Novari split her face into the biggest grin she could manage. Vallin glanced behind him, his fingers still making whatever expensive drink he wanted that evening.

"Siren smile," he muttered to himself as he turned back around.

"It's not a Siren smile," Novari insisted, readjusting her legs underneath her.

Vallin hummed a little, shaking his head. He didn't buy that. Her regular smile—if it were genuine—was wide enough that the tips of her canines disappeared into her bottom lip. But the Siren smile, the one she did when she was concocting something, planning something, doing something suspicious, had the points on full display.

"I've been thinking," Novari said.

"There it is," he said. He picked up his drink and turned around for good. He could sit on that couch beside her—that's what he usually did—but then he'd be more susceptible to the little charm game she was about to play.

"There's this thing."

Vallin raised his eyebrows. "This thing?" he asked, taking a sip.

"It's not that big of a deal," Novari said. Her smile had wilted slightly. When she'd first thought about this, she'd been confident and excited. Now she'd grown every doubt possible.

"Then you should have no trouble telling me about it," he replied. He'd picked up his sketchbook and placed his boot on the table so he could position it on his knees. It wasn't a comfortable position when Novari did it, but he made it look so easy.

She shouldn't have a problem telling him about it. She told him everything, but it'd only been a few months of really being with him. She was jumping the gun here. Probably.

She wasn't sure why she started with this idea. Well, that wasn't exactly true. She knew the exact moment she'd begun thinking of it. Last month, in the bar on Kleo. She'd left Bardarian by the card tables to refill a drink, and when she'd gotten back, an absurdly beautiful blonde had taken the seat next to him and begun a conversation. As Novari watched, she reached over to place a hand on his forearm. He'd grinned, then shook his head and dropped her hand politely.

And? Britter had said when she'd told him about it. He didn't even let another woman touch him once. Is that not the perfect response?

Novari had pursed her lips and, after a moment of deliberation, had agreed. It was the perfect response. Perfectly perfect.

Except he'd grinned. He'd grinned like it amused him to have another woman approach him. Like it was slightly thrilling.

Novari had known she'd gone down a massive rabbit hole of irrational thinking, but she also knew that Bardarian had been a relentless womanizer for half a decade before meeting her. There was no way a man like that just dropped all his habits all at once. If some woman happened to tempt him, then he might revert, Novari would be forced to kill both of them, and that wouldn't be pretty.

Vallin glanced up at her between lines of his pencil. He was drawing her, that Siren smile. He hadn't gotten the canine right, so he twirled his pencil and went to erase it.

"I got you something," Novari was saying.

He didn't look up, only raised his eyebrows. "Usually I buy the presents."

"That's just it," Novari said, glad he had brought that up. "I have a handful of pretty things to wear when I go out that cost upward of a trillion coins."

"A little high," he noted.

"And when a man sees me, wearing my trillion-coined-necklace or whatever else, they know I not only have a man to buy me said extravagant thing, but I also like that man enough to wear it."

Vallin could not get the tooth right. He erased it again.

"You, though," Novari continued. "You don't have anything."

He looked up now. "To mark me," he concluded.

"I wouldn't have used that exact wording," she said.

"You'd like me to wear some sort of necklace?" he said. He shook his head, returning to his drawing. Tried very hard not to laugh.

No. That had not been what Novari wanted him to wear. She had wanted him to wear the ring that she'd bought from the jeweller that night on Kleo. The beautiful, expensive ring that matched the one in his nightstand. But now that she was looking at him, speaking the words, this whole situation seemed absurd. She was asking to marry him with this ring. He'd feel all emasculated and offended that he wouldn't get to ask first. That, or he'd say no. Because he wasn't sure about her.

Obviously he was sure, she told herself. Obviously. He'd probably ask her in a few months. Of course he would. She wouldn't have to wait all that long before he'd give her the pretty ring, and she'd be ready with hers when he did.

But now that she'd decided against the ring, she wasn't sure what to do. She couldn't just back down, because he'd press her on it.

"You wouldn't wear a necklace for me?" she asked.

He sighed, looking up at her once more. "The whole king-of-the-sea-thing, darling. The reputation? It doesn't really include a necklace."

"I think it would add to the aura, actually."

"You think so?"

"I really do." Novari smiled a Siren smile.

He made a face, then went back to his sketch. "Fine."

Novari raised her brows. She didn't think he'd do it. That, and she had no necklace to give him.

She reached up and unclasped the one on her neck. It was her mother's, full of pearls, quite expensive, extremely womanly. The only form of anything she had left of her mother. She stood, then walked around his couch.

He didn't seem to notice as she clasped it around his neck. He didn't seem to care at all. In fact, that day on, he wore the stupid pearls. The first day, Liam had sputtered a laugh and pointed at it, drawing a snort from Alexander. Bardarian had ignored them. He didn't seem to care even a fraction about the pearls, as long as it made her happy.

Novari wondered if he'd since thrown her mother's pearls over the rail.

*

"I want the Avourienne."

Novari pulled the pillow further over her head. "Leave me alone." The only three words of hers that Slint didn't live by religiously.

"Novari," Slint insisted. She felt his weight sag the bed beside her. "I want it."

Novari didn't move the pillow. She wouldn't. Move the pillow, let in the sunlight, let in the morning, let in the day. Let in Slint.

"I want it," Slint repeated.

"We can't have everything we want, sillaire."

"You get everything you want," he muttered.

Novari did not answer that. Move the pillow, let in the morning.

Slint tugged on it, and after putting up a slight fight, was able to get it out of her hands. The sunlight poured in from the window to her right, lighting up the dust flying around the room. There were two full rum bottles on the nightstand, four empty.

"The Avourienne," Slint reminded her. "It's been long enough."

Novari closed her eyes as she reached to pull on her boots. The first mate's room was a mess, which used to be an uncharacteristic trait for her.

"The Avourienne is impossible to take," she said, tugging at her laces. "The invisibility, for one."

"Hardly a problem. You know how to find it at night."

"I actually don't."

He raised his brows slowly, so Novari stood and reached for her jacket before he could recognize the lie. When she glanced back at him, he was giving her that I-know-you're-lying-but-we-haven't-fought-today-so-I-don't-wan't-to-push-it look.

Novari shifted onto her right foot to tighten her other boot. "I can find it if I know it's there," she said truthfully. "But I can't track it."

"You know exactly where it is," he said. There was that edge, again. That I-know-you're-lying-and-now-I'm-going-to-push-it look.

Novari watched him, statuesque on the side of the bed.

"They're in Myria, Jon," she said finally, but even that was only a figure of truth.

"You're from Myria," he pointed out. "You know Myria."

"The Starling isn't invincible to Myrian threats like the Avourienne," Novari said, separating strands of her hair into three pieces. "If you're going to make any sort of attack where you don't have the upper hand, you need to do it on land familiar and safe. You'd be attacking the most dangerous ship in the ocean on her own territory."

"It's not the most dangerous anymore, and you know it."

"Apparently I know a lot of things," Novari said sharply. She turned away from him for the sole reason that she could not maintain her composure while looking too deeply in his eyes.

"They're a wreck," Slint pushed. "They're hiding in Myria, because that's where they're safest from us."

"As your first mate, Jon," Novari said, "I advise strongly against going after that ship."

It was a tense topic, which was perhaps why Slint had brought it up in a theatrical way. Months and months had gone by since the pub incident—months and months since she'd seen Bardarian. Perhaps even close to a year since she left the Avourienne. Everyone knew the Avourienne was hardly a ship anymore, but no one had attacked. There were most likely two reasons for such a thing: For one, the younger captains were far too scared of the legends, no matter what the current news supported, and the older captains were either on good terms with Bardarian or simply didn't have the heart to destroy such a legendary ship.

But the other reason, the perhaps far more important one: No one could find them.

Novari could picture it; Liam would nudge Alexander, speaking in hushed tones so as not to disturb the tense atmosphere they tip-toed around in. He'd tell the navigator where they were going to go. Alexander would turn white but wouldn't question it.

Myria would keep them mostly safe, but there was one place that would keep them even safer. Novari was sure of it. Britter and Rusher had sailed the Avourienne right to the southeast edge of Myria. They'd each taken a deep breath when they reached the border, and then they sailed the ship on, past the edge of the world.

From there, they'd mostly likely move carefully along the southern border, skirting danger by fleeing to the unknown. They were probably sending out the rowboats for resources, but that wouldn't work forever. Another year, perhaps, before they would need to come back to the Cobalts to do repairs.

"Professionally," Jon said from behind Novari. "You think, professionally, it's a bad idea."

"Yes," she replied, not looking back at him.

"Well, I respect that," he said carefully. "But we're doing it anyway."

Novari turned around quickly. "What?" In the past year, her word had been law.

He lifted both hands. "I get there's history there, Novari, I do. I get they used to be your friends. But the ship is invaluable, and it would put us at the top. I've waited a long time for this. It's time. You're over it now."

Novari was over it now. That's what everyone said. It was Slint and Silta now, Starling darlings. Jon was a fun man, a whim-acting man, and it was easy to fall into his life. He was far more complex than Bardarian had been—certain things bothered him, certain things irritated his ego or made him self-conscious, but she'd learned him, like she always did. She'd moved on.

All that meant was Novari had learned to hide her problems. Now it was just two drinks to everyone else, but she was secretly importing Siren rum, which had twice the liquor in it. She kept a full case under Slint's bed, reaching over to drink it after he'd fallen asleep. If she were drunk enough, if his face was blurry enough, she could pretend his features were different. She could pretend Slint was somebody else. Sometimes that worked for a while, but he would always end up doing something wrong—being slightly too rough, saying something a little too loud—and the vision would shatter.

"It's suicide," Novari said, clinging to her calm with all she had.

"Then let us die," Slint said with a cunning smile.

Novari held his gaze. Ran through a thousand things she might be able to say to convince him to leave Bardarian alone. She could, perhaps. But then he would catch on to the fact that she wasn't nearly as stable as she appeared. She could picture it. You're still on him, aren't you? You're not over anything. Get off my ship.

Sometimes, when Slint was asleep, Novari considered killing him. She'd have her ship then, but she didn't think she could pull that off; the crew didn't like her enough. She'd end up with a mutiny, probably. She needed more time.

"When?" Novari asked.

"As soon as you can get us there."

A day to Myria. A week through to the eastern border. A few days to find them. The timing would have to be impeccable. At night, from the right angle.

Novari shook her head. She was planning an attack, forming the murder of that ship in her head. She opened her mouth.

Slint spoke before she could, "I will take that ship, or I will die doing it."

A new picture started to form in her mind: Slint as the captain of the Avourienne, Novari his first mate. Slowly, carefully, working her way into the minds of the crew. Slowly, carefully replacing them one by one by people who liked her. Putting a bullet in Slint's head. Novari Silta, captain of the Avourienne. A ruthless lover-killer.

It didn't quite seem like a dream anymore, like a plan she strove for. It seemed like a compromise. Some vicious sort of win on her hundredth time playing the game.

"I'll speak to the navigators," Novari told him.

Slint was satisfied, so he left. When he did, Novari once again went through every possible way she could get word to Britter.

But then what? Warn Britter so the Avourienne would be ready? Have them murder her alongside Slint for being a traitor? What option did Novari have left but to put her entire soul into this attack and hope to some power she didn't believe in that she'd come out on top?

Novari stared at the door Slint had disappeared through. She kept her eyes still and tilted her head slightly. Lifted her chin.

"Ambition Above All," she whispered to the door.