These days were unfamiliar to Vallin. Most of his time was spent idly reading, drawing or arguing with Rusher in navigation. When he wasn't doing any of that, he was eating or lounging in the common room, watching Britter beg Silta to fight him. On the tenth day of his consistent nagging, she finally agreed.

It took her four minutes to beat him, but Britter hadn't been upset. He wanted to go again after his break, so Silta let the others fight her in the meantime. Rusher took two minutes, Starle took a record-breaking twenty seconds.

When she was done with all of them, she pointed to Vallin, leaning against the mast. It was getting dark out, the evening sun disappearing beyond the horizon.

Vallin shook his head. "I'd rather not."

The crew laughed, amused. Everyone was enjoying themselves, it seemed, with the exception of Everson, who watched the whole thing with a permanent frown etched into his face. Vallin guessed the only reason he was there was to pick apart Silta's performance and see if he could catch holes in her play.

"I'll go easy on you," Silta said.

"Maybe another time," Vallin replied.

She grinned, teeth sharp in the dimming light. She spread her arms, tilted down her chin, looking up at him to make him feel taller. "Come on, love," she said.

Vallin gave her a look. "I don't think I could ruin that face," he said honestly.

The grin never left, but her expression turned mysterious. "Come now, you can't play prose and not fight, Captain."

The crew seemed to agree. The begged him to do it and truth be told, he did want to try. He knew her body and her tendencies, was well acquainted with the way she moved. Maybe he'd hold his own. He glanced at Britter, writing notes, then gave in.

Silta whirled around, the smile vanishing. She was concentrating, reverting. She rolled her shoulders. So she wasn't so sure she'd win, then. Vallin had never been as good as Everson, but he was good.

At times, he questioned what they were doing. She didn't talk much, really, but she was always at his side once it got dark. Sometimes, he'd have the pressing feeling that he was being used again, but then she'd run her fingers over some part of him and ask him something personal.

What's the most terrified you've been? That had been her question last night. Vallin had answered, and she'd listened, like she always did. But when he'd ask her something, she would find a way to distract him from realizing she never spoke about herself. She truly seemed enthralled with Vallin's stories, but it also seemed she was determined to know them all without giving a piece of herself away.

If Vallin was up late, he'd find her curled up in his bed when he went to his room. She wouldn't admit it, but she was terrified of Everson.

The crew knew she'd dropped the former first mate, and they suspected something messy happened ever since Bates was reinstated. Still, it was heavily implied that he wasn't supposed to touch her in front of the crew, wasn't supposed to make it obvious. It should've frustrated him, but instead it made him feel like some coveted, beautiful secret. Maybe that's why he agreed to do this fight—at least then he'd get one more moment near her today.

She attacked first, as always. She hooked her leg around Vallin's neck and launched herself to the ground behind him, taking him with her. He fell backwards, his elbows sprinting with pain as he landed on them. Her leg was hooked around his throat, choking him. Vallin took both hands and peeled her leg off, rolling to the side.

She laughed, amused at his strength. She flipped towards him and wrapped her legs around his waist, tugging him in and pulling him close, his head tucked above her shoulder. She nudged his head down with the back of her elbow and sent his nose into the wooden deck.

Blinking away the dizziness, Vallin flipped his body and rolled twice, underestimating her weight. He finally got her underneath him, but he hesitated with his fist.

"Angels, Captain," she breathed. "I can take a punch."

Vallin pulled his arm back again, but now he'd taken too much time. She kicked her leg up and wrapped the ankle around his neck from the back, sending him backwards again. Sighing, Vallin found her over him again, her elbow into his neck.

He coughed once, taking her by the hips and tossing her off of him. She rolled away, getting to her feet.

"That's irritating," she mumbled, circling him as he got up.

Vallin took a large step, watching her bounce more on her left foot than her right. She darted forward, and he moved slightly to the left, catching her by the waist and twirling her into his forearm, striking her over the jaw.

She winced, placing her foot on his hip and hefting onto his shoulders, pushing him into the rail as she said, "You will ruin my pretty face doing that." They crashed into the rail, Vallin first. "But I guess it's you that has to look at it."

He threw her over the rail, sure that she would use the momentum to come sliding back over—as he'd seen her do before—but she pushed her foot into the rail, ensuring she wouldn't. For a terrifying moment, she fell over the side before he caught her by the wrist.

Breathing heavily, she looked up, golden eyes full of mischief. Behind him, the crew shouted; technically, that was his win.

Vallin pulled her back up, and she pushed off the rail as her boots hit the deck again. He searched her eyes, and she rolled her eyes to Britter, who was shouting in awe.

She didn't really think he fell for that, did she? She threw that fight, forced him to win, pushed her own body over the rail.

No one seemed to make much of it. Vallin was bigger; Vallin was stronger. Apparently, this made sense to them. They just kept up the game as Silta gave Britter another chance.

The crew might not have made much of it, but Vallin did. It bothered him all evening, right into dinnertime. He asked Kourvourk for two portions sent up to his quarters, and he kicked his feet up as he waited. He'd asked Britter to get her to the captain's quarters, but he doubted she would stay.

He crossed his ankles and sighed. He was starving, but he refused to eat until she got there. Her and her incessant need to make him wait.

The door to the captain's quarters was tossed open, and Silta leaned in through the doorway. "It's early," she said simply.

Vallin gestured to the food.

She grinned and shook her head. She reached for the door, ready to close it.

"You threw our match," Vallin called to her.

Slowly, the door opened again.

"A shame if the whole crew knew that," he said, inspecting his fingers. "That you care so much about my reputation."

She tilted her head. "Perhaps I don't. Perhaps I'm simply investing; I stroke your ego, you take away my breath at night."

Vallin stood. "You see, stunner, I won't do that for you anymore." He leaned against his desk. "Unless you eat with me."

She searched his face, amused. She moved through the door and closed it behind her. She walked past him, eyes focused on the desk behind him. It was an empty threat, and they both knew it, but she chose to play along.

Coming around the side of the desk, she pulled out his chair and sat down.

Vallin felt his jaw tic. "My chair, stunner," she said.

She glanced up at him for a brief moment, tugging the bottle of wine on the table to her. "Hal, love," she said. "Sallar el anea."

Vallin glanced at the chair that was supposed to be hers. "I don't know what that means."

"Sit, love," she translated. "Swallow your ego."

Vallin sighed, pulling in the smaller chair. "Sounded nicer in Siren," he noted.

"It's flourish." She brushed her hand to the side, leaning back to pop the wine cork out.

Vallin watched her. "You don't drink."

"That's funny," she replied, bringing her nose to the neck of the bottle. He knew what she was implying; she was drunk on Canale with him, and she was drunk that first night. He leaned back, still watching her.

"Cantar, Captain? You simply want to watch?" she asked, spinning in his chair to tug aside a curtain and see what was happening on deck.

Vallin reached forward, taking a piece of bread and ripping it with his teeth, feeling on edge. "I like my chair," he said.

"I like diamonds, but I simply can't afford them," she replied. "Life is unfair, el Sillaire."

Vallin glanced up at her, ripping his bread again. "Why throw the fight?" he asked, leaning forward and placing his elbows on the table.

She pointed her bread at him. "Kindness."

He snorted. "Try again."

"Infatuation?"

"With me?" he assumed.

She tilted his head. "Yes, el Sillaire."

He searched her gaze. "El Sillaire," he repeated. "Is that an endearment you're calling me?" he asked. "Or an insult?"

"My world," she translated. "But Sirens say it to the men they're about to devour. Take your pick."

Vallin leaned back. He would take it.

"Capike, Captain. I want to know about those two girls before me."

He glanced up. "Sorry?"

"I could repeat myself. Or you could just use that lovely mind of yours to decipher my incredibly complex words."

Vallin frowned. "You want to know about the other times I've been in love?"

"Kia," she answered. He assumed it meant yes.

He glanced behind her, to the curtain she'd left open. "They're not good stories." And he desperately didn't want to tell them.

"I'll be the judge of that," she said.

Vallin rolled his eyes, then stabbed a piece of meat with his fork. She leaned forward, all ears to his words, like always. Her hair fell over her shoulders, fanning out on the surface of his desk.

"My first was Cindy, on Chorro," Vallin said. "Dark hair, small girl. My father's friend's daughter, went sailing together. We were sixteen."

"Sixteen?" she repeated. "You kept your innocence until sixteen?"

Vallin nodded, bringing the bottle to his mouth again. "You?"

She frowned at him and didn't answer the question. "Cindy left your heart in tatters, el Sillaire?" she asked.

"I left her," Vallin replied. "For the Avourienne."

"Ambition Above All," she said. "And the second girl?" She could probably tell that was the easy one, the one his thoughts never came back to. But the second—he never quite got over that one.

"Mona," Vallin said. "I was nineteen, and I met her in port. She knew who I was, and it flattered me."

"Always lusting for validation, our captain. How long was it?"

"A long time," he said. "Over a year, at least, but I was sailing with the Avourienne, and I only saw her every few weeks. Wasn't enough for her. She wanted stability, and I couldn't give it to her."

"Went up in flames, did it?"

Vallin glanced behind her, to the deck. "Even worse," he said. "She was begging me to stay, telling me that if I left again, it would be over. We were in this alleyway, I remember." He frowned. "She even got on her knees, tears streaming down her face. I peeled her fingers off and never went back to that port." Vallin never regretted his decision to stay with the Avourienne, but he often wished he'd handled that situation better, or he'd at least gone back to that port sometime in the last few years to see if she'd done okay for herself. At the time, he'd thought her a fool for acting that way over a lover. Now, though, he wasn't so sure.

Silta leaned forward, eyes shining. "Why didn't you take her with?" she asked.

Vallin sighed. "No lovers on the ship."

She gave him a slanted smile. "I'm on your ship."

He shrugged. "It's not a rule, really. It's something else. You get by it."

"What is it, then, if not a rule?"

"You're brilliant. You figure it out."

She searched his gaze for a moment, then shook her head. So he had that over her. He tapped the table to get her attention. "And you?"

She glanced over. "And me what?"

"You've never been in love?"

She leaned back frowning. "I'd know, wouldn't I?" she asked, as if she were truly unsure.

"You know," he said.

"Then no," she admitted. "I haven't. Can't seem to hold onto someone long enough before they start to...overstimulate me."

"Overstimulate," he repeated.

She pursed her lips, trying to find a way to explain it. "It's like they become too much," she offered. "They start to become predictable to the point where I don't just feel bored, but suffocated."

"I'm predictable, aren't I?" he asked.

She ran her tongue over her teeth, thinking. "In a way, yes. But you're not so frantic, not so panicked." She rested her forearms on the desk, holding his gaze. "You're just surer, I think."

Vallin ran his finger down the length of the desk, thinking. "And you worry about your rules because of that," he concluded. "Because I'm not flinging the way your other flings...flung."

"Kia, el Sillaire," she said. "I like the way you smell. Sounds dangerous to me. I also have a habit of wanting to touch your hair. You put something in it?"

Vallin searched her eyes, unable to meet her lighthearted gaze. "I meant to ask you something," he started.

"Go on."

Vallin leaned back and made a little gesture. I wanted to ask if you were being careful with whatever it is women are careful with."

She grinned. "Don't want a pretty Siren kid to your name, do you? No worries, el Sillaire. I've got it."

"You've got it," he repeated.

"Oh, I've got it," she replied, going back to her bread.

Vallin leaned forward again. "But you're sure?"

"I'm very sure."

"Is there a way to be sure about that kind of thing?"

"There is most definitely a way to be sure about that kind of thing." She ripped the bread into smaller pieces than was necessary, letting him know loud and clear that he'd dipped into something personal. He wanted to push it, wanted to be given something.

"And if we wanted a child?" he wondered.

She scrunched up her nose, still forced. "You'd want a child?"

"I'd think about it," he replied. "I have a pretty fun ship to leave behind to someone when I die. Money to give."

"Leave it to me," she said matter-of-factly.

"And after you?"

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "You'd want a child?"

Vallin watched her expression carefully. He'd never really thought about it before, but with her? Maybe he would.

"I can't," she said.

He didn't get it at first. "Can't what?"

"Have children," she said, and it was still, so still in the room. "I'm sterilized."

Vallin didn't budge, as if moving too quickly would ruin her vulnerability. "Why?"

"It helps with the rules," she explained, moving around her food but refusing to eat it. "My mother said a major biological weakness of women is our need to have children and put our life behind theirs."

"Was that what you wanted?"

There was an awkwardly long pause. Her eyes focused on his hand, resting on the table. Then she spoke, softly, through a frown, "I'm not sure, love. I was six."

Vallin kept his face very neutral, not willing to startle her. He felt like something in his throat wanted to bubble up, but he just watched her go back to picking at her food, unable to come up with the right thing to say. He could backtrack, say he never wanted a kid at all. That it had just been a thought.

"She was cruel to me so that I wouldn't love her either," Silta explained, not taking her eyes off her food. "There was method to what she did."

His reply came out far more aggressive than he wanted, "She made all the parts of you I hate."

"And what parts are those?"

"The need to sell yourself as incentive. The refusal to live without some rulebook."

She looked up, searching his gaze as though she were looking for something in it. She threaded her hands together and placed them on the table. "She wanted a champion," she said. "Just like you do."

"There's a difference between temporary pain and permanent damage."

She ran her finger over the desk. She reached for the wine, then leaned back again. "All those years of learning those rules," she said quietly, glancing up at him. "And I think I'm going to break them anyway."

He held his breath. "Because of me?"

"Because of you," she said, getting up, wandering around the room. "You and your candles and your coat. Your drawing and your eyes."

Vallin twisted in his chair, watching her move, peering close to the bookshelf. "You can only gain from me. Power, money, a reputation."

"But I didn't get it myself," she complained. She set the wine down on the desk in front of him and leaned down, a hand on his thigh and a hand on his shoulder. She tilted her chin down and said, "Let's go to sleep."

Vallin glanced out the window, where the sun was just disappearing. He curled his fingers around her wrist, took it off his thigh. "It's not even dark."

"It's close enough," she whispered, leaning onto her knees, settling into his lap. She wound one of her fingers around a strand of his hair. "You definitely put something in here, el Sillaire."

He held tight to her waist as he stood, taking her with him. He settled her on the couch, then settled himself a good distance away. "Talk, stunner. As me your invasive questions now."

She smiled, folding her legs under her. She leaned forward, still too close for his liking. Tell me about your mother."

He felt his jaw tighten. "Pick something else, Novari."

She raised an eyebrow. "They're meant to be invasive."

He sighed, then took another drink. What she wanted, she got. "I told you. She was insane."

"You said she went insane."

Vallin ran his fingers through his hair. "She started to go off the rails when I was around twelve, but before that, she was...unusual. Tended to a garden, thought flowers had feelings, sang songs and liked to keep the windows of our house open."

"Just like you."

"I don't sing."

Silta smiled. "Well, you could; you've got a lovely voice. But I meant about the windows. What about your sister?"

Vallin looked up. There was no way she'd figured that out on her own.

She shrugged and said, "This is what happens when we talk when the suns still up."

He leaned back, resisting the urge to get up and move further from her again. "Camila was a few years younger than I was, so she took care of my mother." He reached for the wine he'd placed on the table and swirled it around. "She didn't want that kind of job for herself, though. She wanted to sail, like me. As far as I know, she left Chorro after me, leaving my father to pay for the health expenses of my mother."

"That's why you send them money."

Vallin shrugged "I've too much, anyway. You want diamonds? What kind?"

She grinned. "Diamonds are diamonds, love. Any kind works."

Vallin leaned in like he was telling a secret he'd never told anyone else—probably because he was. "I'll tell you something, stunner, but you can't repeat it for the life of you."

She leaned in closer, lowering her voice, "Cival, el Sillaire. Tell me."

"You've heard of a Captain Dari?" he asked. "Of the Skyfall?"

She searched his eyes. "I think so. You've got an alliance with that ship, don't you? I think my mother mentioned them."

Vallin smiled. "Captain Cam Dari. Full name, Captain Camila Darian."

Her brows instantly drew. "You're kidding."

Vallin shook his head. "She pins up her hair, wears something lose and keeps dirty. No one suspects a thing. She's got a whole crew, a whole network of men to herself."

"Only because you leave her alone," Silta pointed out.

He pursed his lips and said, "I try to."

She leaned back a little more. "Incredible. She's a captain. She runs a ship."

"But she takes away her femininity to do it," Vallin pointed out. "You could never."

"I'm hardly feminine."

"Of course you are," he said. "You like diamonds, and your hair is always done. You like the way I smell, apparently, and you like to be treated with a certain level of finesse. You like dominant, sure men, you like your fashion. Sounds quite feminine to me, no?"

She pulled away from his gaze, as if she hadn't thought of that before.

"Camila wanted success the easy way," he said, "so she hid who she really was. I don't think that would please you. You'll make a name on your own."

She turned back to him. "You still won't give me strategist."

He shook his head. "I can't. The age is an issue, but I can't sacrifice my own success and safety as well as the safety of the crew all for you."

"But you still think I'm meant to be a mother."

"I don't, no. I think the average woman was meant for it, but women like you and Camila—you're different. Ideally, that could be seen separately, but as the facts go, a woman is not going to be as beneficial in this business as a man. Most biases come from truth."

Her answer was rapid, "I've less of a desire to raise a family than you, and that could just as easily be a result of my bringing rather than my genetics. If women weren't forced down a path straight out of the womb, you might find more of them in this business."

Vallin searched her eyes. He'd never really spoken to someone about something like this; it was always politics, business, then rum. His theoretics were always kept to himself.

"The origin of the stereotype is nearly irrelevant," he said. "Statistics are what matters in this ocean, and statistics say a woman is less likely to make a strong sailor than a man, for whatever reason."

She sighed. "Sure—the plan was to find a powerful captain and make him fall in love so I could climb the ladder of success. It didn't work."

"Think about it this way," Vallin said. "I know you don't want my name attached to yours, but if you're Bardarian's girl, at least they're talking about you. Once they realize you're competent, I'll make you strategist."

She looked up. "That could work."

"That would work."

She leaned forward, her hand on his arm. She ran her fingers down the sleeves of his coat, like she loved the material with her whole heart.

"I want this coat," she said.

Vallin tilted his head. "You want my coat?"

"I like it."

"Then it's yours."

She ran her fingers back up to his throat and under his jaw. "You make this so hard, el Sillaire," she whispered.

"To live in repetition?" he asked quietly. "You hate repetition, stunner."

She ran her fingers back around his neck, as if wondering, as if considering.

Vallin wondered if this love might not be unrequited much longer.