Jeanne didn't understand how big of a deal that was—that the devil's ship was in a thousand pieces. She didn't understand how that ship had been gifted to Vallin Bardarian in the most intimate of ways. That ship was part of the reason he became who he was, the reason he'd become anything at all. She didn't understand that the destruction of that ship would mean the destruction of him, the final memory of him blown to bits.

Adrian grinned, his eyes shining with excitement. Courtley tripped and fell behind them.

Sure, destroying the Avourienne was a genius move, but it went much further than just taking down an iconic ship. Adrian had personal motivation behind ripping the Avourienne to pieces. Captain Bardarian had taken what Adrian wanted—the ship and the girl. This was payback, of sorts, but it wasn't the best part.

The best part was what it would do to Silta. Bardarian's prized possession, the one he'd trusted her with, the one she'd now destroyed. The only thing that he'd asked her to keep safe, torn apart for her failed attempt at revenge.

"It's much better this way," Adrian said to Jeanne, "my perfect final move. Can't move, can you, Novari?" he yelled into the ocean. His eyes were dark as ever, tethering him to the depths of the Devil below.

"Chess is a wonderful game," Adrian said. "Admittedly, I've been playing it much longer than Novari. But here's the deal, doll." He turned to Jeanne. "Novari plays with pawns. She plays entire games with players that shouldn't be powerful. Moving them around, playing with strength in numbers. But in all that pawn game," he pointed to the ocean, "she forgot to protect her queen."

Jeanne didn't answer.

"And although she's not yet dead, without her queen, she's damn near useless. She just has a hell of a lot of pawns. What use are they now?"

Adrian wasn't watching Jeanne anymore. Pretend as much as he wanted, she wasn't the woman he spent his time thinking about. His obsession with Silta had long receded from love. Anger and hate, more so, stemming from that night Adrian lost her, that night the voices started up again and the clock threatened to tick. Even now, he hated that he'd been forced to start the clock again. It echoed in his head, ticking away. Twenty-five, on to twenty-six.

"Chess is such a wonderful game," Adrian was saying to Jeanne. Behind them, Courtley nearing toppled over the rail before a crew member caught him. "Because although you win, you don't win by dying, doll. You win by forcing your opponent to forfeit. By having them stand there, surrounded on all sides with nowhere to go. By admitting they lose. They never get the privilege to die."

Jeanne supposed that made sense.

"It's a damn beautiful thing," Adrian told her. He held a hand out to the ocean in front of him and beyond. He lifted the fingers to a parting embrace. "And so to you, Novari," he said, spreading his arms wide to the ocean, "I say," he paused, letting the glory wash over him with salty perfection.

"Checkmate."