Archer tapped the arm of the couch impatiently, as bored as any other time he'd ever been in a pub. He didn't want to sit and drink; he wanted to figure out Him. He racked his mind, but information was missing and things weren't adding up. He had his heart in Myria's chest, which was how he survived the attacks on his life. But what connection did he have to Silta and Bardarian?

"Do you remember Port Trivv?" Britter asked. He glanced up at the ceiling, feet crossed on the coffee table in front of him.

"I remember Port Trivv," Archer answered, continuing with his tapping.

"I set you up to piss Silta off," Britter said with a laugh. "Did it work?" He shifted uncomfortably in his spot.

"Yes."

Britter smiled and shifted again. "Can I tell you something? I probably shouldn't, but since I'm drunk, I'm going to tell you."

Archer leaned forward. "Anything good?"

"You might think so. Picture this, dead of the night, I'm sleeping soundly in my room, when Silta comes barging in. No knock, no warning. Just throws herself on the bed and lets out this really long, quiet scream into one of my pillows. And she's a Siren, you know, so it took her like three minutes to run out of breath."

Archer gave him a look. "Doesn't sound like her."

"Well, you knew a different her. So she finishes her scream, rolls over off the bed, gets up, knocks her head into the wall like three times, then leaves."

"Is this a real story?"

"Just wait. So I go back to sleep, naturally, because sometimes she just does weird shit like that. Then a few minutes later, Bardarian comes downstairs, barges through the door and wakes me up for the second time. Little backstory: This was a recurring theme back when Silta first boarded. She'd come complain about something he did, he would come after and complain about something she did. It wasn't entirely out of character, but Bardarian hadn't come down to my room to complain about her in years."

"Were you drinking during this story?"

"Hush. So he wakes me up, tosses a few of my pillows across the room in anger, then finally declares that he's going to kill you."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. He says he's going to walk down the hall, wake you up and bash your head against the frame of the bed until you're dead."

"But you saved me, of course."

Britter shifted a little. "Of course. I told him to relax and tell me what happened, as an excellent conflict manager does. And get this—he says he's upstairs with Silta, getting all, you know—"

"I know."

"So they're right there in the middle of it, and she says your name."

Archer looked over. "She did not."

Britter shrugs. "That's what he said. She says it, then just gasps and covers her mouth. Laughs, then repeats that she's sorry like twelve times before he tells her to leave."

"You're kidding."

"I'm not kidding."

Archer sat back with a laugh, glancing over at Silta by the tables. She was deep in conversation with Jackson, eyes bright and clear.

"Naturally," Britter continued, "I burst out laughing—because that's funny."

"Of course."

"But Bardarian says he's had enough. Says that he can't take it anymore, that he's just going to get rid of you. I tell him if he does that, he'll never know who she would actually pick. A few days later, he made her first mate."

"So you saved my life, but you're also the reason she didn't pick me."

"I say the latter is slightly less important."

Archer sighed, pulling his gaze from Silta, all poised and perfect, never having slipped up and made mistakes in his mind. At the time, the latter would not have been less important to him. He would've bent over backwards a thousand times just to have been the one she picked.

Britter shifted again, so Archer rolled his eyes. "What is wrong with you?" he asked.

Britter leaned forward and stretched his shoulder. "My back hurts," he mumbled back.

Archer began tapping his couch again, wanting to disappear now that the story was over. He glanced behind him again, watching Silta speak with another captain. She looked like she was selling him something—recruiting, maybe.

Alli plopped down in front of Archer on the coffee table. "Captain, these places are amazing. Why don't you ever take us to these places?"

"This place has a kill count of thirty a night," he told her.

She shrugged and glanced at Liam, eyes sparkling. "I like a place with some personality," she said.

Archer sighed and searched the room again. Silta had moved on, and he couldn't see where she'd gone.

"Britter," Alli said, drawing Archer's attention back forward. "I'll get you a drink, if you want." She glanced at Archer. "I'd say I'd get you one too, Captain, but I've never seen you drink."

Britter laughed, loud and obnoxious. Archer watched Alli, unable to take her gaze from Liam. Friends, she'd said.

"Oh, Kingsley drinks," Liam told her. "He knows how to drink quite well."

Archer rolled his eyes. "That was one time."

Liam laughed louder. He motioned to Alli. "Yes, Laurier, to the drink." To Archer, "Bardarian had it out for you based on that one night by the fire, Kingsley. Imagine how different life would be if you knew how to control your rum intake."

Archer watched Alli's face fall as she turned away to get the drinks. "Nothing would be different," he said. Right when he was done speaking, he felt someone's hand on his shoulder. Thinking it was Silta, he didn't pull away until he turned to see Vikki.

"I heard you drink, Captain," she said. She turned around and sat across from him, eyes warm. "You don't seem like the type."

Archer wanted to roll his eyes again, but he tried not to. "I don't drink," he said.

Britter started laughing again, which just made Archer sink further into the couch. One time. One time.

Alli reappeared, handing Britter the mug she'd gotten him. He took it from her without looking and gave her a full coin for it—way more than necessary.

"I don't want your money," she told him, and dropped it back in his hand.

Britter glanced at her. "Women don't pay for my drinks," he said, insisting she take back the coin. He was either oblivious to Alli's intentions, or he knew what she wanted and didn't care to entertain it.

"You sleep on the floor," Alli pointed out. "I can pay for a drink."

Archer turned to Britter. "You sleep on the floor?" he whispered.

Britter rolled his eyes. "You were berating me about her treatment," he whispered back.

Archer laughed, his mind momentarily at ease. "I said don't sleep with her, not give her all the luxuries. Plus, I only meant don't sleep with her if she didn't want you, which"—Archer nodded to her, still keeping his voice low—"I don't really think that's the case. Her eyes are all sparkly for you."

Britter rolled his eyes. "I know that, Kingsley. I was a strategist, too—"

"I'm not a strategist. I'm a captain. Don't put us on the same level."

"—but Laurier is irritating," Britter continued. "And unstable. I have enough on my mind."

Archer grinned at him. "Are your eyes sparkling? I think they are."

Britter laughed at him, elbowing Alli, who was desperately trying to hear their conversation, away. "Off you go, Laurier," he said. "Find someone else for tonight."

"But I'm not allowed to leave your sight," she pointed out.

"I give you permission to spend the night with someone closer to your rank. Rusher? Too high. Starle?"

Archer gave him a look. "Be nice."

Alli was still pouting. "I don't want to fix Rusher or Starle. I want to fix you," she complained.

Liam laughed again. "Fix me?"

Alli pursed her lips like she said something she shouldn't have.

"Find somebody else to fawn over, Laurier," Liam said, waving her off. "I see enough of you."

Alli leaned forward, new determination in her eyes. She lowered her voice and said, "You could see a lot more of me."

Liam gave an impressed whistle, then tilted his head back to Alli. "I'll bite, Laurier. Replace Kingsley."

Archer stood, ready to leave anyway. He could tell Alli this was a bad idea, but who was he to talk? He worked his way around the couch, searching for Silta. His hand itched for a drink—something to hold—but he refused to pick one up. He saw Jackson around the corner, so he headed that way, finding Silta sitting at the table closest to him.

"Kingsley, love, good," she said, reaching out to get him to sit. She wrapped her fingers around his arm, and Archer marvelled at how smoothly she'd done it. If he wasn't so hyper focused on every movement of hers, he might not have even noticed.

"Jackson." Archer nodded to the quartermaster's hat. "Congratulations." He leaned forward to place his forearms on the table and underneath it, Silta rested her hand on his knee.

Jackson's weathered face broke into a friendly smile. "It's a tight ship," he said. "It's an honour."

Archer shifted so he could brush Silta's hand off. She moved a little, hardly noticeable, but he caught the oddity. He continued to speak with Jackson in that same, politically curated tone, and she desperately tried to cover up how upset she was.

After a moment, Jackson excused himself to speak with Starle, leaving them alone.

"Hey, did you notice that June—" Silta began.

Archer glanced over and cut her off, "Are you asking for my opinion?"

She stared at him, golden eyes clear and focused. "Nevermind," she said.

"No, no," he said. "Please ask my opinion; I have lots of observations about June."

She eyed him, strict and unreadable. "I've come to my own conclusions." She shifted again. "You have a good night, love."

Archer leaned forward to stop her from leaving. "Hold on. I want to talk to you about something."

She clasped her hands in front of her, nonchalance gone. "Do you, Kingsley—or do you just not want me to leave? You don't want my hands on you, but you don't want me to put them on anyone else?"

"Come on, Novari," he told her. "It's not that I don't want it; I just know you and where it goes."

"So you'd prefer to simply sit here?" she asked, eyes scanning the room like she was looking for something. She glanced back at him. "Stare at each other all night?"

"I'd like to talk to you about something, like I said."

He could see her anxiety build, see her go through everything he might want to talk to about—what he might have figured out, what she might have missed. He could see her run through every single word she'd said that day, and he could see the very moment she realized exactly what she'd missed, and exactly what he was about to say.

"I'm busy, love," she replied, getting ready to leave again.

"That's new," he noted. "You're not the type to run from things."

"I said I have things to do—"

"In the Kingsland, I put a knife through you in the throne room."

She laughed, but it wasn't funny. "If you want me tonight, love, you're not off to a great start."

"The throne room," he repeated. "Not the ballroom. The ballroom was where I killed Bardarian. Two different places, and yet in your speech this morning, you said that you laid dying next to Bardarian for a moment."

She sighed, turning a little to face him. "I embellished, Kingsley. I needed drama."

Archer tilted his head a little, thinking. "I considered that, but then I remembered the stories about that night, the ones I know you spread. All these gory details of Bardarian's death, blood everywhere, his heart nearly ripped from his chest." He leaned a little closer and lowered his voice, "But when I killed him, I did it with my hands on his neck. Not a drop of blood."

"Embellishment," she said.

"Of course. Embellishment. You hurled yourself out the window of the throne room; that's how you survived. Except when I left you, you were crawling after me—not to the window. You were crawling back to the ballroom."

"Leave it, Kingsley," she warned.

"You didn't jump out of the window in the throne room," Archer said. "You jumped out of the window in the ballroom, after crawling hand over hand back to Bardarian. And for some reason, when you got to his body, you sliced him open with a knife."

"Leave it," she snapped.

"So you can keep your secret, drive yourself mad?" he snapped back. "Why did you do it, Novari? Why cut him up like that? What did it help?"

She held his gaze, but she blinked a few more times than she normally would. "I didn't cut anyone up, Kingsley. I embellished the stories, I embellished this morning, and I crawled after you because I was confused and disoriented."

He kept his voice low as he spoke, "I know you did it. Just tell me why."

She lifted her chin to the ceiling. She wanted to leave, but she didn't want to look weak. She kept her eyes on the ceiling, but he saw the slight glassiness of them. Not insanity, just tears.

"You're wrong, love," she whispered.

"I'm not wrong, Novari, and we both know it. You saw Bardarian dead in that ballroom, then came back to the throne room and seemed completely calm. You had a plan right then, and it involved his body. Tell me what it was."

She lowered her eyes across the room, but she didn't speak.

"You're not okay, Novari," he said softly. "You're not fine. You don't sleep, and you don't have a proper grasp on reality. I'm trying so damn hard to help you out of this—why won't you let me?"

"Why?" she murmured, eyes on the room. "If you don't want me, you have no reason to help."

"Not true," he replied. "I was so in love with you back then, Novari, and I can't let this happen to you. It hurts to watch regardless of what my plans are now. Just tell me why you did it, please."

She froze there, porcelain face serene and stony. She pursed her lips, then looked out at the bustling room. She looked back at him.

"I was trying to save him," she said. Her voice wasn't steady, but it didn't quite warble either. "Myria's chest doesn't just give immortality; it brings back the dead. If I managed to put Vallin's heart in there, he would've lived."

Archer let out a long, deep breath. So it was far more awful than he thought.

"I didn't make it," she told him. "I didn't have time. I couldn't get through those stupid bones in his chest before sunrise." She shook her head, looking over at the door like she could escape the memory. "I chose myself over him one last time. Left him all desecrated and mauled, like I did before."

Archer placed his hand on her wrist and tried to pull her attention away from her pain. "You didn't kill him, Novari. You're not responsible for what happened."

"You took no vows," she said. "No oaths. You weren't his friend; you were his enemy, and enemies kill each other. But me? I had obligations to him. His ring on my finger." She looked down, where the diamond still sparkled. "I should've died with him instead of running for my life."

"I wasn't his friend," Archer said, "but I knew him well enough to know that's not what he would've wanted. He was too in love with you."

She was silent for a moment. "You know, love, I don't really want this." Her eyes glistened a beautiful shade of golden as she held back her tears. "I don't want to fight with you and make you pay for what happen, I just don't want to feel so heavy and alone. I don't want Britter or Harvi or anyone else; I want you." She drew her brows, watching her ring sparkle in the lights. "But what if he's up there, in some afterlife? What if he sees me forgetting him in favour of his killer?"

Archer covered the ring with his hand so she couldn't fixate on it so much. He spoke very carefully, remembering that he had his own sanity to think of, "I don't know how he'd react to you moving on, but I know he'd hate this shell you've become in his absence. I know he'd want you to be you again."

Her jaw tightened like she didn't agree. "I left him in the Kingsland, and this is the only chance I have to fix that even a fraction."

"Revenge?" Archer asked. "On me?"

"It's not my revenge," she said.

"No one else has it out for me," he said gently.

"It's not meant to be revenge," she clarified. "But me letting it happen, me not telling you—that's my revenge."

"Bardarian is dead, Novari. You're not helping him with whatever you're planning."

"I'm not the one planning."

"But you're keeping the details from me because there's something you don't want me to figure out. I need to know. I need to know before you hurt everyone around you."

"Not everyone," she said simply. "Just you."

Archer didn't move. He kept his hand still and his body still. "What's his name, Novari?"

She took a deep breath and shook her head.

Archer was so tired, so ready to give up on her and this need to keep the secret. Maybe she had a right to have her revenge, but it sounded like she didn't even want it anymore.

"I think you'll figure it out, Kingsley," she said. "Just not in time. Until then, I have it."

"You don't have it, Novari," he insisted.

"I'll be okay, Kingsley," she replied. "You won't be, but I will be."

She was starting to develop that foggy look, her eyes clouding over and getting unfocused. It happened right there in front of him.

She looked up. "Someone has to be there, Kingsley, or I can't fall asleep. Let it be you."

"Don't ask that of me, Novari," he told her.

She glanced out at the room. She nodded a little, eyes still glassy. She got to her feet, resting her hand on her shoulder for just a moment before she left.

He wanted to get up after her, tell her he changed his mind, he'll go with her. He'll be her something familiar, her way out of this mess, but it couldn't lead to anything good. She was always snapping his willpower, his heart, every valued aspect of his character—but every so often, when she became so calm and broken, Archer wanted to throw it all away for her, for someone who just understood.

He'd done the right thing, but he'd done that all his life. Maybe if he got her back to normal, if he solved this Him issue, then he could work with her. Maybe there could be a system, some sort of way he could accept who she was, and she could accept who he was. Maybe he could get out of this persistent pain for good.

So for the first time since he'd discovered Farley was a traitor, for the first time since Archer became new Archer, he formed a plan.