Archer tossed the knife again, and it landed perfectly on the target. He threw the next, and it did the same. There was no satisfaction in such a thing for him—not when he couldn't remember the last time he didn't hit exactly what he intended to.

Out of his peripheral, he saw Alli glance up from her map to watch him throw the next knife. When it matched the accuracy of the first two, she leaned back in her chair.

"You've got beautiful aim," she said.

He didn't look at her, just whirled the fourth knife. When he went to get the fifth, he realized he only had four. He was about to get up out of his chair and collect them, but Lyra was already tugging them out of the target. "His aim is best when he's mad," she told Alli as she tossed the knives back to Archer.

"I'm not mad," he replied. He threw the first knife again.

Lyra snorted. "You're insufferable when you can't figure it out."

Archer had heard that sentence before, and he hated it. He threw the second knife. It butted tips with the first one.

"I'll figure it out," he said to Lyra. "I just need time."

"It's been three days," Alli pointed out. "That's quite a bit of time." As soon as she said it, Shuri gave her a smack and pointed to the map to get her to continue working.

"Maybe you just don't have enough information," Lyra offered with a shrug.

Archer swivelled to face her. "I have enough information," he told her. "I just don't understand how it fits together."

Alli snorted, having ignored Shuri's warning. She crossed her arms. "I guess you shouldn't have murdered the smartest person in the sea, then."

At first, Archer didn't realize the gravity of what she'd said, the disrespect, crossing the lines. It didn't matter that he thought the same things—Alli was in no position to say them. If she'd included a formality, maybe it wouldn't have sounded so bad. But she didn't, and so it did.

The navigation room fell silent, awaiting what he would say. Out of his peripheral, he saw Lyra's fingers twitching in anticipation. She wanted to take care of Alli herself—the old Lyra way—but she knew Archer wouldn't want it handled like that.

"Captain—" Alli began, clearly having realized that she'd gone too far. She cut off when Archer picked up his next knife, not looking over the table at her. He didn't mean to make it look like he was going to throw it; that had just been a coincidence.

The navigation room was still silent, still waiting.

He looked down at the knife in his hands. If he were Bardarian, he would throw it. He had the confidence in his aim to know that he could get close to Alli's head without actually hitting her. Bardarian would've done it without second thought—teach his crew member who the leader was and how to speak to them.

"I'm friendly, Laurier," Archer said, glancing back at his target, "I'm not your friend."

Alli blinked once, surprised. Perhaps he'd let her go too far in the past, and now he was paying for it.

Sighing, he got up to leave. The navigation room, now deadly silent, wasn't a good place for him to think. But the moment he reached the door, his fingers on the handle, Alli spoke again.

"See a friend, Captain, would call you out for your avoidance of everything Silta-related. But since I'm not your friend, I'm not going to."

Lyra lost her patience now, and she wrenched one of the knives from Archer's target. "Who do you think you are?" she snarled, clutching the knife like she would hurl it any second. "You entitled brat—"

"Lyra," Archer interrupted. He opened the door and took a step back, glancing at Alli and nodding his head to the door.

She slunk down a little. It was something she often did—say something bold and then back down immediately after. She lost her nerve almost every time she showed it.

Alli stood and walked towards the door, her steps slow and methodical. She moved through the open door and Archer followed her, shutting it behind him.

She turned quickly, her mouth open to protest, but Archer shook his head and pointed to the rail. The crew members on deck dodged them, muttering apologies.

"Captain—" she began again.

"I'll talk," Archer said, leaning against the rail and glancing out at the endless horizon. "Laurier, I've met a lot of people since the Kingsland," he began. "I'd say they fit into two categories—those that are scared of me because they think they know what I've done, and those that are scared of me because they actually do know what I've done."

He drummed his fingers on the rail, then stopped. "You used to belong to category number one when I met you. But somewhere between the shift from category one to category two, you started to realize that I'm not all that terrifying—that I'm a lot kinder and more lenient than my reputation had you thinking. Somewhere between those two places, I think you forgot to respect me for what I've done to get us to the place where we're standing."

"Well I didn't mean—"

Archer held up a hand. "Not done."

Alli pursed her lips, breaking his gaze.

"You don't think before you speak; you never have. That's a problem for me, because it makes everyone else think you're uncontrollable, that we're just lenient to let you disrespect anyone you want. That's not exactly—"

"I'm just curious—"

Archer had to stop a frustrated laugh from escaping as he interrupted, "Cut me off one more time and I throw you over the rail."

Alli blinked and took a step back.

So that worked, then. Perhaps she simply responded to threats where she didn't to reason. But he'd try once more.

"Listen, Laurier. I could tell you everything. I could paint you a nice, descriptive picture of her face as I put a knife through her back. I could give you all the gritty details—the blood, how she repeated the same four words over and over again in a dying haze, how she crawled hand over hand after me in a desperate attempt to save her life. I could tell you the sound Bardarian's neck made when I snapped it, or I could tell you all the vicious things I said to him right before he died. I could do all those things, but I chose not to because—I know this is desperately hard for you or seemingly anyone to believe—I'm not proud of them."

Alli finally met Archer's gaze, and she seemed so young. Just a kid, with no experience. Just a child, not ready yet for all those horrors. And for a terrifying moment, he saw himself in her.

He cleared his throat. "You will talk to the bridge crew—especially Tailsley—sparingly, and you will use formalities when you do. You will listen to Belford and your sister when they advise you to stop talking. Just think before you speak, Laurier, and your problem here is solved. You know we need you on the ship, but you'll be good as gone if you can't adhere to the rules."

She opened her mouth but before she could, something knocked into the side of the ship, sending the crew on deck stumbling for their footing. Alli slammed into the rail, and Archer snatched her wrist to stop her from pitching over the side.

"Marquis!" Archer shouted, abandoning Alli once she was steady. He took the steps to the topdeck three at a time.

"I don't understand, sir!" Marquis shouted back to Archer, his hands fighting with the wheel. "There shouldn't be any reefs in this area!"

Archer grabbed the rail and glanced down at the water. It was a deep navy—the colour of Myria. There was nothing unordinary about it.

The ship rocked again, harder this time, the barrels of water rolling over the deck with loud crashes. From his position on the topdeck, Archer could see the entire ship pitch to the port side, tossing a few things over.

"That's not a reef," he said. "Drop the anchor—cut the speed and spin. Now, please."

Marquis rushed down to the anchor, shouting at the crew for a bootleg. Archer called Pincho to help spin the wheel as hard as they could, slowly arching the ship to the side. Marquis called for the anchor, and the Myriad finally curved back towards the northeast.

"All sails!" Lyra ordered, now on deck. Archer sent Pincho and Kick to deal with the mainsail as she came up behind him. "We're spinning?" she asked, following Archer back to the quarterdeck.

"Yes," he said.

"You want us to go back the way we came?"

"Yes."

Lyra shook her head. "We can't outrun a Tipler," she said. She pointed over the side of the rail. "We're not fast enough. Even with the wind."

Archer glanced over the rail to where she was pointing. A long, slithering object slunk out from underneath the Myriad. It was nearly impossible to see under the blurry water, but he knew it was not any normal whale or snake. This was most definitely a creature of Myria. Not one Archer had seen, and by the size of that tail, not one he wanted to see.

"Tiplers are fast, Kingsley," Lyra pressed. "Much faster than us. We can't outrun them."

The ship lurched again, the Tipler's gigantic tail caressing the underside of the Myriad. Archer tried and failed not to stumble.

"Are you listening to me?" Lyra's voice was panicked and frantic as she followed Archer. "We can't outrun this."

He glanced to the horizon as the Myriad picked up speed again. "We don't have to."

Lyra followed his line of sight. She squinted for a moment, and then she looked back at Archer. "That's insane," she said. She shielded her face against the sun. "That's brilliant, actually."

Marquis was watching the horizon, too. "What's brilliant?" he asked, his brows furrowed.

"There's one ship in this damn ocean that those creatures stay away from," Archer said. "And she happens to be trailing us."

Marquis kept his eyes on the water. "You're looking for the Avourienne?"

Lyra passed by them, shouting orders. "And what in the hell do we do when we find her?" she asked.

Archer wasn't sure. He glanced behind him, watching the water behind them wave out.

The Tipler was fast—just like Lyra said. It pulled by beside the Myriad easily, and he finally saw the whole animal. It was nearly the length of the Myriad, with two Avourienne-sized fins on either side.

"Whatever you can do to get us moving fast," Archer muttered. "Do it." He tore his gaze from the animal to glance at the horizon, where a dot of red had appeared.

"Is that her, Cap?" Marquis asked in amazement.

"That's her," he replied. They were moving fast, and with the Myriad gaining speed in the opposite direction, the Devil's ship was getting bigger and bigger.

Some of the crew members rushed to the rail to watch the Tipler chase, wariness coming not from the animal but from the approach ship.

"Should we slow?" Lyra asked, eyes nervously skittering over the Avourienne, materializing in full.

"Don't bother," Archer replied.

The Avourienne's crimson sails caught sunlight as they trimmed the mainsail, sending the ship snapping off in the east direction, shoving waves out. Despite how far away they still were—he couldn't see any figures on the deck—he swore the sea sprayed his face from the sharp movements of the ship.

"Angels," Marquis breathed. "I've never seen a ship move like that."

Beside him in the water, the Tipler cut its fins in and disappeared under the surface, gone.

The Avourienne made another abrupt maneuver, cutting speed as it parallelled the Myriad. The red sails furled and the ship spun back around once more.

"They're just showing off now," Lyra said.

Archer gave the signal to cut speed as well, giving the Avourienne a wide berth as they got going south again. For her part, the Devil's ship remained still in the water until the Myriad had speed in the right direction.

"That was damn close," Marquis commented, his face white.

Archer regarded him. "Get us going fast."

"Yes, sir," Marquis acknowledged, "but do we want to keep the Avourienne on the horizon behind us?"

"They'll keep up on their own. Just get us to this damn map."

"It'd be my pleasure, sir," Marquis told him.

Archer took Lyra with him to assess the damage belowdecks. There was a long scrape down the side of the boat, but it didn't cut all the way through, and there were no leaks. It was best-case scenario for having encountered a Myrian creature.

He made sure to watch the Avourienne as night fell on the ocean, ensuring it stayed as a red dot on the horizon. But when the sky darkened, gradually the Avourienne became a bigger and bigger dot. In a futile attempt, Archer ordered to increase the speed, but the Avourienne didn't fall behind.

By the time it was pitch black, he knew that they were once again breathing down his neck.

He squinted out at the rail as the sea turned deathly black. He wanted to see it up and close again—if only to ease his mind. For some reason, not seeing it was worse than having the terrifying thing in his vision. At least then he would know where it was.

"Captain?"

Archer turned. As bold and unforgiving as Alli was in the moment, she always wanted to make things right in the end—it was why he had hope for her.

"I went too far today, sir," Alli told him quietly, matching him at the rail. "I'm just curious, and I do ask too many questions about her and everything. I guess I idolize her a little bit, and I know that's not healthy."

Archer glanced at her. She seemed real and genuine about her words, but would she keep them?

"Can I...add something?" Alli asked.

Archer kept his eyes on her. "Sure."

"I don't mean to minimize what I've just apologized for—not at all. But I don't think idolizing Silta is entirely a bad thing."

Archer searched her eyes, knowing where this was headed.

"Silta is a bit...well, she's a bit of a different kind of hero for us. You know, women."

Archer lifted his chin. He didn't like the word hero and Silta in the same sentence regardless.

Alli continued, "Women didn't set foot on ships for a long time, sir. In fact, I studied this kind of thing back home, and Bardarian bringing Miller aboard as his doctor was the first really known instance of it, but Miller is the best at medicine, a field where men don't have any physical advantages. Tailsley gets taken because Bardarian can use her as an underdog, but also for seduction—which isn't a great reputation for her. They were trailblazers, I don't disagree with that."

Alli grinned. "But Silta was different. She's not just the best at a woman's game, and she's not just the best at the overall game—she's the best at a man's game. And suddenly, there's a sliver of doubt that at who to pick on.

"The thing is, Captain, I think you can admire someone evil for the paths they've created. I think I can want to mimic parts of her while being careful to stay away from others."

Archer watched her for a moment. "You might be right, Laurier," he replied. "I've villainized the entire concept of her, but I'll admit there are a lot of parts of her I use. I owe my physical skill to her of course, but a lot of my mind, too. There are things to learn from her. I just think it's an incredibly risky game.

Alli slid a finger down the rail, causing water droplets to fall. "I want to learn those things, Captain, and I think you're one of the last people with the ability to teach them."

"Show me that you can follow the rules," he said. "Then we'll talk about prodigies."

Alli brightened, her eyes full of promise. She grinned and offered Archer a goodbye. She skipped away like a child.

"Oh, little-me has done her research hasn't she?"

Archer whirled around, his heart pounding. He hadn't been prepared for the Silta-ghost, not here, on the deck.

"I liked the part about beating men at their own game. That's the best part, no?"

Archer scanned her stunning face, the moonlight kind to her sharp features. "Couldn't quite beat them all," he replied.

She leaned against the rail, a lazy smile on her face. "No, I guess I couldn't. All men except Kingsley the Great, obviously, who slid a knife through my back when I wasn't looking." She leaned against the rail, then slid to her knees. "Oh, great Kingsley, lover and murderer of the Champion, my darling hero. They should write stories about you!"

Archer sighed and glanced out at the water.

Beside him, she went on with her performance, leaning back on her knees until she was flat on the deck. She threw her hands to the sky and breathed, "They should make you an angel, for your heroic acts. They should cover you in gold and bathe you in crystals and dark chocolate." She rolled her head to the side, black hair splayed on the navy deck. "Actually, white chocolate is classier. Would you agree?"

Archer stepped around her, making his way to the captain's quarters.

She rolled to her feet and jogged in front of him, walking backwards to face him. Spry, elegant. "You know what they should do? They should rename the Cobalts, just for you. The Kingsleys, what do you think?" She spread her arms, grinning. "It could be a land where heroes take credit for the skills the villains gave them, then murder them in cold blood and take showers in chocolate—did we decide on white or dark yet?"

Archer gritted his teeth and pushed past her.

And he pushed her.

There was a moment of sheer terror where he did not look behind him. He stood utterly still and solid. His shoulder had connected with hers. With a solid, living person.

Finally, when his heart wouldn't calm in the least, he turned around slowly, and she was gone.

It had to have been his mind. It had to have been him accidentally thinking it when it hadn't happened.

It had to be.