Novari had nowhere to be, just a ceiling to gaze up at and a conversation to repeat in her head. He'd called the lie like she'd anticipated he would, of course. He'd lost her games over and over, but that didn't mean she was any more likely to get him to crack. He'd done a lot of deals in his life and been interrogated by plenty of people.

"What's going on in that head of yours?"

She didn't look over at Sam, just kept her hands threaded over her stomach and her gaze on the ceiling. The musty air was cold on her bare shoulders, but she didn't want to move.

Sam brushed his thumb over the shape of her collarbone. He touched her with the same disbelief he'd worn ever since this started. "Novari?" he prompted.

"He's not going to tell," she replied. His fingers were slightly damp and even colder than the air.

"He's not?"

She shook her head. "I doubt it. Not without a special circumstance."

Sam scrunched up his nose. Special circumstance meant some form of persuasion. "Come on. You don't need to go that far. You're smarter than him."

"You've never even spoken to him."

"I've spoken to you, and there's no one smarter than you."

Novari traced the lines of the ceiling with her eyes. By a simple score, yes, she was the smarter conversationalist, but intelligence was both highly context and experience dependent. Even more so, her true talent was not this kind of thing; she excelled at long-term games, learning people until their character was imprinted in her head and easy to predict. She thrived in chaos, moving and changing an environment with a thousand variables. The newer the person, the less they conformed to a usual cutout, the fewer things around her to use—those were her challenges, and they happened to correspond perfectly to his current advantages.

"You're ignoring me again," Sam said, tapping her shoulder.

Novari felt a familiar strain coming over her. She should've pushed his hand away, should've sat up or reached for the blanket. She should've done something to prevent herself from getting overstimulated, but she was too proud to admit she couldn't control it with sheer willpower.

"My mother messed it up," she said. If he noticed her sudden discomfort, he didn't care.

"How so?"

Always explaining. The whole who's-fault-is-it-that-this-went-wrong thing was far too advanced for him. Does she tell him? Does she ask him to take his hand off her shoulder? Does she count all the ceiling tiles until she can't count anymore?

She felt her brow pull down a fraction. "He's a good-looking man," she said. "Maybe I should just skip the posturing. Enjoy it for the second it'll take."

Sam's lips pursed, and he took his hand away. "I thought you liked keeping your dignity."

She laughed, because technically, she shouldn't have any dignity left. Statistics-wise, half the people on this island should have something to say about her in an intimate environment—but for some reason, despite being no actual mystery, everyone still saw her as one.

"Can't you just cut him up?" Sam asked, taking her wrist and threading his fingers through hers.

She felt her whole forearm go tense, but she didn't take it away from him. Willpower, willpower. "Torture doesn't work on a man like that," she said.

"Torture works on everybody."

She didn't correct him, didn't tell him to get his hands off her. Torture wouldn't work on her, and it wouldn't work on Bardarian. Neither would tell something they didn't want to tell because of pain.

"Hello?"

She flicked his fingers away and drew her arm back, causing him to look both offended and confused. Couldn't he see?

"So just do it, then," Sam said. "Go on in there and do your little hair trick. He'll tell in thirty seconds."

Novari finally broke her gaze on the ceiling to look over at him. Twirling a single lock of Sam's hair around her finger almost always got him acting exactly how she wanted, but she didn't think that would work with Bardarian.

"I don't think he's that easy," she said.

Sam scoffed. While he wasn't brilliant, he did know an insult when he heard it—most of the time. "So give him more," he said, sitting up and reaching for his coat. "Just don't tell me about it."

"No?" she asked. "You don't want to know all the fun details?"

He shook his head. "You're mean, Novari," he said, lacing up his boots.

"You signed up for it," she told him. But yes, she was being mean—because none of this should be happening. She wanted to prove to her mother, to herself, to everyone else that she didn't have to play Siren to get her way. That she was smart, and that was her power, not that she was pretty.

"Just kill him," Sam suggested, turning around to look at her. "Tell your mom it was an accident."

"You don't accidentally kill a two-hundred-pound man."

"Whatever, Novari. He's cocky and arrogant as hell; no one's going to miss him."

She wasn't sure she'd call Bardarian cocky. Arrogant, sure, but so was she. Was it arrogant to say she was always right if she was, in fact, always right? Cocky people were easy to trap, and she didn't find him to be that.

"You know, you could do with a little more cockiness," she noted.

He gave her a look. "I'd rather be not cocky enough than too cocky."

"I firmly disagree. Aim high and adjust."

He rolled his eyes and held out his hand. "Come on. Dinner."

Novari shook her head. "I have to think."

"You need sustenance to think. Mealroom closes soon, anyway."

She glanced at him. Was it already nightfall? She sat up, looking over at the window. Of all her cunning traits, the passage of time was always hard for her. She'd be doing some useless task and the whole day would be gone. She reached for her boots.

The mealroom was bustling when they entered, and her eyes were heavy. She never understood how her mother had managed to get this many two-legged people in on her resistance using just the last of that Siren charm.

Their so-called friends were at the far end of the room, faces red with laughter. When she sat down, the conversation came dangerously close to a halt. It's not like they didn't like her, and it's not that they didn't want her there, but there was something about her that demanded a cease in conversation.

"How's Bardarian?" Milia asked, her eyes sparkling as she leaned forward.

Novari tugged her sleeves over her wrists. Why was it so cold out? Was there some sort of storm coming? Now that she thought of it, the air did feel abnormally heavy.

"He's tight-lipped," she replied, leaning her elbows on the table.

Kiera stabbed a piece of lettuce with her fork. "Don't put his lips on my mind." She dropped her fork onto the table, lettuce with it. "I'd do anything to interrogate him."

Sam let out another annoyed sigh beside Novari. To his left was Edward, uncharacteristically quiet in the evening.

"I second that," Milia said. "I'd lick his boots clean if he asked me to."

Novari looked over at them. "You give us a bad reputation," she said.

"What? Sam would do the same for you." She tapped the table to refocus Novari's wandering attention. "You have to tell us about the eye thing," she pressed, leaning over the table. "Maybe they don't change, but are they at least like, a really good colour?"

"Brown," Novari told her. "Like yours. Like anyone else's." Eyes were her thing, not his.

"Good voice?" Kiera asked, coming in close to hear her response.

"No. I think he smokes." He was not a smoker and had a perfectly nice voice, but that was just semantics.

Kiera picked up a small tomato with her hand and put it back down, the conversation lulling.

Novari watched her pick up her tomato and put it back down again. Kiera never ate much, but there was always plenty to go around. She was a young, impressionable girl who was compared constantly with Sirens and Novari—not great representations of normalcy. Maybe if Novari were a better friend, she would talk to Keira about it.

"What are you going to do with his ship?" Edward asked, poking his lettuce.

Novari couldn't properly read him from this angle, but she knew why he'd asked. He'd been there when she'd taken the Avourienne back to Canale, and there was a very strong sense of pull to the ship.

"Burn it," she answered.

Edward's fork clanged loudly as he dropped it. "You're kidding."

"As long as the map's not on there, probably," Novari replied—truthfully this time. As beautiful and alluring as the Avourienne was, there was no need for them to keep it. It would just draw the attention of other pirates who wanted it.

"Why wouldn't you take it to get the chest?" Sam asked.

"The sail for the chest is a long way away," Novari told him. "We still need the key."

Edward snapped his fingers. "Take the ship to get the key, then."

Novari shook her head. "Unpredictable."

Edward leaned forward to look at her. His dark eyebrows furrowed. "Unpredictable?"

Novari glanced at Kiera, watching her pick up the tomato again. She looked at Novari, then put it back down. How at war with herself she must be.

"You going to see Bardarian again tomorrow?" Sam asked, picking apart the piece of bread with his hands.

"No," she answered, watching Kiera carefully. "I'll give him a few days to starve."

Kiera's head snapped up.

"Starving's an awful thing," Novari said. "Worst way to die, best way to kill."

Kiera looked back down at the tomato, but she still didn't eat it.

Milia didn't seem to notice. "How old do you think Bardarian is?" she asked, eyes wandering around the room.

Novari placed him at twenty-six, and she was a good judge of age. "Too old for you," she said.

The conversation dragged on, but Novari didn't participate. Her gaze drifted around the room, taking in all the seated people. She found her mother's gaze and held it, refusing to give her the satisfaction of being the one to break it. Seira immediately stood and made her way over.

"Oh, come on," Sam breathed, noticing who was coming.

Novari held Seira's gaze all the way to the table. When she finally arrived, Seira placed both hands flat in front of Novari. "You talk to Bardarian today?"

"He called bullshit on your lie."

"You didn't sell it."

"Perhaps I didn't. Or perhaps it was a mindless plan in the first place."

Seira leaned across the table, the details of her face becoming clear. Sam leaned a little out of the way, and across from them, Kiera scooted to the side. Novari didn't move an inch. She kept her eyes uninterested.

"Careful who you call mindless," Seira warned. There was something different about her today, and it did warn Novari to be careful, but then again—she was who she was.

"I called your plan mindless, not you. But I'd call you mindless as well."

Seira snatched the knife from Milia's plate and drove it into the table next to Novari's hand. "You watch yourself today," she whispered.

"As long as your aim stays that poor, I think I'll be fine."

Sam leaned further out of the way. The tips of Seira's ears were tinged with red, but today was an unforgiving day.

"If you don't—" Seira started.

"Think," Novari interrupted. "What do you have to threaten? You'll put someone else in charge of Bardarian, make someone else the designated interrogator?" She shook her head, getting to her feet. "If all I had to do this whole time was insult you to pass him off, then get comfortable." She placed her hands on the table like her mother had. "You're an awful leader, but an even worse mother. You preach rules you refuse to follow, and you use your daughter as a lapdog because you're too far out of your prime to do anything yourself. That's the truth."

It had been so long since anyone won one of these battles with Novari—so long that the people gathered in the mealroom didn't even care to watch anymore. They went on eating, didn't gasp or point.

"One of these times, I hope you make a truly concerning threat," Novari said. "It would make this island of hell just a fraction more interesting." She snapped out her last word, stepped away from the table and didn't look back.

She'd get that map from Bardarian, and she'd do it with her mind.