In the months Archer had crewed for Bardarian, he'd seen the man the world fawned over: The calm, relaxed nature of his responses, the firm and merciless leadership that somehow came off as easygoing. Archer had only spoken to him in the captain's quarters on two occasions, but he remembered them both vividly. He'd continuously been surprised at how comforting Bardarian's gaze had been—the beautiful cerulean of his irises, the soft creases near his eyes that told everyone how good his life had been. The alluring smile he used so well.

He'd never once seen the act break, never seen him panic in the slightest. Not when Silta had wavered, not when he'd nearly killed Archer with his bare hands, and not in the split second before his death.

The captain's quarters hadn't been touched. It was something of a shrine, everything resting in the same spot it used to. The couches hadn't been turned, the bookshelves didn't have new pages on them and the bloodred curtains still complimented both the moonlight and the sunlight.

But the most uncanny similarity was who sat in the chair. Silta leaned back with that same air of nonchalance, that same aura of leadership. That same, penetrating gaze that said, I'm the most important person in this room, and you're nothing. But if you're good, I'll craft the illusion that you mean something to me.

She tilted her head as Archer glanced around. Silta and Bardarian had always been similar in their movements, but it was far more noticeable with his death.

"Looks the same," he remarked.

Silta didn't reply. She searched his face for a moment, and Archer resisted the need to look away. Daylight streamed in through the curtains, bathing the room in crimson red. There were a few copies of Archer's maps on the table, Belford's markings clear on them; Silta had been collecting his maps from Kerian. The fact that she'd been controlling him the entire time left him feeling used and raw. And in hindsight, stupid. He'd been mentally thinking of her as the mastermind and somehow, that hadn't been enough for him to see through her games. All the things he'd missed. All the things he had yet to miss.

He pulled out a chair, sitting down. Something brushed against his leg, and he glanced down to see the Avourienne's old ship's cat, looking more matted and dirty than ever.

Silta took a sharp breath in, drawing Archer's attention back to her. She didn't look any different. She didn't look mad or crazy or off the rails.

"Question number one," she said, glancing to the side. "Why do I want the chest?"

Archer didn't sit across from her. He stood, where he could watch her carefully. He didn't expect she'd lie, but he wanted to make sure.

"My answer is revenge."

Archer squinted at her. "What?"

"Question number two," she said. "Who destroyed the map? The answer is the person whom I want revenge on."

Archer held out a hand. "Hold on. Slow down. What kind of revenge?"

"Question number three," she said, "what do I have over Kerian? The answer is nothing. I threaten to take back my throne and he does what I want."

"Who are you taking revenge against? Why does getting the chest help you at all?" Archer asked, taking a step closer.

"You're dismissed, Kingsley."

"You didn't answer anything."

She shrugged, pushing back the chair. She made her way to the cabinet on the far side, pulling a bottle off the surface. "I answered everything."

Archer watched her pop the cork. He'd never seen Silta drink before—she'd pretended to, sure, but he'd never seen her actually consume any, and neither had he seen Bardarian. For pirates, they had been awfully sober. Archer had eventually learned that Bardarian had a bad relationship with liquor and had vowed off it, and he'd always assumed Silta had gone the same route to make it easier on him. But after hearing Britter's confessions last night, Archer wondered if Silta had her own reasons for staying away from liquor.

Archer watched her pour the liquid into a glass and swirl it around. She glanced at him as she walked passed him. At his feet, the ship's cat hissed at her.

"You really should take better care of this cat," Archer said.

"He doesn't let me touch him," she said.

Sighing, Archer sat sideways on the dark wood of her desk, rolling the kinks from his shoulders. He nodded to her glass. "I didn't think you drank."

"I don't." She placed the glass in his hands and leaned next to him. "You do."

Archer put the glass on the desk to his left. "You need this chest for revenge?"

She was looking over at the curtains, and she didn't seem to notice him speaking.

"Novari?" Archer tried.

She glanced back at him, but her eyes seemed focused. "I believe that was one of the answers I gave you."

"But you're unwilling to elaborate?"

"We agreed on those answers only."

"I figured you might change your mind," he replied.

"I didn't."

He watched her. She glanced down at the glass of rum, but he couldn't place her expression.

"We're on the same ship," Archer pointed out. "We're going to the same place; we're working together. I thought maybe you'd give me a little more than one-word answers."

She pushed off the desk and pointed to him. "I don't give answers to those on the opposite side."

"Apparently you don't give answers to those on your side, either."

She snapped her eyes to his, catching the meaning immediately. Archer held up his hands in surrender. "Don't lose it on him. He was trying to help you."

"He thinks he's trying to help," she said, doing a lap around the desk. "He's out of line."

"Britter and you aren't communicating as well as you used to," Archer said, leaning back on his hands.

She shook her head, watching the glass of rum beside Archer. "He's behind."

"You've always had to catch him up."

"That's when I had less to do. I ran strategy, not an entire ship."

"You keep things from him solely for convenience," Archer concluded.

She tapped her finger against the desk mindlessly. This was not the same Silta Archer had met the first time around. She hadn't paced, she hadn't fidgeted, and she most definitely hadn't fallen into traps.

"A little bit of convenience, a little bit of protection," Silta replied.

Archer stayed nonchalant. "The less he knows, the safer he is?"

She sat on the desk next to him. "Of sorts. Britter would panic if he found out who we're playing against."

Archer leaned forward. "It's a name Britter would recognize, then?"

Silta looked up, and then she leaned away from him slowly. "How did you do that?"

"Do what?"

She narrowed her eyes. "You made me talk somehow. You pulled a little trick."

"No I didn't."

"Yes, you did. How?"

Archer smiled. "You tell me who He is, and I'll tell you my trick."

"You just said you didn't have a trick."

Archer shrugged. "I might. So Britter would know Him?"

She held his gaze. "You tell me what your trick is, and I'll tell you one extra thing about the map."

Archer sighed, reaching for the rum and bringing it to his lips. It was good rum, expensive rum. He passed the glass to her and said, "You say something; I repeat it slightly differently. It comforts you because you feel like you're talking to yourself. Usually keeps you going for a bit longer than you would normally talk."

Her eyebrows drew a little, and she took the glass. "You've been doing that since when?"

Archer shrugged again. "Port Kiver." He nodded to the glass.

She put the glass back on the desk. "I don't drink."

"No?" He had his doubts.

"It dulls the senses," she said.

"You like to stay sharp."

"It's—" She stopped abruptly. "You just did it again."

"I said I'd tell you my trick; I didn't say I'd stop doing it." He gestured to her. "What do I get to know about the chest?"

"It's black, but it has a blueish tint. You're dismissed."

Archer laughed, leaning back. "Come on, Novari. Something useful."

She tilted her head. "I said I'd tell you something extra; I didn't say it would be useful."

"Cute. Be fair. Tell me something useful."

"I'm a lot of things, lover, but fair isn't really one of them," she replied.

Her endearment jarred Archer. For a moment, he'd fallen back into the quick conversation, the easy back-and-forth that he couldn't maintain with anyone else. He'd forgotten that he now held the same title as Silta, that Bardarian was not his captain and Silta was not his objective. He'd forgotten that he'd done these things already, and that he'd vowed not to do them again. That he wasn't love anymore, he was lover—the same thing she'd called Bardarian.

"Neat, isn't it?" she said.

Archer glanced up at her, slightly dazed.

She smiled, but the canines didn't show. "You have your tricks, I have mine."

Archer clasped his hands together. "I need you to tell me who He is. Why you're playing games with Him."

She was eyeing the rum again, but it was less obvious this time; her guard had raised slightly. "You want to play games with me again, Kingsley?" she asked. "I don't."

Panic boiled up in him. It was abrupt and forceful, and he couldn't place the anxiety or why it suddenly arrived.

"I could place it for you," she offered.

Archer's eyes snapped to her.

She spun the glass on the desk. "Me and my neat tricks," she said. "Or perhaps it's your inability to hide your expressions."

"Place it for me," he said.

"The panic? It's because you like to be in control of us. You want to have the opportunity to come back to me if you want, but you haven't necessarily decided if that's what you'll do. For a moment, you realized that I don't want nor need you back, and it scared you."

Archer could wonder if she was lying or manipulating, but the explanation made too much sense for him to even think of picking it apart. He wasn't going back to her, but he'd always assumed it was an option.

"I think you've misremembered what happened, Kingsley," she said. "I think you think it was love, and it was, for you. I never said back."

He watched her for a moment. Now that—that was manipulation. She was pulling him back into the position of admirer, attempting to revert him back to the shattered deckhand with unrequited love.

And he could let it go. He could say something curt, get up and leave. He could walk away, and she would know he hadn't fallen for it, but he couldn't quite allow her to spin the narrative that they had been one-sided all along. That the look of betrayal on her face in the Kingsland was no more than that of someone who'd had some meaningless crew member turn on her.

"Outside of the Kingsland, the night before we went in, you said something to me," Archer told her.

"And what was that?" she asked, holding the gaze although she knew what she'd said.

"Three words," he said. "'I want to.' That's what you said. You said those three words to me in the strategy room, after I gave you my Orphano chain—which I can still see on your neck, Novari. You took the necklace, you were silent for a long time, you said the words 'I want to', and then you were interrupted by Bardarian and his brilliance of making you first mate. Nobody ever let you finish. What were you going to say?"

She was silent, her eyes steely and solid.

"Let me offer you a few possible options," he continued. "'I want to leave with you.' 'I want to try with you.' 'I want to figure something out.' What about those?"

She lifted her chin, throwing every bit of doubt he had away. Her eyes were cloudy, her stare distant.

Archer stood from the desk. "If you're going to lie to me about what happened; if you're going to twist my own life experience and use it against me, then take off my damn necklace and make it believable. I'm not your toy to use when you get bored. And you know what? Screw Britter and his begging. You're plenty sharp. You're plenty manipulative; I have no worries for your well-being."

He was surprised when she didn't speak. She didn't look quite at him; her gaze was on the wall. Her eyes clouded over, whisps of white over sunlight.

"Novari," Archer said. She was playing. She was tricking.

She stared. Her face was slack, her gaze unblinking.

Archer took a step closer, moving in front of her. "Don't play with me. Look at me." He wanted to be demanding, but it came out disturbed.

This was not acting.

"Novari."

Slowly, like something out of a nightmare, she turned to look at him, her eyes following the movements of her head. She spoke, "I know that He's going to do it, but I'm not sure how."

Archer's heart was racing. "What?"

"They don't come back the same. I don't want him back if it's not the same."

Archer reached forward, placed a hand on her face and physically forced her to look at him. "Come out of it," he said.

"I don't want him back if he's not the same," she insisted. "I don't think He can do it," she said, her eyes darting. "I don't know how He could."

Archer searched her face, his heart pounding. He dropped his hand and took a step back. Her eyes were glassy, her face slack. He took another step back.

Her gaze rolled to him, but her eyes were clear again. "I want to forget about this."

Archer leaned back, startled. She'd morphed from a barely lucid state back to herself in a matter of moments.

"Forget about...this?" he said cautiously.

"I want to forget about this," she repeated, standing off the desk. "That's what I was going to say to you in the strategy room. Your chain is invaluable; Orphans are the only ones that have them, and it's worth money. You gave it to me; it's mine to do what I want with. I was not in love with you. There are your answers. You're dismissed."

Archer blinked. "But you—Novari." He broke off with an awkward laugh. "What was that? With the staring at the wall and the cryptic little speeches?"

"Messing with you."

"Bullshit. That was real."

She grinned, canines sharp. "Sure," she said. "You're dismissed." She was playing the reverse card, but Archer was well aware of what he'd seen.

Still, he left the room and closed the door behind him. He glanced back at the black door. His heart hadn't relaxed from the look on her blank face.

Silta wasn't going mad. She already was.