Archer hadn't moved much in the last few hours. He simply laid there, sun shining through the porthole in his room, body unable to process what his mind had figured out: Everything solid in his life was simply a story made up to fit the narrative Farley needed.

He tried to sit up, his progress almost as slow as the rest of him. He lifted his head, peeking over at the door he'd left ajar. He'd stumbled to bed last night, stumbled through the night and stumbled through his thoughts like a drunken sailor. And then, finally, when he came to the conclusion, he froze.

He should've wondered why someone hadn't been sent belowdecks to hassle him about not showing up on deck that morning. In fact, they probably had, but someone up there had covered for him. Perhaps it was Lyra or Denver, but more likely it was someone who knew he was putting together a nasty puzzle and decided to leave him to it.

And it was still a puzzle, because so much was missing. He knew what happened, but he didn't understand why—why Farley had concocted such a scheme, why he needed Silta dead. She could answer those questions for him, without a doubt, but he didn't have the energy to crawl back to her and ask.

The door to his room slowly slid forward on its hinges. Denver's face swam in the doorway.

"Archer?" he asked tentatively. "Are you okay? Afternoon duties are starting."

He stared at the wall, so bland, so conforming. "Can you get Silta for me?" he asked. His voice was hoarse after his lack of speaking for so long, and it reminded him of the day before he left Orphano. The day he'd come in from the ocean with a brilliant smile and high spirits. Before he'd been told he'd have to murder Jeanne, before he knew anything about Silta.

Denver's squinted a little as he sputtered a nervous laugh. "She scares me a little," he said.

When Archer didn't answer, Denver cleared his throat and didn't ask for further clarification. He turned and moved back out the door.

The seconds stretched out into hours and accordioned back into minutes.

The door to his room shut. There was no indication she'd even entered in the room except the unique feeling of her just being there. "It's Farley," he said. "It all comes back to Farley."

She leaned against the door. She said nothing.

"I need you to fill in the gaps," he said. "And I know I'm not your friend or someone you even like, but you can help me. I'm asking you to."

She took a deep breath, taking a step further into the room. "I'm not sure either, love," she said. "It's all just guessing."

"Your guesses are good enough for me."

She walked further into the room, golden eyes scanning. "Farley met you," she started. "He was just an orphan, just a normal guy, but then he left Orphano with a few boys. Only two of them made it—Farley and his best friend, Tyrian. They were practically starved when we found them.

"We pulled them over the hull, onto the deck. Same thing we always do, same thing we did with you. Told them what they had to do. It was a nasty fight—neither of them were very good and it went on for a long time. But Farley won out."

"He killed someone he loved," Archer concluded.

She didn't confirm, but she didn't need to.

"He became a member of the crew. He ended up being good, but he wasn't always that way. He was bad at hand-to-hand, especially. I find an underdog entertaining, so I took him under my wing, made him good. Taught him things I didn't teach anyone else. Imagine my surprise when years later, you show up using my best tricks and claiming them as your own. Thinking Farley mentored you when really, I taught you everything you know."

Archer watched her. "You knew him well?"

"I was a mentor to him, so I knew him well. But if you're asking if I knew him like I know you, the answer is no."

He held her gaze despite how badly he wanted to look away.

"Still, Farley and I were far more alike than us. He was a killer down in his soul, but he had bad traits, ones I started to notice more and more. He had a tendency to drift, a lack of loyalty towards anyone but the people from which he could benefit. I considered talking to Darian about it—that Farley could be a problem somewhere down the road."

She shook her head, watching the waves splash over the porthole. "But Bardarian and I were fragile at the time, and so was my relationship with the crew. Farley was my prodigy; I made him from a bumbling idiot into one of the best fighters on this ship. I wanted the respect, the validation from him and everyone else, so I kept my concerns to myself."

She paused like she was considering. Then she looked up at Archer.

"It all comes back to the fatal flaw, Kingsley," she said. "You know what mine is?"

"Validation," Archer said, because it finally made sense. "You need to be told you're smart and talented. Nobody told you before Bardarian."

She was still as stone, watching the waves dance. "It was like he forgot about me," she said. "Slowly, at first, then all at once. He had me, so he didn't have to fight anymore. I would've told him it bothered me, but then I'd have to admit I wanted any of it in the first place." She smiled, but it was tainted with regret. "Of course I'd go to you; you gave me everything he'd stopped giving."

Maybe he should've revelled in the honesty she was providing for once, but his mind was too cloudy to care. To him, it felt like she was trying to justify her behaviour.

"Tell me about Farley," he said.

She glanced over at him, then back at the window. "We reached the Kingsland with Farley on board that year. We went in together, but we got split up. I thought he'd be dead—very few people can walk around that castle on their own and live to see the next day, but he came back to the ship unscathed. Something happened, and I knew it." She crossed her arms and leaned back. "This is where I start guessing."

Archer made the motion for her to continue.

"Farley was selfish. He didn't care that I made him talented or that I'd risked so much to keep him on board. When he was captured in the castle, he sold me out for a deal with the King: He finds a way to kill me or bring me back to the Kingsland for an ambush, and he'd be given a general's position. Live long and lavish. He took the deal.

"I knew something was wrong, but in order to tell anyone about it, I'd have to admit that I'd covered up Farley's issues for months. So we sailed away from the Kingsland with Farley on board."

"And then he tried to kill you," Archer finished, right as it dawned on him.

"It was the middle of the night," she said. "I was walking down the balcony steps, and he was waiting for me with a knife. I didn't think it was real—the crew does that to me all the time. I thought I was just trying to disarm. I didn't realize he was really trying to kill me."

"You still won," Archer said.

"I managed to get him to the rail. Once he knew he was going to lose, he jumped overboard."

"And then he went back to Orphano."

"The deal still stood—he just needed somebody else to carry it through," she continued. "Somebody who doesn't have a ton to lose, who's brave enough to risk his life for the better of his people. Somebody who reeks of potential." She glanced over at Archer again, golden eyes sharp. "Since he already knew you, he made up a story of finding your parents. Your personal motivator."

Archer concluded hours ago that his parents had been a carefully constructed lie. He'd gone through that initial shock already, but hearing her say it was worse, like it solidified it and made it real, reminded him that he had absolutely no plan anymore. No parents to find, no Farley and Jeanne to sail back to. Everything crumbled so fast.

"See, Kingsley, his dilemma remained in the fact that he couldn't simply tell you to kill me; you're too moral to murder without firm reason. It's why my initial guesses didn't make sense based on my perception of you." She shook her head, heading back over to the other wall. "But the King—that could work. He knows I'll get distracted by you, and he knows that'll distract you enough to throw us both off track."

Archer listened to her intently, utterly enchanted by the fact she had figured this all out and had been figuring it out from the very beginning. The level of cunning one had to have to put all that together, with even less information than he'd had.

She walked back over to the porthole again, mind turning. "So Farley tells you that the Avourienne goes to the Kingsland each year. That way, you'll get on the ship, figure out it's not going to where you need it to, and you'll have to convince us to go back."

"So I did exactly what he wanted me to." Archer couldn't believe his naivety.

"Yes. You make up a story about a map and convince our otherworldly captain to do exactly what Farley needs. You cut me out of the conversation and walk away all proud of your scheming. A few days later, I put on a little performance to try to find out how you did it, pretending as though I didn't have my ear pressed to the door for the entire conversation."

Archer gave an exasperated sigh.

"Honestly, love, know your audience. I didn't become the Champion of the Sea by minding my own business."

Archer waved her off. "Is there anything else?"

"That's most of it. Farley will be back at the Kingsland now, waiting with the King for my head on a silver platter."

Archer's face was slack. He didn't have the energy to deal with all of this now, didn't have the energy to see Farley or deal with what he'd done.

"Why go anyway?" he asked. "If it's all fake—if you knew the map wasn't real the day I made it up—why are we still going to the Kingsland?"

She sighed. "I was playing the long game. I was getting into your head, figuring out your motivations, but I was also keeping you there to win the stupid game with Darian. Which I did win, in the end, might I add."

"Because you slept with me, and it scared him enough to change."

"Yes, love."

"Then you took the ring."

She smiled, no remorse. "He wanted me to," she said simply.

"Does he know I made up the story of the map?" Archer asked.

She laughed, knowing she was being backed into a corner. "He doesn't."

Archer opened his mouth, but she cut him off.

"No, Kingsley, I didn't tell him. I didn't tell him because yes, I'll admit I'm not entirely sure I want him to get rid of you yet."

"Why's that?" he wondered.

She gave him a stunning grin, canines gleaming in the sunlight. "Darian is under the impression that you might be the higher bidder," she told him.

"I'm not bidding for you."

"I think you are. And to be honest, you may just be the best option I have. You're younger, smarter, and you're Myrian." She snapped her fingers. "That's why you didn't think you were Myrian. Makes sense now." She stood, walking over to the door like she was talking to herself. "But you don't have a ship, and I have this thing for authority. I like Darian's hat, too. And he's much taller. I like looking up to a man. Gives me a stretch."

Her hand was on the door, ready to leave. Then, like an afterthought, she turned again, glancing down at Archer. Taking a few steps forward and kneeling down on the ground in front of him, she turned her head and let out a small breath as she looked up at him.

"Your parents, Kingsley. You didn't deserve that." She held his gaze so steadily he had to break it just to think. He'd never expected her apologies. Not for this, not for anything.

"It's not on you," he told her.

"In a way, it is," she replied, eyes still firmly on him. "I was the target, and you got dragged into it."

Archer set his jaw, unsure of what to say. He felt awkward, out of his comfort zone.

She waited, as if there was something more for her to say. When he gave no answer, she placed a hand on his knee and rose, making her way to the door again. She shut it gently behind her, leaving it at that.

He wasn't sure how she managed to put it all together, but at least now he had the whole story. At least now he knew the truth. He wasn't sure what he would do when he saw Farley again, and he wasn't sure if the second part of his mission was still intact.

Was he still to kill the King?

The closer the Avourienne neared to the Kingsland, the closer the King's death came, whether it be by Archer, Silta, Bardarian or even Kerian. The King would die; it was hardly a question. The only problem remained in who took his place.

Bardarian could not have that throne.

And so, Silta could not have that crown.

*

The common room reeked of smoke and liquor. The night was dark and dull, the air crisp and cool. The further north they headed, the colder the days became. It wasn't the kind of weather that required any extra layers—but it did cause the hairs to rise on Archer's arms and make him long for something warmer.

It felt like mother nature was mirroring his feelings. He felt awfully dark and dull, too, having lost everything in a manner of minutes: his hope, his friends, his future. For this, he realized.

He lost it all for this. This room full of pirates who were loud and mean. Pirates who cared nothing for the lives of others, who believed morality was a useless concept. He almost left the room at that, but he decided to venture further in on some whimsical hope that he could distract himself. He had to keep up appearances, pretend like it was all okay.

"Arch! Come here!" Lyra's voice echoed across the room, disappearing through the distance. He headed her way.

"We're doing truth night," she explained, gesturing to the wide circle that was formed. "It's pretty much truth or dare but without the dare and made to suit the incredible level of testosterone in this room."

"Sounds typical," Archer noted.

"Hi, Kingsley," Silta's voice came from behind him. "I'd stay out of this game if I were you."

He turned around a little too fast to see her standing behind him, golden eyes on the circle. Starle was speaking loudly about something, with Rusher contradicting him constantly.

Archer agreed with that thoroughly. He didn't need to be exposing himself tonight.

Lyra glanced back at Silta, giving her a look. He turned to Silta, who was giving Lyra a look back. He turned back at Lyra, who rolled her eyes as she left.

"Do you ever do this?" he asked Silta. She was close enough that he could feel the warmth of her body.

"Never," she said. "Rule number three, Kingsley: Pick your battles. Always weigh risk to reward. If the exchange does not offer to you as much as it may take, do not enter it. Brilliance is knowing when to play dumb."

He turned a little to see her. She glanced at him.

"You've got to tell me what the rules are."

"Rule number one—"

"That's not what I meant. I meant where did they come from?"

She paused, watching the exchange between Starle and Rusher. "I know what you meant. I chose not to answer it that way."

He sighed. "How does this whole thing work anyway?" he asked, moving his hand to point to the circle with Starle and Rusher in the center.

"It's an honesty forum. You take a vow to answer everything with the complete and honest truth, then you pick a person. They ask you a question, you ask them a question. You can choose not to answer, but that ends the whole interaction."

"And what you say is just as important as what you don't," Archer said.

"Exactly. If you avoid the question and fold, it's most likely self-explanatory why you avoided it." Her gaze was still primarily focused on the interaction.

"Why are you watching like that?" he asked.

She smiled. "I'm the mediator, so I'm supposed to gauge whether or not they're lying. I'm getting a fibbing aura from Rusher, that bastard. He's a pathological liar."

"They expect you to just know?"

"I do just know."

"You can't possibly just know when people are lying all the time. Nobody is that insightful."

"Rusher's lying," she spoke up, loudly—not to Archer but to the group, stopping the interaction.

Starle immediately shot to his feet, throwing out the chair behind him. "I knew it!" he shouted.

Rusher gave Archer a look. "Kingsley, you're supposed to be distracting her."

"That would be cheating," Starle said. "What's the punishment for lying, again?"

"I believe it's throwing the liar overboard," Silta offered.

"It is not," Rusher told her. "There's no punishment, you imbecile." He flicked the shorter man in the forehead.

"Who's next?" Lyra asked, impatient to move on. Her eyes flickered to the door, where Bardarian had appeared in the doorframe. "Captain?" she asked. "You want a go at anybody?"

Silta took a sharp breath in. "No, Kingsley, don't do it," she whispered to him.

"He hasn't even—"

"I want the Minnow," Bardarian said, charismatic smile sharp. He walked closer to the circle, watching Archer. He wasn't usually in these lower-level crew exchanges, but it seemed tonight he was inclined to.

"Don't do it," Silta muttered.

"I can't just say no," Archer whispered back.

"Of course you can. Say no."

"You just don't want me to say anything that will get you in trouble," Archer snapped back, giving everyone a smile to buy time.

"He'll out you, Kingsley, no matter how stupid you think he is," she hissed. "True brilliance is knowing when to play dumb."

Archer let out a long breath. Bardarian had pretended to be dimmer than he was before. It was a good strategy—his crew would see him as more approachable and less like a schemer.

"That quite alright, sir. I think I'll watch for now," Archer replied politely.

"Very cautious of you, Kingsley," Bardarian noted, face friendly but his tone sharp.

Beside him, Silta ran her tongue over her teeth. "He's baiting you," she said quietly.

And he was baiting brilliantly. Archer was the tentative one, the careful man. Bardarian was audacious and daring and everything everyone wanted. To point that out in front of her was to capitalize on his lesser traits while bringing attention to his better ones.

Some part of Archer wanted to do it. He wanted to sit down in that circle and show everyone just how audacious and daring he could be, tell them all what really had happened. But he was cautious, and he was tentative. Brave did not mean impulsive, and true brilliance was knowing when to play dumb.

"I'm afraid I'm not quite ready to participate, sir," Archer said.

"Ah, that's my minnow," Bardarian told him with a smile. "Always skipping out on the dangerous things."

"Come on Kingsley," Lyra said. A few others joined in on her urges.

"Bait," Silta hissed.

Brave did not mean impulsive. Archer did not act on emotional whims.

"I'm not doing it, sir," he said, firm and sure. "I'm sure someone else would love to play pretend for a round."

Silta whistled quietly. "That's good," she said, and it was. It implied Bardarian was not brave nor daring for challenging people he already controlled. It was just throwing around old weight.

Perhaps no one else understood the insult, because the tension in the room cut a little. Lyra spoke up, challenging Denver, and the voices resumed. Archer swallowed when Bardarian made his way over to them.

"Should I run?" he whispered.

"Not many places for you to run to, I'm afraid," Silta answered.

Bardarian didn't have to shoulder his way through the crew to reach them. He walked unhurried, his smile brilliant. Archer fixed his posture.

Bardarian tilted his head to the side, spreading his arms. "Kingsley, lad," he said. "you're still a little cautious for my taste."

Archer clasped his hands behind him. "It's a trait I just can't seem to outrun, sir."

Bardarian rolled his gaze to Silta. "I've been told the two of you had a dramatic little argument yesterday in the strategy room."

"Well, love, I've been told I'm difficult to get along with," she replied, voice amused as she looked over his shoulder to the game she was still mediating.

"But Kingsley is so complaisant," Bardarian mused.

Silta grinned then, glancing back at Archer like she'd never loved a moment as much as this one. Her grin turned to a laugh. She placed a hand on Bardarian's arm as she said, "Oh, he has more bite than you'd think. Could probably snap your neck."

"That's how it works, darling," came his rapid reply. "You could kill me in seconds, but you also take the orders."

Silta raised her eyebrows. "You play an excellent short game, Captain, with that scathing reply," she said, "but wow do you play a shitty long game. None for you tonight." She tipped the front of his captain's hat with her finger as she passed by to join the truth forum. "I like your hat," she said as she left.

Bardarian reached up to straighten his hat, turning his cobalt eyes on Archer. "Don't get into dramatic arguments with crew members of a higher rank, Kingsley. Makes me look like I have no hierarchy on my ship. Understood?"

"Respectfully, sir, Silta and I are the same rank."

Bardarian lifted his chin, and Archer couldn't quite read him. He hated how much shorter he was, hated how little space he took up in comparison. He hated that they both knew, but they danced around and around it.

"This is not the navy, Kingsley, this is piracy. You crawl your way to power the dirty way. You don't play by the rules, and rank is not determined only by position."

Archer cleared his throat. So they were going to dance. He frowned as he spoke, "I'd attempt Silta's method of getting into your good graces, but you're not my type, sir."

Bardarian grinned, then he laughed. His teeth were brilliantly white, his smile contagious. "There's the boldness, Kingsley." He went to walk on, thumping down a hand on Archer's shoulder as he moved. "I like my sailors with a bit of fire."

Archer began to relax, thinking he was out of the way, but the hand on his shoulder stayed firm, and Bardarian did not move any further.

"I hate politics, Kingsley," the Captain said, his voice low and grating. "But she just loves dragging me into them." He watched the room out behind Archer, then leaned in close, meeting his gaze. "Give it up, Kingsley. You won't win."

His heart raced. He picked his words, tried to sort out if he really was going to give it up or not. What fight was he fighting? For that future Silta had presented—the one with the arguing and the pedestal of moral superiority, a lifetime of trying to fix her? The logic was clear: wanting her was a fickle, dead-end game that he probably wouldn't win.

"Kingsley, lad," Bardarian pushed. "You don't want to know how this ends." He was calm, he was cool, but there was something about this situation that greatly unnerved him. Why? There were some things logic just could not explain.

"I suppose we'll find out, sir," Archer replied. Because what did he have to lose? A family? A home? His friends? He had nothing to lose but her attention and the brief distraction it provided his broken heart with.

Bardarian smiled, but Archer only saw it out of his peripheral. "I hate politics," he said, his voice so quiet. "But I'm good at them." He pressed down hard on Archer's shoulder, forcing him closer. "I'll play your game, Kingsley. Until the bloody end."

He left then, leaving Archer to the consequences of his choice.