Nothing irritated Archer like the word plan.

He never realized how often that awful word was said, how frequent it came up in conversation. Let's plan this, let's plan that. If it all goes according to plan.

In his mind, the word plan was the bane of his existence. Nothing ever went according to plan. Not the plan they'd made in Port Marcel, not the one in Port Kiver, not the one he'd dedicated his life to. Plans were simply a guise of certainty, some fake form of protection and surety.

So he very simply, stopped planning. It happened overnight—or rather, the second he didn't cower in Bardarian's presence and decided to antagonize him instead. It happened the mere moment he decided he was going to fight and claw and do whatever it took to drag Silta away from the crown; the moment he decided he was going to have fun doing it.

The biggest thing Archer had over Bardarian was proximity. The Captain was always holed up with the bridge crew, too arrogant to associate with the lesser crew, too confident in his relationship with her to come down to the common room when they gathered. Archer, though, was always with her—in the strategy room, in the common room, watching her carefully from across the deck. It was almost too easy to get her alone.

You gave me everything he'd stopped giving. That's what she'd said to him, her words dripping with an uncharacteristic honesty. Now that Archer had time to digest those words, he couldn't stop hearing them. They echoed in his head, over and over. He assumed Bardarian had upped his game—or rather, he knew he did, because Silta was suddenly sporting all sorts of expensive diamonds. But still, the occasional glance told Archer he was not written off yet.

You're younger, smarter, and you're Myrian. By Silta's own admission, those were the things he had going for them. He just needed to capitalize them, pair them with her fatal flaw of validation.

Last night, Archer had been tossing darts at the wall with Rusher in the common room. He'd looked over at her only once, lounging over by the high-status crew like a popular girl he couldn't quite obtain. Then he'd looked away and didn't turn back.

If he'd constantly been looking, handing over his affection on a silver platter, she may not have cared. But that nonchalance, that feigned inattention was a punch to her ego. So she'd made her way over, taking the darts Rusher gave her so she could join in. Britter—who'd officially become Archer's personal cheerleader—followed her over, intent on watching the drama.

She beat them all over and over in darts, so much so that Rusher and Britter disallowed her from playing. She perched on one of the tables, talked about sailing paths and watched them throw their sets.

But for all her brilliance, she still took his lure regardless of whether she knew it was bait. "Tighten your core, Kingsley," she'd said, a knee-jerk correction of his form.

"Show me, then," he'd said back, tossing his dart. Rusher snorted, thinking it was simple banter, but Britter gave Archer an oh, you're good look.

In reaction, she glanced over at the bridge crew. Looking for Bardarian, simply wondering if he was there. He wasn't.

When it was Rusher's turn, Archer leaned next to her table. He'd nodded to the necklace resting on her collarbones. "Pretty," he'd said.

"You like it?" she asked, Siren grin in full force.

"I hate it," he replied, "but I love it on you."

She'd shaken her head. "Bait," she muttered.

He'd leaned closer. "Take it."

She'd kept that smile on, canines gleaming. She knew his game, knew his tactics. She knew, but it was still so easy for her to fall for them. She liked this back-and-forth, found pleasure in pitting men against each other.

She'd stepped off the table and announced that she was leaving. She wished them awful luck with the game they'd cut her out of, then left the room, but she'd left behind that knife she'd been twirling in her fingers all night—a chance, an opportunity.

So he brought it back to her, catching up with her in the hallway belowdecks. She'd been leaning against the door to her corner room, waiting for what she knew would come. He said nothing, just handed her the knife and kissed her before she could change her mind.

He didn't wonder if she did the same thing to someone else upstairs. He didn't care if she did, because his moments were better. They were sacred to him, the nights when he got her and Bardarian didn't. She was a quiet lover, someone who fell asleep quickly and woke up late, always curling some part of herself around him like she hated the idea of things moving and leaving while she wasn't aware of it.

It was still dark when he woke that morning, moonlight shining through the window, illuminating the bridge of her nose and the curve of her jaw as it rested in the hollow of his shoulder. She was deadly still, impossibly silent in sleep. The sun was dangerously close to rising over the water, threatening to shatter his perfect moment.

"Silta," he said to the silence.

He could feel her eyelashes flutter open. "Kingsley," she mumbled back. "You wake up too early, love." She closed her eyes again.

"I used to fish," he said, mindlessly tapping her shoulder lightly. "Fishermen get up early."

"Do you see any fish?" she asked. "Go to sleep."

"Can't," he told her, eyes scanning the room. "I'm up now."

She didn't respond. Her eyes remained closed.

"Why do you hate your father?" he asked.

She said nothing, unbelievably still and quiet.

"I think you're brilliant for figuring out Farley with so little information," Archer told her. "Ridiculously smart, to say the least."

She grinned sleepily, still without opening her eyes. "Tell me more."

"Tell me what the King did to make you hate him."

"I don't hate him," she said, sighing as she rolled onto her back, leaving his skin cold. "I'm just indifferent."

"What made you indifferent?"

"He killed my mother, Kingsley," she replied. There was no pain in her tone, just factuality.

"How?" he asked.

"Assassins. One for my mother, two for me." There was something eerie about the simplicity of the statement in the darkness.

There was a long pause. Archer thought she might have gone back to sleep, but when he looked down, her eyes were still open.

"You loved your mother, then?" he asked.

"Did you love yours?"

Archer blinked. His voice caught in his throat.

"Don't ask me a question you wouldn't answer," she told him. That same uninterested, unfocused tone threaded her words.

"You took your ring off last night," he said after a pause.

"I did," she said.

"You'll live as a figurehead to get him more power than he already has?" he asked.

She rolled over, sliding her legs over the side of the bed and tugging a thick jacket over her shoulders. The temperature had begun to dip low enough that the cold air on his skin was more painful than uncomfortable.

"Novari," Archer said.

She glanced back at him, taking the ring from her nightstand and slipping it back on her finger. "I'm not talking about this with you, Kingsley."

"No? You don't think I deserve at the very least an explanation?"

She didn't answer him, just opened the door and left, leaving him alone in that massive room.

Archer stayed still for a moment. He began to plan out all the ways to find out if she really was going to give the throne to Bardarian, but then he remembered that he didn't plan anymore. So he sat up and got dressed, then caught up with her on the stairs.

"Tell me what you're doing with the throne," he pressed, putting together the last button on his shirt.

She took the stairs quickly. "Stop trying to play the game, Kingsley. You won't win."

"You're making me play it. And it's Archer. Archer, the man you're sleeping with. Don't call me Kingsley."

"I'll call you whatever I want," she replied, turning to face him as they crested the deck.

Archer stopped too, finding her gaze. He held it even when he heard the steps down the captain's balcony, and so did she. He saw Bardarian out of the corner of his eye, heading towards them, but he still refused to break first.

"All these strategists," Bardarian said—talking more to himself than to them, "and they never seem to strategize." He pushed between them, descending the stairs belowdecks.

Archer glanced at Bardarian's back, disappearing to the cells—most likely to talk to Kerian. Silta took her opportunity to leave Archer by the stairs, making her way up to strategy.

He sighed and left it there. She had brief moments of vulnerability, and he just had to wait for another one. Glancing at the rising sun, he went to the navigation room. It was a little less heavy than the strategy room, and he liked the maps. He opened the door with a loud creak, the two navigators in a deep conversation.

"Morning, Archer," Rusher said, looking up. "You're up early."

Archer glanced at the two of them. "What's the timeline looking like?" he asked.

Starle grinned. "Well, we made port early today. We'll do a quick restock and leave by tonight. Then, we'll head a little further north, stopping once more at Port Trivv, which is just before the Kingsland. The crew will have a night to enjoy themselves before we head right to the King himself," he said.

"Fuck the King," Rusher mumbled under his breath, continuing to make his markings.

"And you guys?" Starle asked. "What's the plan?"

Archer didn't know what he was talking about for a moment, and then he realized that he was a strategist, and he made the plans. Funny, considering he'd thrown away most of his planning plans.

"We started a while ago but we didn't finish," Archer said, preferring to block out that argument. "We'll get there soon."

"Have you picked who gets to go into the Kingsland?" Rusher asked quickly, looking up from the map and dropping his pencil.

Archer leaned against the desk, realizing how much power he had; he had one-third of the say in who got to go inland. Although, since Silta had been declared head strategist, it might be less than that.

"Silta and Britter will go," Archer said, assuming that much. "Bardarian too, obviously. The rest is still up in the air."

"Put in a good word for me, would you?" Rusher said, his tone bursting with excitement. "I need to be on that excursion. I haven't been in on a fight for too long."

Starle grinned. "That's true. Last challenge we had was Kernite, and he's not too special. Him or his crew."

Archer had been a part of quite a few excursions since the Forlorn, and his heart rate had been plenty high these past few days. Calm was what he wanted.

"I'll do what I can," he said, gazing at the maps. He walked over to one of the walls. "Is this Myria?" he asked, pointing to the dark map to his left.

Rusher was still making bearings, but Starle got up to look. "Yeah, that's Myria," he said. "In all her glory."

"You ever been there?" Archer asked.

Starle shrugged. He was quite a bit older than Archer and even had a few years on the Captain, but he maintained a child-like excitement that rivalled no one.

"Sure," Starle replied. "Bardarian owns Myria more than any other man, but the ports there are less organized, and there's no King to steal from. More pirates, too."

"You ever been to Canale?" Archer asked. "Where Silta grew up?"

"I wish I could say no," Starle said. "I hate that damn island with every fiber of my being. Bardarian has a deal with the Siren Queen, but those Sirens on Canale didn't follow the rules. And they did a good job of taking us down all those years ago."

"Sirens are magic," Archer pointed out. "It was hardly a winnable fight."

Rusher looked up and swung around in his chair. "Are they magic?" he asked. "Or are they just women with tails who excel at manipulation? I was on the ship that day. I saw Bardarian get conked out by Silta fair and square—no magic."

"And the rest of you?" Archer inquired.

"Distracted by pretty faces. We're men that room with other men for most of our lives. We're not hard to seduce."

Starle gave a shrug. "I think Sirens are magic."

Rusher gave him a look. "Silta isn't magic. Neither is her mother, and they ran the show."

"Silta's mother wasn't a Siren?" Archer asked.

Rusher sighed, running his fingers over the dark map of Myria. "She was, but she was banished. When you're banished as a Siren, you go through something real painful that strips your tail from you and any of the Siren in you so you can't pass it down to your children. Silta's mother went through that, then she led the resistance against the Siren Queen."

"And what did she want with Bardarian? Why attack the ship?"

Rusher grinned. "The infamous Myria's chest."

Archer snorted. That was funny. "Isn't that a fable?"

"Aren't Sirens fables?" Rusher countered. "I suppose it could be, but Silta's mother didn't think so, and she thought Bardarian had it, so she attacked our ship and holed us up on Canale."

"And how did you get out of that?" Archer wondered.

Rusher gave him a smirk. "Silta took Bardarian in for questioning, and he flipped her loyalty. She got us out in the end."

"Nobody knows how," Starle confirmed. "Lots of secrecy about that island and what went on during that time."

Archer lulled over this information. It all made perfect sense—Silta's mother was banished, so she wasn't able to pass the Siren charm to Silta when she was born. But Silta's mother was dead now—that's what she'd said. The King killed her.

"Silta's mother," Archer said, "the King killed her?" he asked.

Both Starle and Rusher turned to look at him.

"I didn't know that," Rusher said.

"Me either," Starle added.

Archer pursed his lips. He thought it was something everyone knew. He didn't realize he'd gotten something legitimately personal this morning. He decided not to say anything more.

"Did she tell you that?" Rusher said, leaning back on the wall.

"No," Archer said. "I assumed."

Starle turned back to his maps, but Rusher didn't buy it. He regarded Archer with something resembling a stern look. "You two aren't at each other's throats nearly as much anymore," he said—almost like an accusation.

Archer shrugged. "I guess you learn to deal with people."

Rusher squinted at him. "Right."

Archer turned away from the navigator, uncomfortable with the focus. He'd prefer not to explain how he managed to learn to deal with Silta. He moved to the back of the room, where the entry to the strategy room was.

"I'll see you guys," he said to the navigators.

"See you, Archer," Starle said, glancing intently at his map.

He pushed open the door and ascended the narrow stairs to the strategy room. He slowly pushed open the door.

"Kingsley!" Britter said from the table. He was looking over a map, drawing arrows over it. Silta was laying on the couch, her eyes closed.

"You're up early," Archer said to him.

"He sleeps in here," Silta said from the couch. Then she mumbled, "There are no fishermen."

Britter grinned and shook his head. "I sleep in here," he explained, "because I'm not a natural like the two of you. I've got to work for my brains, thank you."

Silta snorted. "You do not. You're just obsessed with pleasing Bardarian."

"We can't all please him the way you do," Britter said back. He glanced up at Archer and snorted his laugh to a stop. "Sorry."

Archer crossed the room and leaned against the arm of Silta's couch. "Have we picked who goes into the Kingsland yet?" he asked.

Silta didn't bother moving to offer him space. "You, me and Britter," she said.

"Who else?" Archer wondered. When Silta still didn't move, he pushed her head back and sat down. Silta, still not giving up, knocked her head back against his leg, so he pushed it back with his knee. She laughed out loud then, letting him stay.

Britter didn't notice. "Working on it," he answered Archer's question.

"Is there a plan here?" Archer asked, "Other than killing the King? I mean, what are we doing with Kerian?"

"Killing him, I guess," Britter said. "That's up to Ri."

Silta didn't move. She stayed still in her spot. Her left hand was positioned under her right, so Archer couldn't see the ring. He didn't really want to, either.

"Keep him," she said. "As bait and protection. Put Darian on the list—he still thinks he's looking for some fake map."

Archer looked quickly to Britter.

"Figured that much out myself, Kingsley," Britter said, barely paying him any attention. "Novari doesn't do everything; I also earned my position."

"Split Kingsley and Darian up," Silta was saying. "Kingsley gets his head start, then I'll tell Darian the map is fake."

Archer looked from Silta to Britter. "You're working out a plan to save me?" he asked carefully.

"Not really," Britter started, "it would just be easier if we didn't have to work the Captain's freakout and your murder into our plan. You'll have to find your own way out, though, Kingsley."

Archer paused. "You're kicking me off the ship?"

Silta let out another sigh. "You want to stay here once he knows you're not just a woman snatcher, but also a completely disloyal crew member?"

Archer guessed he probably didn't. He knew it would be for the best—splitting from the Avourienne forever—but this ship was all he knew now. He didn't have anywhere else to go anymore. Not back to Farley and not back to Jeanne. He didn't want to see Orphano again.

"We'll break into teams, as always," Britter was saying. "Kingsley and I will go together, and I'll pretend to lose him somewhere in the first little while. Archer will be on his own from there, and I'll make it back to the main group, just say I lost him or something."

Silta didn't say anything, but Archer wondered if she was really so nonchalant with him leaving for good.

"I'll put you and Cap together," Britter said to Silta. "You'll go for the King and have Kerian with you."

Silta sat up. "You know what I think? There's no need for anyone other than three to be going inland. The place is a maze and it's dangerous as hell. Kingsley needs to go, so does Bardarian and obviously I do. But Britter—you have no reason to be there."

"Who's going to let Kingsley go, then?" he countered. "Once you tell Bardarian it's over for the Minnow."

Archer figured he might be able to handle himself against the Captain, and he didn't like them constantly referring to Bardarian's realization as his endgame. It would be somebody's endgame—but not necessarily his.

"I'll figure it out," Silta said.

Oh, he didn't like that. She was leaving it too open-ended—like she already had her own way of going about things once they entered the Kingsland. It was far too dangerous that way; Archer needed to know exactly what was going on.

"I disagree," he spoke up. "The more people in there, the safer the group is."

Silta tilted her head back to gaze at him. She knew exactly what he was afraid of: Her and her mind working up some sort of plan without him involved.

"I think Kingsley's right," Britter agreed, not noticing the interaction. "But we have to be careful about who we pick. I say in addition to us three and Cap, we bring Tailsley and Tolva."

Archer looked up suddenly. "Denver? You want to send Denver in? Why?"

Silta glanced up at the ceiling.

"Why Denver?" Archer asked again.

"Tolva's expendable, Kingsley," Britter said. "He's capable enough to go, but we won't lose too much if he doesn't make it. Same with Tailsley."

Archer couldn't believe his ears. "That's insane. And it's cruel."

Britter leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. "It's not. It's hard, sure, but it's what makes the most sense. That's what we do on the Avourienne—what makes the most sense. Even if it's hard."

Archer didn't exactly have the argument to throw back. What they were saying did make sense, just like Jeanne's murder. It just made sense.

"I say Britter doesn't go," Silta spoke up.

"Me? Why?"

"There's no reason for it. Either Tolva or Tailsley will lose Kingsley. The two of them like him enough to be on board. Darian and I will take care of the King," she replied.

Britter leaned back, considering this.

"We'll also need someone to lead the team that stays on the Avourienne," she added. "I don't trust anyone else to pull it off properly."

"Pull off what?" Archer asked.

Silta glanced outside. "I'm leaving," she said as she got up. "I'll be back later."

"You're going into port?" Britter asked her with a little too much fear saturated into his tone. "Alone? There's still a bounty on your head."

Archer didn't really think it was all that big of a deal that Silta was alone; she was plenty capable. But something about this port seemed to bother Britter—and, for that matter—it seemed as though the navigators had been a little off, too. He wondered if there was something about this port specifically that left the crew a little uneasy.

"What was she talking about?" he asked once she'd left. "There's something the Avourienne has to do while we're in the Kingsland?"

"We'll fill you in later when we get closer," Britter said with a wave.

Archer leaned back. Although he was now an important member of the crew, he still felt as though he was being kept out of the loop. He needed to make sure he stayed in on the plan. He needed to know every part of it, if any of this were to go his way.