Novari counted all the things she'd done wrong.

One: her initial falter, right when he leaned in close. Two: not laying it on thick enough to fully distract him. Three: her reaction when he'd called her out on her mother. First allowing him to confirm it, second letting him win by losing her composure.

She hated the faux confidence that he wore so well, the faint smell of wax and the way his skin still tasted of the ocean even after days in that awful room-smelling room. She hated his mind, she hated how much smarter he was than he pretended to be. She hated his tolerance for pain. She hated his laugh and his assumptions of her, but the thing she truly despised were those beautiful eyes. She lived through the minds of people, through the emotions they showcased in their eyes and faces. She focused on them, made a point to understand and catalogue them. She was the one with the shocking eyes, but he almost had her. She could see the waves, see the perfect experiment he became to her.

Novari lived her mistakes over and over again, analyzing all the ways it went wrong, all the ways she could've done better. She relived her humiliating moment again and again in an attempt to reconcile with herself that it wasn't so bad, but that just made it worse.

When she had nothing more to offer herself but sizzling hot embarrassment, she left the building and headed down to the port. Canale's port—and Canale, for that matter, was almost always gloomy and rainy, the utter embodiment of hell.

The Avourienne was docked near the cliffs, so she dismissed the two men who were guarding it as she boarded. It looked the same as it had that night, the crimson sails as red as the blood staining the balcony steps where she'd accidentally cracked open Bardarian's head. Nobody had cleaned it, and now it stained; it would probably be there forever.

She took the balcony steps two at a time, the cool breeze drifting as she pushed at the doors. The captain's quarters were warmer, hidden from the wind.

It was dark, the polished wood glinting back at her.

She hadn't searched the ship; that had been a bald-faced lie. She knew Bardarian wouldn't have it anywhere where it could be found, and therefore it would've been a waste of her time to search it.

Now, though, there could be something in here that could give her an edge—a way to worm into his head like he'd done with hers.

She ran a hand over the wood, not a sliver to be found. She spun around and sat in his chair, finding it to be quite uncomfortable. She leaned back, looking at the room. There was power to this position, to the thought of ruling a crew from this place. There was freedom in it, without a doubt.

She reached forward and opened the drawer to her right. There were papers in there—deeds and deals with ports and businesses. She flipped through each one. There was ink and blank papers. There were seals and envelopes. Nothing that would help her.

She moved on to the left side. Much of the same. The last drawer on the bottom left had a lock on it, and she couldn't quite pull it open.

She glanced around, then wedged her knife in the opening and stood, bringing her foot down hard on the hilt of the knife. The lock tore the wood out and splintered the side. She kicked the splints down and glanced inside.

There was a pistol inside, nothing else. She pulled it out and examined it. It was a pretty thing, with a heavy black body and a red barrel—the same colours as the Avourienne. She figured the two belonged to each other, so she put it back. She didn't have much use for it.

She glanced at the captain's room. She stood, making her way over carefully as she pushed open the door.

The room was simple. The bed was large and unmade, the blankets tossed aside and a pillow near the foot of the bed. There was a pair of extra boots on the ground and a nightstand on the right side. Near the window was a dresser. She opened all the drawers, but there was nothing but clothes.

She glanced at the nightstand. There was a glass of standing water and an unlit candle. She reached out and pulled on the drawer.

There was a book in it, which she found rather odd; she hadn't pegged him to be a reader. She flipped it around. She recognized it—in fact, she'd read it. The Borders was pretty unknown, but Novari had found it in her mother's room when she was little and the pretty ship on the front caught her attention.

It was a complicated read, one that was written a long time ago. It delved into the history of the Cobalts and what was known of Myria, focusing on the formation of it all. There was science in it, too, but it was mostly theoretical. It wrote of the borders, what was beyond and what was inside. Not only of the ocean but of the mind. It taught a person how to live, although Novari had never agreed with the contents. It was a book of faith, and she wasn't one to believe.

She sat on the bed, curling her legs underneath her as she flipped through the book. It was old and worn, read a million times. The spine was torn, the pages were bent, and there was ink on the pages, written by him. He'd made notes in the margins—what he thought, what he wanted to remember. So he was a religious man, one of faith.

She put the book back. For some absurd reason, it felt too personal to read the book through him like that, even though getting in his head was exactly what she'd set out to do.

She peered into the drawer once more. There was a coil notebook and a ring—a beautiful thing, with a sparkling diamond center and a gold band, simple and classy. By the size of the diamond, it would sell for a lot.

She turned it in her fingers. She slipped it on her finger and watched it sparkle. He probably didn't steal it—then it wouldn't be sitting in his nightstand. He probably didn't buy it, but maybe it was given to him.

Maybe it was his mother's. It was a common thing for a son to possess their mother's wedding ring, and when she peered closer at it, she noticed the engravings. They followed the band, done with a steady hand. They were beautifully done, letters and pictures so intricate she could stare at them all day. Along the side were the letters of half his name, Darian. A family ring, then.

She glanced around the room. Very few pirates married, so why have a ring like this? Maybe he had a girl somewhere, someone he truly loved, someone she could exploit. That couldn't be the case, though, not only because she would be able to tell if someone was in love, but also because his reputation said otherwise.

She turned to the notebook. They were all sketches, detailed by steady hands. They were mostly maps of islands or reefs, but there were ones of creatures, too. There was one of the Korower, and a few of other serpents. Important aspects of the animals were jotted on the side in his messy writing, listing the ones to avoid and the ones that were harmless. The drawings were practical for a captain to have, but they screamed creativity to her.

She sighed heavily as she flipped through the pages. She'd never been a drawer; she didn't have the patience for it. It bothered her that he was better than her at something. She put the notebook and the ring back and closed the drawer. She glanced around the room.

There was something about this room that was calming to her. The easy lifestyle he seemed to live was comforting. He didn't follow any set of rules, but then again, look where that got him.

She ran through the things she'd learned. For one, considering he hadn't sold that ring, he was still searching for something he didn't have. His head was full of faith and creativity, living one moment to the next. The idea of a stagnant life terrified him. He was a king. He was a twenty-six-year-old man who had played his cards just right. Deep beneath his steel persona was someone who was still looking for something out there he didn't have.

*

Milia touched her bottle to Novari's, the sound clinking in the darkness. Novari didn't bring the bottle to her lips, just held it there blankly.

"Cheers to Nova," Milia said, bringing the bottle down. "Cheers to her for telling her mom to screw off, finally."

Novari glanced at her. It was just the first time she'd done it publicly, so it wasn't really a big deal to her as it had been to everyone else. She wiped the condensation from her bottle.

"Someone had to," Edward said, brown irises lacking true focus. She knew that look; he'd had too much to drink, and now he wanted her alone.

Sam was there, too, so oblivious. It was late in the night, but Sirens rarely slept, and they didn't call it night, either. It was always evening. Evening in the afternoon and evening in the early hours of the morning.

"You know what we should do?" Kiera asked. "Leave. The five of us. Get the hell out."

Novari leaned back. She glanced at Sam.

"Amen to that," Milia responded with a laugh. She caught Novari's eye. "Only if she goes."

Novari could imagine leaving, but she knew rule number seven: Avoid the Uncertainty. She wasn't to go anywhere or do anything without a plan. If she had something to go to, some sort of place to call home, maybe she'd consider it. This group was too incapable to make up for the lack of surety.

She glanced at Sam again, then back at Edward, who was still glaring at her.

She looked down at her bottle, then reached over to Sam's and took it from him. It was full still, and it was closest.

He gave her a look as she stood. "You're leaving?"

Novari didn't answer him. She pushed open the door to Milia's room and went back to her own. She put both bottles on the desk and popped the cork back out. She opened her drawer and brought out a vial of black liquid.

She stopped.

She was supposed to prove this could be done with her mind. That was the whole point. If she drugged him, maybe everyone else wouldn't know, but she would. That, and he probably wouldn't be a very good pirate if he didn't make her taste it first.

She popped the corks back in and left her room. She'd do it with her mind.