The crew dispersed quicker than Archer could organize his thoughts. He'd heard Bardarian rally this crew with undertones, but Silta didn't have undertones. When Silta was Silta, she was everything the Avourienne had ever needed in terms of leadership.

The crew surrounded Jackson first and foremost, congratulating him on the position of quartermaster. Although surprise was clear on their faces, Archer understood every reason why he'd been picked to replace Courtley. Silta, now at twenty-five, was concerningly young to be a captain of a ship as legendary as this. She lacked the experience that Bardarian had, and even he had been young for the job. Usually, younger captains could be balanced by an older first mate, but at only a year older than her, Britter couldn't do that. Jackson—the oldest on the ship—was an excellent choice to provide a different perspective as well as connect Silta to the men that still grumbled over Bardarian's choice.

Archer pushed through the crew, ready to depart for their shore time. He found Silta, talking with Britter.

"Hell of a speech," he told her.

She glanced at him. Her eyes were focused. Unclouded. "Hair looks good, Kingsley. You do that yourself?"

He felt something prickle on his skin. He stared at her for a moment, his mouth parted slightly as he desperately tried to understand what could cause her to have such a breakdown—and then forget about it.

She broke into a grin, laughing. "That, love, is me playing with you." She laughed again, hand on his arm before she moved away.

Archer watched her go, fighting to keep up. Britter nudged him. "You're with us today, Kingsley. Wasn't that the deal?"

Archer glanced over. "What does she do in port?"

Britter shrugged. "In the daylight, she checks her contacts. It's a little different than it was with Bardarian. Then, at night, she does what any other pirate captain would do."

Archer held his gaze.

"She goes to a pub, Kingsley," Britter said, his eyes light with amusement. "She finds herself the best-looking man in the room and brings him back here for the night. Sometimes that's Harvi, sometimes it's another captain. But it's always somebody."

Archer sighed, leaning against the rail. "And if it's you?" he asked. Harvi had been on the Myriad for the past few months, and Britter had that same kind of striking look.

Britter laughed, but it was slightly uncomfortable. "It's been me sometimes," he admitted, glancing over his shoulder like he was looking for Silta. "I'd apologize for that, but I don't take accountability for anything that happens after she decides it's me she wants."

Archer watched Silta give Jackson a few orders across the deck. "Do you think she personalizes how she acts? Or we all just fall for the same thing?"

"Not sure. We could compare and contrast, if you want."

Archer glanced at him. "Considering you're desperately trying to get me on your side here, I probably would've lied about this if I were you."

He shrugged. "I thought we could bond over it." When Archer didn't laugh, Britter sighed. "She's just coping, Kingsley. It has nothing to do with me or Harvi or any of the other men. She loves to act the player, but she was with the same man for nearly a decade. She got used to it, and now I don't think she can sleep on her own anymore. I don't think she should, either. She doesn't need to be in her head any more than she already is."

"That's a weird way to rationalize."

"I'm not rationalizing, Minnow. I don't have to; she's so impersonal to me. Doesn't want to mess me up, I guess."

"That's nice of her."

Britter barked out a laugh. "Don't read into it, Kingsley. It doesn't mean anything."

"Liar," Silta said, and they both jumped at her appearance. She ran a finger down Britter's arm, but she spoke to Archer, "Britter's the love of my life. I dream of marrying him in a grand temple and having his stunning Siren children."

Britter pursed his lips. He glanced at Archer, as if doing damage control. "She's kidding. Your kids would probably look better anyway. Myrian and Myrian, you know."

Archer nodded his chin over to the port. "Are we late for something?"

"We're never late for anything," Silta said theatrically. She spread her arms towards the port, heading to the rail. "We're the Avourienne."

Britter tilted his head. "She's acting normal," he observed. "Did you fix her?"

"If you'd seen her this morning, you would not be asking me that," he answered.

Footsteps sounded behind them, and Alli appeared next to Britter with a grin. "To port!" she shouted, padding after Silta.

Britter watched her leave. "I can't stand her," he muttered.

"You're dramatic," Archer told him. "She's not that bad."

"She is that bad. She never shuts up, and since she's decided that she no longer hates me and now wants to be my friend, the rare moments of silence from her are completely gone."

Archer followed Alli. So she wasn't miserable anymore. That was one good thing.

The moment Archer stepped off the Avourienne, he formulated his plan. Follow Silta everywhere she went. Sift through every interaction and tackle them one by one. By the end of this day, he might know who He was—the man with his heart in Myria's chest. The unkillable man.

But first, Archer needed to ask as many questions as possible.

"Do you have new contacts?" he asked, catching up to Silta as she left the dock. "Or do you use Bardarian's?"

Britter answered for her, "Some are Bardarian's; some are new ones. This one is new."

"Where are we?" Alli asked, her eyes raking over every inch of the town they were approaching—admittedly organized for a Myrian port.

"Kortana," Britter replied.

Archer shared Alli's aghast look. Kortana was the most well-known Myrian port thanks to the sly manipulator and trader who controlled the island. He was one of the only people to hold any true form of power in Myria since most pirates didn't have their own fleets, and there were no other leaders. But Master—the endearing nickname Myrians called the trader of Kortana—was an eccentric mystery. No one had ever seen his face nor spoken directly to him.

Silta turned to him and whispered something. Archer didn't hear it. Britter nodded.

The group winded their way through the streets, Silta and Britter leading, Alli and Archer behind. He tried to distance himself from Silta, but anyone who cared to look would know something was going on. He wondered what they thought—if they'd reconciled, if the entire thing had been a farce—and what they would say.

Myria had been populated in the last few years, but the actual number of Myrian-born individuals was still exceptionally low. However, here and there, Archer spotted someone with the same colour of skin as he had and those typical narrowed eyes. He watched them closely, and in his search, he started to notice something else.

A burly captain came out of a shop, his first mate on his heels. He saw Silta, then bowed his head a little. She didn't seem to take notice, but when another captain to Archer's left did the same, he took a few steps towards Britter.

"Does she have some sort of alliance?" he whispered.

"Yes. A fleet," Britter whispered back.

Archer took a deep breath, watching the next captain do the same. If there were three ships in the matter of a mile that were enlisted to Silta, then her fleet was no inconsequential thing. Archer had no clue she was building one, but it would make sense. It was obvious to conclude that He had a sizeable fleet growing, too.

Silta and Britter spoke in hushed tones as they went north of the city, towards the countryside. The hills were lush and green, a singular house in the distance perched atop. There was a narrow footpath leading to it, and it took the four of them nearly ten minutes to get to the end. The house was massive, with flowers and ivy crawling up the sides. Two balconies protruded out into the blue sky.

When they reached the doorstep, Silta turned to Britter. "Stay with the map and Kingsley, love." She turned quickly.

Archer reached forward to snatch her arm before she moved. "I follow you into port. Everywhere. That was the deal."

She searched his eyes for a moment. She glanced at Britter.

"I'll make a fight," Archer told her.

It was a bluff, of course. Archer didn't have much to fight with, and she was still the better combat opponent. But he'd become an excellent bluffer.

Silta turned back around and knocked on the door, leaving him to the assumption that he was allowed to follow. When the door slid open silently, he went in after her, closing the door behind him.

"Good morning, captains!"

Archer jumped a little, but Silta didn't even blink. The woman who'd spoken was wide and tall—taller than both Silta and Archer—with a shaved head and bushy black brows. She was odd-looking, but Archer guessed she wasn't Myrian.

"It's lovely out today," the woman said. "Shall we do this outside?" Her voice was chipper.

Silta took a step past her, into the living room. It was dim and dusty in the house, contrary to the lush vegetation and beauty of the house. Every curtain was pulled to force the house into cold darkness.

"I'll assume that to be no, then?" the woman said with a laugh. "Inside it is. Would either of you like tea?"

Archer shook his head, causing the woman to focus again on him. "Now, Novari, isn't it rude to bring a man into my house without introducing him?" she asked.

Silta was examining the room, picking up things and moving them around. "You know who he is."

The woman laughed again. "Master might, but I am not Master, dear. I am merely his spokesperson."

"Your contact is Master?" Archer asked in bewilderment. Master was a trader, and he was also known to be independent. He wouldn't pick a side in a feud like this.

Silta twirled a glass sphere in her fingers. "My contact is June"—she gestured to the tall woman—"for I've never met Master. No one has."

June smiled at Archer, leading him into the living room. "Master is a quiet man. Born in Myria, you know. Brilliant man. But he knows the dangers of dealing with his contacts face-to-face." She gestured back to Silta. "There are many advantages to Master's decision to stay invisible."

Silta snorted and lifted up a rock on the coffee table.

"You are still not going to introduce him to me?" June asked.

Silta settled into a chair to Archer's left. "I don't introduce you to people you know."

Archer reached out to shake June's hand. "Archer Kingsley," he said. Her grip was surprisingly strong.

June's eyes widened in practiced drama. "As in Captain Kingsley? Captain Kingsley the murderer of Captain Bardarian?"

Archer searched her eyes. It was a practiced, acted response. When he looked at Silta to confirm, she didn't meet his gaze.

"That's me," Archer said slowly—cautiously.

"Now that we're acquainted," Silta began, "let's get down to it. I'd like confirmation that the Reprisal has not been here."

The Reprisal—Corpher's ship.

June flitted away, her eyes bright. "You're far too confrontational, Captain. Did you say you wanted tea?" she asked Archer.

He shook his head again. There was something about June—she was playing dumb, for sure, but he couldn't tell if she really was.

"Kortana is a major port for ship parts and reconstruction," Silta said. "If the Reprisal was to be rebuilt or saved, it would've come here."

June sat down in a plush red chair across from Silta, leaving Archer to stand. "Well, yes, that's correct! Master does control most of the ship repair in Myria, and he does dabble a bit in the Cobalts—but the Reprisal has not been here. Probably because you blew it into too many pieces to collect, much less think about repairing." June gave a sly smile.

Silta held June's gaze without so much as a blink.

"But!" June said enthusiastically. "I think there is a piece of information that you'd enjoy."

Silta didn't change her expression, and she still didn't blink.

June picked a piece of lint off her chair. Archer's mind raced, trying to figure out if she truly was intimidated or if she was just pretending to be.

"Earlier this week, a ship was constructed by Master's efforts," June said. "A nice ship, for sure. It's crafted solely to stand up to the Avourienne—small, maneuverable, you know the drill. It was made quickly, so I doubt it would give you much trouble. But it's not the ship I think you're interested in. It's the name."

Silta tilted her head, waiting.

"The Starling," June said.

Silta's mouth curled into a smile. A piece of sunlight escaped around the side of a curtain and glinted on a canine. "That's funny," she said.

June grinned, her eyes wide. "Master thought you would enjoy that."

Archer was searching his mind for the meaning of the ship. He glanced from June, then back to Silta. After scouring his memory, he realized why the name was so familiar: The Starling was the ship Silta had been first mate aboard after leaving Bardarian to alcoholism. The Captain asked her to shoot Bardarian and she'd refused, putting her back on the Avourienne—and as far as Archer knew, blowing the Starling to bits.

"Is it the original Starling?" Archer asked.

Silta shook her head, but it was June who answered, "No, no, of course not. The original Starling is in pieces. Master told me this is simply a message for Silta, from Him."

"Why would He care about the ship you used to be on?" Archer asked.

Silta ignored him. "Has it left port? Is it still here?"

June laughed, happy and bright. "Of course not! It's long gone. Master saw fit to have it on its way before you came along."

Silta locked eyes with the happy woman. "He should know better," she said.

"Oh, he doesn't mind your threats. He's quite confident that he's safe from you. He provides you with essential information, you provide him safety. Isn't that the deal?"

"I'd argue I don't need his information anymore. What's to say I don't put a barrel to your head and have you tell me where he's hiding?"

June's lips parted. "He's not...hiding. He's simply—"

"Or maybe I could just shoot you. Maybe that would solve my problem."

"Master would only get a new spokesperson, and be out of business with you," June said. "But he suspected you may become violent, and he asked me to remind you that you are most definitely not done with him. Sure, perhaps you need no further information. But I do believe you need something else. Perhaps in the future, no?"

Archer glanced at Silta. She appeared to understand what June was talking about.

"For now, Captain," June said to Silta, "Master plays for both sides—simply because it's awful good business. But in the future, if things go the way he believes they will, Master plays for you and only you."

"It would be faster if he'd play for me now instead," Silta told her, her voice edged.

"That is true!" June exclaimed. "But faster is not better—not for Master. Master plays his own game, and your feud is good money."

Silta and June stared at each other for a long time. June's plastered smiled almost began to slip under Silta's gaze. Then, Silta rose from her chair and went to the door.

"Please do remember that, Captain!" June shouted from her plush red chair. "He plays for you in the future."

Silta opened the door; Archer closed it behind them. They found Britter and Alli waiting outside.

"Go okay?" Britter asked.

Silta dropped beside him as they went back down the path. "He has a new ship. The Starling."

Britter laughed. "Oh, that's funny."

"Why is that funny?" Archer asked.

"It's just his way of mocking her, I'm guessing," Britter said.

Archer clung to the words. How deep did the naming of the ship go? It proved that He knew Silta well and had for a long time. It could be someone from her home island of Canale, someone she'd come across sometime before Archer. A man she'd had an affair with, someone from Bardarian's past—a possible reason He didn't come out of hiding until Bardarian was dead. He'd decided to attack at a time when Silta would be most vulnerable.

Archer prepared himself for the moment this name was unveiled and considered that it may not be as satisfying as he would like. He hadn't recognized Corpher's face—and he probably wouldn't recognize his real name, either.

At least, that's what he hoped.