"Who do you think I am?" Archer asked, jogging to her side. "Some king's agent?"

"A king's assassin, perhaps."

Archer barked a laugh. The king's assassins, once a respected, feared branch of royalty, were now an absolute embarrassment of a regiment. Conceited and narcissistic she may be, but that quick mind made her witty as hell.

"Why pick me over Tanner?" he asked. "Wouldn't it make more sense to keep me out of all this information exchanging?"

She glanced over at him, her eyes still bright despite the cloud cover. "I'm the best combatant in this ocean, love," she said, "and no one knows it quite like our captain. If he's forcing an escort on me, it's for a reason."

Archer blinked. "You think he knows something about what we're walking into?"

"How should I know? I can't read minds, love."

"Agree to disagree. So you're bringing me in case it goes awry?"

She scanned the street in front of them, coming to a staircase. The rain started coming down harder, soaking the delicately woven braids in her dark hair. "Well, I did train you," she said.

"You trained Tanner, too," he pointed out.

She glanced over with a grin, and he realized his mistake. "Not that you trained me, obviously," he interjected. "I'm just saying—you did train Tanner."

She shrugged, peeling a whisp of her hair from her forehead. "Some people won't learn no matter how hard you teach."

Archer abandoned his reply when a stray dog ran across the road. He'd never seen a dog before; they didn't have them on Orphano. They also didn't have these kind of high-resource buildings, nor real coins and money—of which Archer had none, because he'd been trading fish for most of his life. He also didn't have any of those comfortable-looking fur coats or jackets, since Orphano was warm year-round. And he didn't have—

"Overwhelmed, love?"

Archer wiped his expression clean, annoyed that she'd guessed his thoughts, that she got to be a part of something so monumental. Jeanne should be here, racing after the dogs and charming all these shopkeepers with her innocent grin. He tucked the thought away, not quite stable enough to handle it.

"Were you?" he asked instead. "When you left Canale?"

"Not really." She seemed utterly unphased that he'd been doing research. "We had dogs on Canale."

"You know, I have this inkling that you're well aware that wasn't what I meant."

She frowned and stopped walking, examining the building to their right.

"What?" he asked.

"Hush," she answered. She reached for the handle to the shop. "Don't speak unless you're spoken to, Kingsley." She didn't threaten him to ensure he understood, maybe because she knew he wasn't interested in sidetracking her or foiling any of their plans. At least, not in the most specific subset of the idea.

The building was a modest café, serving hot mugs and baked goods to a small group of people. Two huge, sweaty men exchanged quiet words in the far corner, and they both turned at the ding of the little bell above the door. The bigger one leaned out of his seat, eyeing Silta. It was impossible to tell if he was sizing her up because he knew her or because he wanted to know her.

Silta didn't look their way as she maneuvered through the tables and towards the counter. She rapped on it twice, drawing the attention of the woman behind the glass display of pastries, whose lips pursed as soon as she met their gazes.

"He's next door," the woman said, keeping her voice low as she glanced at the men in the corner. "I'll grab him. Go on in, if you want."

Still silent, Silta turned and stepped around Archer, heading for a hallway beside the counter. She ducked under the low archway and reached for the door at the end. She held it open for him.

Archer passed the threshold and closed the door behind them, looking around. It was just an office room, nothing more than a tight space with a desk piled full of papers and a few chairs strewn about. It was personable, though, with trophies and knives and gemstone rocks displayed on the shelves. Silta picked up a crimson red pebble and tossed it at him.

Archer caught it and threw it back, watching as she silently readjusted a few things in the room. He eyed her, trying to figure out why she was moving all this man's stuff.

"Have you got a knife?" she asked, inspecting a thick gold chain. She tossed it onto the messy desk.

Archer lifted a sleek cutlass from a display rack with an impressed whistle. "I do now."

The door slammed open, and he quickly dropped the cutlass back where it came from, spinning around. Two men came through the door, suffocating the room.

"Who's your friend, Shiv?" Silta asked, paying special attention to the stumpy man behind the taller one.

"Who's yours?" the tall man asked, stepping around the desk.

Silta glanced at Archer. "He's harmless."

Shiv raised a pair of hooded green eyes as he settled into his chair. "Doesn't look harmless to me," he noted, giving Archer a once-over. "Looks like he was trained by you."

"That's what I said," she mused, but her gaze lingered on the door when the stumpy man shut it behind him. Four of them in this tiny, one-exit room.

"So," Shiv said, leaning back in his seat and propping his feet up on the desk. "Just checkin' in, are we? Not to complain, of course." He grinned with two rows of stained teeth. "You know I love your visits."

"Check-in," Silta replied, taking a few steps towards the desk. "We docked at north port, so I thought I'd come have a look."

Archer frowned and looked up. They weren't docked at north port; they were docked in the south. She met his gaze and flicked her eyes to the shiny cutlass behind him.

Archer glanced at the man near the door. He took a step towards the rack. Nobody seemed to notice.

"Well, all's good on our end, gorgeous," Shiv said, cloudy light from the window making his nose and chin look even sharper. "The island loves you guys. It's like tourism."

Archer took another step back.

She ran her tongue over her teeth. How she didn't slice herself to bits doing that was a mystery. "Excellent," she said.

They held a stare-off for another few moments before Shiv clapped his hands together. "Well," he said. "Looks like we're done here, then." He dropped his feet from the desk and reached for one of the drawers.

"Kingsley," Silta said, backing up. "Throw me—"

Archer already had the cutlass in his hand. Before he could toss it to her, though, Shiv kicked the drawer shut and shot to his feet. He cocked the pistol in his hand, barrel trained on Silta's forehead.

"Almost got me," Shiv whispered, giving her a cold smile. He turned his gaze on Archer. "She'll be dead before you give that to her," he said, nodding to his extended hand.

Archer slowly placed the cutlass back on the rack, earning a that's a good idea look from Shiv. At first glance, Silta appeared to have no weapons, not a cutlass at her side, a gun at her hip nor even a few knives strapped to her thighs. Sleek and unadorned, as was her reputation.

For the first year of his training, Archer hadn't been allowed to touch a blade or pistol, either. They slow you down, Farley had claimed. You learn to rely on them, to use them as a crutch. You could train all your life, be the most skilled in the game, and nothing but a well-placed knife could take you out. Always reduce a fight to your hands.

"Hands where I can see them," Shiv said, and Silta slowly raised her arms to the side of her head. She took a slight step back. "Don't move," he ordered knuckles whitening on the pistol. "I know you. Don't move."

Archer raised his hands too, but his heart thudded with confusion. There was no way they'd lose, no way he just happened to walk in the day the Champion of the Sea was bested by some nobody port businessman. There had to be something at play, something up her sleeve.

"What's this about?" she asked steadily, staying still this time.

Shiv's brows drew, but every part of him was tense and ready. "You don't know?"

"Do I look like I know?" she said.

His grin came back, far more uneasy this time. "The big man should've told you by now, I'd think," he said, tilting his head a little. "Or is there trouble in paradise?" He paused, lips curling mischievously. "Again?"

"What's this about?" she repeated, but her tone was getting more impatient by the second.

"King's bounty," Shiv declared. "Hell of a sum."

Silta lifted her chin. "On me?"

Shiv's smile stayed pasted on his ragged face. "Aye, gorgeous. Messengers arrived this morning." He gave her a look of pity. "Whole island is after you by now, I'm sure."

Archer snorted. Their beloved Myrian Champion, adored and whispered about, reduced to nothing more than a pile of money from a man they all hated.

"You despise my father, Shiv," Silta said. For a second, Archer found himself startled by her wording, but then he remembered what he'd been told surely a thousand times. Raised by Sirens, fathered by royalty. Farley had claimed Silta sported no current connection to the King, but obviously he had some reason to want his daughter dead.

"But I love money," Shiv replied. "So I'll deal with the Avourienne's wrath at a later date." He started to put pressure on his trigger finger, but Silta was already moving.

Always make your initial move while your opponent is talking, distracted with forming words instead of being at the ready. Spark a conversation—pirates just love to go on and on. Get them going, and then get moving.

She ducked first so Shiv would lower his aim, and then she dove for his hand, pushing the barrel up to the ceiling. She struck like a viper, unreasonably fast and precise. The force of the lunge sent her sliding over the desk and into Shiv, who quickly recovered enough to push her back, leaving the pistol stuck between their chests, aimed at the ceiling.

Archer snatched the cutlass from the rack as the short man at the door pulled one from his sheath. He gave it a spin, testing the weight.

"You sneaky little bitch," Shiv hissed, fighting with her to control the gun.

"Oh, now you can be more creative than that," she snapped, but her voice strained with the effort it took just to hold him steady, much less get it past the vertical.

Archer stepped forward to help her, but now she snarled at him, "Don't. Don't move."

Shiv let out a dark chuckle as he glanced at Archer. "Pride," he said, like an explanation—and perhaps it was the perfect one.

Eyeing the man in the doorway, Archer wasn't sure what to do. The muscle in Silta's back was tense and thick, but Shiv was still the stronger combatant, evident from the way the barrel started to twist towards her throat. For a moment, he wondered if she was a fraud, nothing more than a well-talked girl with a big reputation. How, how could she beat someone twice her size, twice her weight?

Shiv kept twisting the pistol, teeth gritted in focus. "So strong," he mused, and the gun kept turning, right for her jaw, "for a woman."

Silta gave it her all, but she was almost in range. She lifted her chin to give herself more time, rainwater from her soaked braids dripping onto the floor, the only sound in the silence.

Archer narrowed his eyes. Rainwater, from her hair, dripping into that barrel. She was soaking the gunpowder, about to render Shiv's weapon entirely useless if she could keep pressing her chin against her shoulder, draining her saturated hair.

The environment. The laws of nature, everything around you. Those things are your weapons, far more than anything else.

Finally, Shiv won out. He shoved her off the desk, and she stumbled back, catching her footing on the other side. The man didn't waste another second. He pulled the trigger.

A dull, loud click.

Shiv looked at the gun, then up at Silta, who rolled back her shoulders. "Novari," he said, backing away. "We've known each other for years—"

"Hands against hands, Shiv," she replied. "Let's see what you can do."

Hands against hands, Farley said. The best way to reduce a fight.

Archer didn't have the time to check who made the first move, because the beefy man was advancing on them, trying to get in Silta's way. Darting forward, Archer ungracefully slashed at the man with the sparkling cutlass, heavier and longer than anything he'd ever used.

The man stepped out of the way, baring his teeth. He lunged forward, the sharp edge of his blade swinging through the air just a hair from Archer's neck. "You must be new," he purred, striking again.

Archer managed to bring up the cutlass just in time to block the next wave. Hands against hands. He glanced across the room as he backed up, avoiding slash after slash, far too close to his skin for comfort. Silta had her hands laced around Shiv's already bloody head, slamming his face into her knee again and again. She hooked an elbow over his neck and kicked back, slamming him onto the desk with all her body weight. Archer had to do less backing away and more of that, or the next hit would be across his throat.

But over came the man, experienced with his cutlass like a favoured limb. He swiped again, catching the flesh on Archer's bicep. Enough was enough.

Spinning, Archer ducked under the next strike and reached for the man's blade. A slicing sound sheared the air again, this time on his palm, but it gave him enough time to bring his foot up and kick at the man's arm, causing him to drop the cutlass. Archer tossed it across the room. He dropped the shiny one he'd picked from the rack onto the floor.

"Hands against hands," he murmured.

"That's my line, Kingsley." When he looked to Silta again, Shiv was stumbling back into the desk, face and neck covered with blood. She glanced over and tossed him a grin, golden eyes shining as she brought her leg up for another kick.

Archer drove his elbow into the short man's throat. "You've got good hearing," he noted.

"Siren ears," she replied. Something on her side of the room shattered.

A good knee to the stomach was all it took for the man to hack out a cough and go stumbling backwards. He tripped on one of the strewn objects and knocked his head right into the edge of the desk, rolling to the floor, unmoving.

Archer caught his breath. He looked unconscious, as far as he could tell, but then something came flying from the other side of the room—a knife. He managed to duck in time, but he quickly realized it wasn't just a spare blade from Shiv; it was Silta's throw, finding its mark deep in the stumpy man's skull. Dead.

"He was unconscious!" Archer snapped, spinning to find her.

"He won't be three years from now when he decides he wants vengeance," she replied. "Tie up your loose ends, love." She pushed Shiv towards the door, then snatched the gold chain from the desk she'd placed earlier. She slung it around his neck, then pulled it taut, her foot pressed deep into his back to stop him from escaping.

Archer felt the blood drip from his throbbing hand to the floor as she choked Shiv to death. His face went white, and his hands reached wildly for the chain, but it sunk in his skin, impossible to grab. His eyes rolled back in his head, his arms slackened, and his body went limp.

Silta let him fall to the floor, right over his comrade.

Archer raised his gaze to her. Shiv's blood was splattered across her nose, disappearing into her hair. Her lips stretched into a grin, canines sharp.

"You had that knife the entire time," he said. Was she playing with him, after all that? Just bored of being the only one in her league?

"As I recall, so did you." She nodded to the blades lying in a heap across the room. She nudged Shiv's head with her foot to make sure he was dead.

If he told her he'd been taught to get rid of them, she'd just push her I-know-I-trained-you-Kingsley agenda even further. So instead, he gestured to the door and said, "Shall we?"

"Sure." She took a jacket off the hook on the wall and wiped at her face before tossing it away. She turned, opening the door nonchalantly, the actions of a woman who hadn't just murdered two people in that room.

Following her out of the café and avoiding the gazes of those sweaty men once more, they came out onto the street. The rain had subsided, grey clouds thinning far above. Glancing both ways, Silta kept her head down as she jogged back down the cobblestones, eyes scanning for Nelson and Tanner.

"Shiv implied that Bardarian knew," Archer said, catching up to her. "Did he know this would happen? Did he send us into that on purpose?"

Someone shouted behind them right as they spotted Nelson waving for them a few blocks down. Silta glanced over her shoulder as those men from the café came stalking out.

Whole island is after you by now, I'm sure. "This is bad," he said. "Right?"

Silta waved to Nelson—a gesture that said go, go go. Back to the ship. Nelson, no encouragement needed, snatched Tanner's wrist and started dragging him at a sprinting pace back to the docks. Archer tried to push his way forward, away from those two burly men coming after them, but the people were turning, blocking his way as they tried to see what the commotion was about.

"Do I go with them?" he shouted to Silta, whirling around to find her. Nelson and Tanner were becoming smaller and smaller dots.

She'd wandered off to the side of the street, peering down an alleyway. "Well, you could," she said evenly, glancing back at him. "But it'll be a lot more fun my way."

Archer looked back for Nelson, but the boys had disappeared in the crowd. "Shit," he muttered. Silta started down the alleyway. "Shit."

With one last longing glance at the throngs of people, Archer raced for the alleyway after her.