The deck was loud, the majority of the crew already gathered underneath the darkening sky. Bardarian stood atop his balcony, Bates perched next to him, looking tinier than usual.

They'd called a crew meeting as soon as the Avourienne started sailing again, but Archer didn't know what it was about. The only thing he could think of was the pain in his leg—Silta had most definitely torn at least one of the muscles there. He'd limped up the stairs stupidly a few minutes ago and now he stood, refusing to admit how badly he needed to sit. He glanced around the deck.

"She's not here yet," Denver said.

"I wasn't looking for her," he said back.

He had obviously been looking for Silta—but only to see if he could lean against the rail and take some of the pain away without anyone seeing.

Bardarian cleared his throat, causing silence to ensue. He spoke, voice carrying through the dead ocean, "To start off the night, I applaud your performance amidst the Forlorn. It's always disappointing to call off a long-time alliance, but all things must end at some point. As for the Avourienne, she's ready to swim again. We will continue sailing for Kingsland at once."

"Are we stopping at Port Kiver?" shouted Starle, who was on the far side of Archer, closer to the balcony.

Bardarian leaned his forearms against the rail, looking so infuriatingly comfortable. "Yes," he answered. "Having thrown most of our ammunition into Kernite's ship, we'll have to restock."

"A cannon restock?" questioned Denver from. The tone in his voice made Archer turn and notice the excitement on his friend's face.

"Yes, Tolva," the Captain said, a controlled smile spreading.

"What's different about a cannon restock?" Tanner asked.

Archer had completely forgotten about his roommate's existence, but Tanner never seemed afraid to ask a question that put himself in the crosshairs of his less-than-forgiving crew.

"A cannon restock requires us to do a little scheming," Bates said, that childlike excitement still playing on his face.

"As most of you know, cannons are manufactured most reliably in royal ports such as Port Kiver." The moonlight glinted in Bardarian's eyes.

Denver leaned in to explain to Archer in a whisper, "Any port that starts with a 'K' is in direct affiliation with the King."

Bardarian continued, "In order to steal cannons from the royal stocks, we'll have to formulate a plan, which has already been, for the most part, concocted by our strategists."

When he said the last word, Bardarian gestured to Britter and then again behind the crowd. If he hadn't made the motion, Archer wouldn't have noticed Silta leaning against the mainmast. She must've appeared quietly sometime after Bardarian started talking. As he turned around to look, he could see her wearing a high neckline despite the warm air. She was hiding her injuries, just like Archer.

He turned around, back to Bardarian. Denver leaned in to whisper again, "I passed by her belowdecks earlier. You really did a number on her. She's black and blue under there."

Archer didn't reply. In the moment of anger on the beach, he'd meant to hurt her. But now, he felt like he went too far. He wasn't sure he wanted praise for having hurt somebody—if he did, it proved her vicious points right.

"Port Kiver is hosting an event to celebrate the appointing of a new head general," Bardarian was saying. "The storages are behind the government building, but we'll need the weapons manager to open them. He'll be in the main building."

"Don't we have a contact on Kiver?" asked Rusher.

Bardarian glanced over at the navigator. "We do. The contact will provide us with one invitation into the building via the event. There will be a separate team visiting the contact to obtain this a few hours prior to the event. We'll dock at south port, where the Avourienne is guaranteed entry without any word being passed to the General that we've arrived.

"We'll use the invitation to get two crew members in—assuming the invitation comes with a plus-one. Usually that would be Silta and myself, but recognition could be a problem, so we'll pass the invite off to two other members on the crew."

"It's possible any of us could be recognized," Jackson pointed out.

"So glad you brought that up," Britter said, walking up the stairs to the balcony to address the crew on his plan. "Fortunately for us, no one in Port Kiver or anywhere else, for that manner, knows that Kingsley is a member of our crew. Therefore, he's the obvious option to attend. Tailsley will accompany him."

Archer knew why he had been paired with Lyra. She was known for always making a silent entrance and of the three women on crew, she was least likely to be recognized.

"Kingsley and Tailsley will be the main team," Britter said. "Tailsley will be the lookout in the main ballroom. She'll dispose of anyone who leaves the room that could disrupt us. Kingsley will be tasked with letting in the secondary team through the roof.

"The secondary team will be Silta and myself," Britter continued. "We'll physically look like attendees, but since we won't go near the main ballroom, it's safe to assume we can take care of anyone who recognizes us. We'll find the weapons manager."

"I'll bring the weapons manager to the storage facility behind the governing building," Silta spoke up from behind. "He'll open the storage for us."

"And if he doesn't comply?" Kourvourk questioned her.

"He will," she said.

"The last team will consist of Courtley, Starle, Rusher, Kourvourk and myself," Bardarian added. "We'll do the heavy lifting, bring the supplies back to the Avourienne. The rest of the crew will stay with the ship and have her ready to cast off."

Archer saw the various crew members such as Denver, who had not been selected to be a part of the shore mission, sigh with frustration. It was clear this was important, and those that didn't have some specific quality about them to help move the mission along had been left to the ship.

Bardarian took no notice of the sighs. He smiled, white teeth sharp in the dark. "We'll reach Port Kiver sometime tomorrow morning. Everyone should ensure they're familiar with their portion of the plan by then. Let's make it a smooth performance, lads." He grinned. "And fuck the King."

With the shouted repetition of the phrase, the meeting adjourned.

"I can't believe you get to attend this thing," Denver complained to Archer as he turned to head to the common room. "I'd do anything to wear literally anything else for a change."

Archer smiled, but it was fake. Silta didn't trust him, yet she had either given or allowed him to be given a position where if he screwed up, he was to cause the most damage. That, and his leg was still killing him. He doubted it would be fully functioning tomorrow.

Most of the crew filed into the common room, mingling as they went. Denver continued to talk on his way, but Archer hadn't moved from his spot on the deck. It could've been because of the pain in his leg, but it was more likely because he couldn't shake the feeling of her eyes on the back of his head.

He watched the bridge crew as they went back into the strategy room, with Britter at their heels. He waited until every other crew member had dispersed before he turned around.

She was still leaning, looking so comfortable. She met his gaze. "Just limp, Kingsley," she said. "You're not fooling anyone."

Archer tilted his chin up a little, no sharp reply coming to mind.

She shook her head and pushed off the mainmast, walking to the rail, dismissing him.

As he watched her, the same cat from his first day pawed at his leg. It was around sometimes, taking a liking to Archer over anyone else. He looked down, wondering what the animal might know of her, if it would tell him to leave the deck or approach her.

He told himself that he couldn't leave the deck. That he had to keep this game up because he needed to find blackmail on her—something he could bargain with when Bardarian told her the real reason they were going to the Kingsland. But then again, that was not why he walked to the rail after her.

"Shouldn't you be with them?" he asked, nodding to the strategy room. He realized she couldn't see him nod, but she'd probably get it.

The cat trailed him as he got close to the rail, hissing the moment Silta turned to see him. She glanced at it for a moment, and it hissed again, backing away from her.

"Don't think he likes you," Archer noted.

She looked up at him, then back at the water, moonlight sparkling in her eyes. "Give me a minute, Kingsley. I'll entertain you when I'm done."

"Done," he repeated. "Done what?"

She said nothing in response, eyes snapping from the water to the cat as it hissed one more time, stalking away from them.

He watched her, his eyes finding the shape of her jaw, how effortlessly stunning she was in this instant and all others. He found himself wondering about her and Bardarian—if the Captain were a lucky man for being the one to sleep next to her, or if he were cursed to spend his sanity on her. He wondered if she were in love with him like he was with her.

Archer wasn't Bardarian, and that was quite obvious. He didn't own a magical ship or leak charisma. He didn't have startling ocean eyes or the confidence to burn, but he did have something in common with the Champion that Bardarian did not: a clever mind.

"You're thinking of anything that could go wrong. All the holes in the plan," Archer said. "While the bridge crew and Britter crack open a bottle of rum to celebrate, they leave you down here to run through it all, because you're smarter than they are. Despite being given less of a position than you deserve, they still rely on you to run this ship."

"Good plan, Kingsley," was her nonchalant reply. "You know you're less powerful and less notable, so you misdirect from that with intelligence."

Archer had the nerve to laugh despite how much his skin prickled. He felt the invisible words that were so clearly implied: less powerful and less notable than Bardarian.

"It must be exhausting," Archer said. "To never speak without analyzing."

She stared down at the rail, silent.

Archer took a calming breath. Then, after a moment, "I shouldn't have broken the rules. I couldn't beat you with talent. You're better."

When she still didn't reply, Archer laid it on thick, "I understand why you did what you did on the Forlorn, too. I had no right to be so confrontational." Did he believe it? Maybe not. But he needed to stitch his Silta problem before it ripped wider.

She lifted her chin to look out at the ocean. "You're just full of apologies today."

Archer shrugged, leaning just a little closer. "I'll take one if you give it. You didn't help me up."

"You pulled my hair, Kingsley." She tossed him a grin and said, "But I didn't mind it."

He caught himself before he took her bait. "Good plan," he said. "You know you lost control today, so you misdirect from that by throwing innuendos at me."

"Not really," she replied. "That one was just too easy. If I wanted you to be misdirected, you'd be misdirected."

Archer sighed, closing his eyes. They were silent for a moment, him trying to get the idea of misdirection and distraction out of his head, her doing whatever her mind did in moments of peace. He felt like he was in the vicinity of some sort of destructive animal; if he pushed too hard or got too close, she would reach out and claw him.

"You said something on the beach," he started.

"I said a lot of things on the beach," she replied. "But I doubt we're going to talk about the obvious one."

He ignored that entirely. "You told me I was satisfied by hurting you," he said. "And for a moment, with how mad I was, I think you were right. But not anymore. I hate hurting people, and I hated hurting you. That's clear to me."

He knew she was trying to find the lie in his words, searching for the change in tone that indicated he was fibbing, and he also knew she would come up short. He may have had a bigger plan to scheme and blackmail in this circumstance, but what he said was true. Or maybe she had simply worked herself into his head enough to blur his intentions. He couldn't be sure.

She chose to say nothing. If Archer didn't get her to talk soon, she was going to recognize by how hard he was pushing that he was just trying to get something out of her. He needed a bigger reaction.

"I think you're the same way," he said slowly. "I think you hurt people to get somewhere or to gain something. I think you do it with ease but it's not something you enjoy."

"Oh, love, now that's a stretch."

Archer searched her gaze. "Why?"

"You're so desperate to prove that I'm like you—that I despise this life deep down in a version of my soul I keep hidden."

Now he was getting somewhere.

"I see humanity in you," Archer replied. "I see it in all these people. In Denver, in Lyra and in Rusher. I even see it in Bardarian, but that's his love for you, I think. And it is love, isn't it? At least for him, it is." He turned his whole body to face her even though she still wasn't looking at him.

"But you?" he continued. "I see drive in you. People don't have such strong determination without having something to fight for. You're passionate because of the things you've been forced to do." Archer believed those words entirely.

"You're convincing yourself that, Kingsley," she said.

He knew he should divert the conversation there, because he knew where she was going with this, but curiosity was a match for his will. "Why would I do that?" he asked.

"Convincing yourself I'm not as ruthless as I seem will make you feel less guilty."

"Guilty of what?" he asked.

It was possible that he just needed her to say it, out loud, to prove it was true. It was also possible that he honestly wasn't sure, and he needed her to decipher the feelings he'd lost touch of in his secluded world of secrecy.

She glanced up at him this time. "Lust is very familiar to me, Kingsley."

Archer watched her. Lust. Was that it? He wasn't so sure.

"You feel guilty for it," she told him, her voice hushed like she was telling him a secret. "And you're jumping through all these hoops in an attempt to prove that what you feel isn't as bad as you once thought it was—that I'm not just a killer, I'm someone you can fix. It's not true, Kingsley. It's just guilt."

Maybe it was guilt, but he wasn't entirely convinced it was deserved. She was a mastermind in the art of seduction, and he was simply an easy target, all torn up from real love, ready to turn to someone pretty to make him forget. He wanted her skill, wanted her to want him for his own pride and ego.

"I don't have anything to be guilty about unless I act on it," Archer replied, surprised that his voice stayed steady.

She smiled. "You will, love. They always do."

Archer looked out at the ocean, where he was safe from those eyes. Maybe she was right, or maybe, for once, she was wrong. Rusher, Britter and all the men on the ship had left her to Bardarian aside from harmless conversation. Why would it be harder for him to do?

He looked up. Those men were constantly making passes at her, but Bardarian had gotten riled up over far less when it came to Archer. The Captain wasn't concerned over something Archer had shown; he was concerned over something she'd shown.

"And what would you do?" he asked.

Her brows drew. She looked over at him, golden eyes flitting. "What would I do when?" She knew exactly what he'd asked.

"When I act on it, as you're so sure I will," he clarified.

She held his gaze, then glanced down at his forearms on the rail. She looked back up to his eyes, taking her time. "What do you think?"

"I think you have no clue what you'd do, and you live for that kind of uncertainty."

She smiled. She didn't correct him nor confirm what he'd said was the truth. She simply turned to face him, her arm touching his on the rail. She lifted her chin, silent, but her eyes said plenty. You want to find out?

He did. He wanted to win just one round on this awful ship in his awful new life. He wanted to have just one thing over her, even if it was nothing but a temporary wandering eye, some fleeting moment of cracking willpower.

She remained still, just inches away. Her eyes were steady on his, waiting. Nothing moved on her, but he could feel those invisible fingers of hers pulling him closer.

When he leaned in, she did not lean back, but she brought her thumb to his chin, tipping it down so she could look right into his eyes. Always bringing him to her, never moving for him.

"This, love," she whispered, "is what distraction feels like."

His head spun, but he didn't pull back. She was just a breath away, just a mere lift of her chin from meeting him.

"You're trying to get into my head," she said. "Trying to stop me from figuring you out. Is that what you're doing here, Kingsley?"

He felt like he was being choked, like those catlike fingers with the sharp nails were clasped around his neck, depriving him of air. Not just stopping him from taking new breaths but taking the existing oxygen right from his lungs.

"I was," he told her. "I lost sight of it somewhere."

She pulled him even closer, next to her, so she could speak quietly to him, "You're walking a very dangerous line, Kingsley." She tilted his head down so his cheekbone touched her jaw. "Figure out what you want before you cross it."

Archer let out a long breath, but it only reflected off her skin and back onto his face. She pulled away, not sparing him a single glance as she left the deck.

He didn't watch, but he could hear her leave. The moment she was gone, his head cleared a little. He couldn't believe the way he'd acted in that situation. Why lose his control all the sudden, all at once? And what was that invisible pull he'd felt?

Skin still cool from her touch, he wondered if Silta was far more of a Siren than people gave her credit for.