Vallin was a master of distraction. Instead of festering in his heartbreak or replaying all those things Silta said to him, he simply put his mind on the ship, on strategy. He had other things to worry about, like Jon Slint, the captain of the Starling.

It wasn't that Slint was in possession a particularly stunning or powerful ship; it was his modernism. He had newer weapons and an unflinching need to be the best. Vallin had been discreetly asking about him in port, and he sat down with Britter and Everson to discuss what he'd found.

He'd opted for the strategy room rather than the captain's quarters. Because his desk, his chair, his entire room—she'd infested it all. His sheets smelled like salt and he kept finding her long black hair everywhere. Everywhere, like she'd purposely left as much of herself behind as she could to taunt him.

He did his best not to not think about Silta when Everson was around, since his first mate kept throwing glances at him like he'd done something, which perhaps he had. Everson had marked Silta over and over. His territory, his girl. Vallin had probably broken some sort of code, but he simply couldn't bring himself to care now that it was over.

Britter, however, looked at Vallin like he was a soft, emotional puppy. Still, the strategist was playing both sides. Ranting about the whole situation with Silta, then turning around and supporting Vallin. He was smart to do it—one of them was his captain and the other was the most popular person on the ship, but it still irked Vallin.

Everson tapped the table. "What do we have on Slint?"

Vallin leaned back. "Nineteen years old, well-respected and modern. Crew about half-half with women."

"Competent women?"

"Not like Miller or Silta," Vallin said, her name dry in his mouth, "or even Tailsley. But they are good."

"So we're obviously better," Britter said. "In terms of skill. But if we're worried about him causing us some damage or even losing a crew member or two in a fight, we could send an assassin in for just Slint. Pull up next to them at night and throw Silta over. She'd get it done, and no one knows it was us."

Vallin watched Everson tap the table quick and fast. He spoke, still watching Everson's finger, "It would deter them, I think—Slint is the driving force behind that ship. But I disagree. I think everyone would know it was us, and the assassin move is dirty. Makes us look weak."

"Captain's right," Everson said. "But let's keep it in our hands for now. Do we know anything else about Slint?"

Vallin shook his head. "He's kept himself under wraps. Finding a weakness of his or even blackmail would be my next idea; I'm just not sure how to find it."

Britter grinned and spread his arms. "Well gents, I believe this issue has the same answer as most: Silta. We dock at port with them, we get Silta to read him. If she can't get enough information from just that, she plays Siren on him. Slint's nineteen, you said? Easily done. Plus, he has no clue she's ours."

Everson nodded. "Works for me. Might as well try it."

Vallin leaned back in his chair. Silta hated playing Siren; he knew that. Was he wrong if he asked her to do it again?

No. He'd be wrong for asking that of her if they were together. Asking her to play Siren now was simply the best thing for the ship.

"Captain?" Britter asked. "You'll tell her?"

Vallin glanced at him. He should tell her, but he desperately didn't want to have to. He didn't want to hurt her, didn't want to make her mad.

"I'll tell her," Everson said, standing up.

Vallin shook his head. He was a better option than Everson. "Britter, you can find her. Just tell her I'm up here."

Everson snorted, and Vallin looked up at him as both men left. He obviously suspected something had happened, but he clearly wasn't sure of it.

Silta made him wait a long time. She didn't like being beckoned or told to go to him. She liked to move where she wanted when she wanted. Vallin wandered around the strategy room, waiting for her for nearly ten minutes before the door opened.

"Captain! I heard you whistled me like the lapdog I am. What can I do for you?"

Vallin watched her expression, still and guarded. She looked amused, but Vallin saw anger in the set of her jaw.

"Need you to do something for the ship," he said, leaning against the table, crossing his arms.

"Tell me, love, how did you solve your problems before I came aboard?"

Vallin ignored her. He glanced out the window. "We have reasons to believe Slint, the Captain of the Starling, might be conspiring something. We'd like you to read him in port and try to tell us what he's planning or something we can use."

Her head tilted. "Captain Slint," she repeated. "I've heard of him. Nineteen, isn't he? Around my age? Good-looking man, no?"

"I believe so."

"That's interesting. You're asking me to play Siren for you."

Vallin kept his gaze on her. "Not for me, for your ship. And you might not even need to touch him at all."

She searched his face, her eyes flicking from side to side. "I left Canale so I could stop playing those games," she said.

"It won't be a regular thing." Then, "You had no problem doing it to me."

She waved her hand away, like what he said meant nothing. There were cracks of irritation in her golden eyes.

He'd brought it up before her, and that was his fault. He backtracked. "I need you to find Slint in port and tell me what you find. You're dismissed."

Vallin stepped around her and out of strategy. He made his way to navigation, where Rusher was marking their course. "Rusher," Vallin acknowledged. "I asked you to track the Starling a few weeks ago. You said you found them?"

"Yes, Captain," he said, tapping his pencil on a port on the map. "They should be at Gorcer soon, if you want me to bring her in there as well?"

"Yes," Vallin told him. "Estimate?"

"Nine hours. It's damn windy out today, so I can get her there fast."

He nodded. "Don't. I'll tell Jackson to keep us steady so we arrive when we're invisible."

Rusher nodded, and Vallin left the navigation room to find Jackson. He paused when he heard Silta's voice, quiet but firm from the other side of the stairs.

"I'm not telling you why." She sounded like she moved but then was pulled back. He heard Everson mumble something.

"Maybe because you killed my cat, and then threatened to kill my new one," she said, her voice full of irony. "Or because you practically suffocate me at night and throw me around like a rag doll. Or maybe it's because you're lying about something—you're not twenty-five. I don't know how, but you're not. Or, hey, maybe it's because you threatened my life because I found out that you didn't get injured at all from something that should've killed you."

There was a pause again, and after, her voice had significantly lowered, "Talk to me again about this, and I'll make you regret it. I don't mean I'll kill you, because something's telling me that wouldn't do much, would it?"

A long, drawn-out pause. She pulled away and came into view in front of the stairs, jogging belowdecks. Everything made sense; it was as if Silta could put things into words that no one else could. Everson's age, for one. He looked twenty-five, but he didn't act like it. Everson's threats to her, his aggression to her, it all matched his desperate need to have her that Vallin had seen the first day Silta was on the ship. He might be in love with her, but Everson was obsessed.

And the last part—that made sense, too, but he couldn't explain why. Killing Everson didn't feel like some irreversible action, some thing he couldn't go back on. The way she'd been so flustered about the way Everson fought, like he wasn't afraid of death. The way she'd been so sure he'd killed the ship's cat.

Vallin pushed it all away. He worked his way up to the topdeck, notifying Jackson of their change in course. The Avourienne was fully stocked from the royal port, so he wasn't worried about restocking tomorrow night. He'd sail them into Gorcer, go with Silta to find Slint and give the rest of the crew time at whatever place the crew of the Starling was not. Then he'd resume his place at the top.