, who loved to wrap an arm over her shoulders and slide it up over her chest like a trap.

Heart thumping steadily, she turned to face him, watching him sleep silently. She liked to know he was there, see what he was doing at all times. Noticing the bandage on his neck had slipped, she reached out to pull it back up, but her hand froze.

The skin underneath the bandage was smooth and blemish-free. There was nothing wrong with him. No scar, no blood from such a deadly injury. He was completely fine, and the bandage was fake.

He caught her wrist. His black eyes were open, the same colour as the darkness behind him.

"There's no scar," Novari whispered.

He searched her face but said nothing. He held tight to her wrist.

"How is that possible?" she whispered again. To her mind, it was unfathomable.

He tugged up the bandage, letting go of her wrist. He pushed at her shoulder, turning her away once more. She felt his chest against her back, that arm over her waist. He shoved the cat off the bed, and it mewled as it fell to the floor.

He pulled her closer, his breath on her neck, a hand wrapped around her stomach. "Tell a soul what you saw," he murmured, "and I'll kill you, doll."

Novari didn't usually feel things like fear, but tonight she thought she might've felt it swirling around in the pit of her chest. She could deal with talented fighters, with skilled tacticians and cunning men—but harbouring no scar from a deadly injury only days after it happened? How was anyone supposed to compete with whatever the hell that entailed?

She wanted to leave. She wanted to push him away, scoop up the cat and flee downstairs, back to her corner room, back to Britter, back to Bardarian. She wanted to race up to the captain's quarters, to explain to Bardarian why she's been pressed to Everson, to beg him to forgive her for it, to admit she'd only done it because she couldn't stand the idea of him doing it first. Before, she hadn't done those things because her pride wouldn't let her—but now? A prison of her own making was closing in on her, and she couldn't get out if she tried. She wanted to loosen herself from the political chains, but she'd been the one fasten them in the first place.

She glanced down at the ground, where Whale had curled up. His yellow eyes shone in the dark, as if pleading to leave.

Novari closed her eyes, but she didn't sleep.

*

"A cannon restock!" Bates exclaimed.

Everson sighed, bracing his arms on the rail next to him. "Yes, Bates," he said. "Relax." He was cool and calm, every bit the first mate and nothing like the threat-growling man Novari knew him to be.

Glancing briefly at Bardarian, who was leaning against the rail across from Everson, Novari nudged Britter. "Cannon restock?" she repeated.

"Cannon restock means a full refill of royal supplies," Britter whispered. "Canale stripped us of everything, so we're vulnerable as we are."

"Vulnerable to what?" Novari asked, eyes on Everson as he tried to calm the crew down.

"The Starling," Britter explained, keeping his voice low. "It's a pretty powerful ship, and we think the Captain wants to move his crew onto the Avourienne."

Novari should've been in the strategy room when they decided that. Britter wasn't even supposed to be telling her any of this, but promising to give him her desserts for the week was incentive enough.

She glanced up at the balcony again, at Everson, frustrated as the crew spoke over him. Bardarian just leaned there beside him, eyes out on the horizon somewhere. If he so much as cleared his throat, everyone would quiet down, but he didn't seem inclined to.

"We've obtained an invite from our contact to a sponsor party in port tonight," Everson was saying, talking over Bates and Courtley. "Bardarian and Miller will get the key to their storages that way, and Myself, Britter and Rusher will help load up."

Novari glanced behind her at the doctor. It shouldn't be Miller going in with Bardarian, it should be Novari. She was better suited to that kind of environment, to handle whatever happened and protect Bardarian.

"Be ready to cast off by midnight," Everson finished.

As the meeting dispersed, Novari watched Bardarian turn around to go back to his quarters. Everson was already down the stairs by the time Novari went up, but she still looked behind her to make sure he didn't see where she was going before she followed the Captain through the door.

He was closing it behind him, so she put her foot in the frame, slipping through as he glanced back.

"Captain," she said, but it didn't come out right. It didn't feel respectful, and it didn't feel right, as it never had. "It should be me," she insisted. "Not Miller."

Bardarian's eyes were sharp and focused as he closed the door behind her. "Should be," he agreed. "But it won't be." He walked to his room.

"If it should be me," she started, following him, "why isn't it?"

"You're wildly unreliable," he said, reaching for the handle on his door.

Novari stepped in front of him so he'd stop moving and listen. "I'm very reliable," she said. "Why isn't it me?"

He searched her face for a moment. There was more to it; she could tell.

"Why?" Novari pressed. "Is there something different about this port? Is there someone here or—" She cut off. She could see she'd hit the right spot.

"There's someone there," she declared. "Who? I can't think of anyone I can't be in the same port as except maybe my father and—" She cut off again.

He pursed his lips, using his shoulder to brush by her and open his door.

"The King?" she asked. "He's here? He's in this port?"

Bardarian said nothing as he opened one of his drawers. He should've already pushed her out, already scolded her for invading his space like this, but he always let her have more leeway than anyone else.

"Captain," Novari said again, just short of begging. "Let me go. I've never even met the man."

He shook his head. "Can't have it, stunner. I need to keep you quiet while I get everything in place again. I don't need a war while I'm unstable."

"You're not unstable," she argued. She reached for his arm—to convince him, or just because she had the excuse to do it. "Let me come. Please let me come."

He took a step back from her, as if he knew he'd change his mind if she got any closer. "No," he said, and the finality was clear. "I don't need liabilities right now."

Novari wanted to convince him, to force him to adhere to what she wanted. She wanted to hit him, to do something to get her way. How could she be this skilled and still be the one who took orders from someone else?

She left. She stepped down the stairs and onto the deck. The evening was in full force, the Avourienne nearly invisible. She glanced at the stairs belowdecks, then over at the plank, sitting silently, connecting them to the dock. There was no one guarding it, no one to stop her if she made a beeline for port right now.

She fought with logic. Bardarian was being careful, but he was also the one who told her she needed to plan less, decide in the moment more. She took a step closer to the dock. She was only following his advice in the end.

She was still weak, still injured, but she could do it. She could get off the ship, get into the event, murder the King and get out all before Bardarian even knew she left, and before her father even knew she was connected to the Avourienne.

She stepped onto the plank, then onto the dock. She looked behind her. When no one shouted, when no one even noticed, she put her head down and walked towards the town.