Twice now in the last few weeks, Archer had attempted to dock at a Myrian port, and both times he'd been denied a spot. Today marked the third time he had attempted to pay and been told to get the hell out.

Myrian ports were, of course, different than those in the Cobalts; they were far less organized and had less of a hierarchy to them. The unusual consistency these ports were showing was far from normal.

This person—the one with control over the King and who had maintained some sort of feud with Corpher—was the culprit of the port problem. They didn't want Archer to stop on the way to the map, and they most definitely didn't want him asking questions. The whole thing proved just how much power this mastermind had over the entire ocean. It couldn't be some guy who'd come back to exact revenge; it had to be someone with either a lot of money or one hell of a skilled reputation. Someone with the power to make others do what they wanted with nothing more than the flick of their fingers.

As Archer lay in bed that night, the moonlight pouring over his face and turning his room into a silent reflection of the stars, he wondered if this mastermind might be exactly who it sounded like.

Did he really wonder? He wasn't sure. It was more like this nagging, poking feeling in the back of his head as he thought through everything. It was buried deep in this small detail he had chosen to stuff all the way down into the abyss of his mind. One, tiny, little detail that made all the difference. It didn't matter that digging up that thought might put him ahead in this game; he refused to think or wonder or even speculate about that detail.

I've done it countless times.

Every time the chill of a familiar port and the memory of lights resurfaced, Archer shoved it away. He wouldn't let that memory come back until it had a knife to his throat.

He refused to sleep. Perhaps it was the looming of the Avourienne, so close and destructive at night and yet so impossible to see. Perhaps it was the creatures swirling in the water below, or perhaps it was the decreasing morale among his crew.

He'd always thought that crews could be kept happy with a reasonable man leading them and a reasonable pay in their pockets. But as it turned out, the crew of the Myriad didn't see that as enough, because there was a significant divide between them. The navigators and Lyra were always in the navigation room, snapping at each other while lacking any undertone of friendship. Marquis, Pincho and a few of the older men were usually in the common room drinking, but the rest of the crew stayed shut in their rooms unless they were actively performing a task. If he'd talked to Kerian about it, he would say those kinds of things weren't his problem. But Archer learned from Bardarian, and Bardarian cared greatly about morale.

It was those moments, when Archer watched his own crew fall apart, that he realized the sick intelligence of what Bardarian had done to his crew members. From the moment they stepped on the Avourienne, he shattered them into pieces, forcing them to find solace and bonds in the people around them. After all, why would Marquis care about socializing with the other scouts if at the end of the season, he'd go back home to his friends on Chorro? Why would the Lauriers bother with making connections when they had family to rely on back in the Cobalts? There was no pressure to like each other as there had been in the confined environment of the Avourienne.

Archer hated how brilliant Bardarian had been for it. Evil, of course, but damn brilliant. The morale of his crew had always been sky-high, their spirits unbreakable and their loyalty strong. He'd slashed their previous ties and used the loose ends to create an intricate knot between his crew and himself.

He desperately wanted to create that with his own crew, but he refused to be as cruel as Bardarian was about it. And so, when the Myriad was denied entry into almost all ports, he took it upon himself to anchor near a rocky island for the day. He announced it as a fresh water restock, but he was well aware that they weren't even close to running short on anything. He had picked these people from crowds and trained them to perfection. Now he had to bond them.

As the morning sun crested over the rocky island, he sent out teams to find fresh water and anything edible. He'd picked specific pairings: Alli with Bickie, Shuri with Pincho, Lyra with the quartermaster, Kick. The latter was a risky pairing, considering the two hated each other, but Archer had to believe it would be worth something.

He opted to travel with Marquis and a younger man by the name of Jordan Harvi. In his decision to get Isabella off the ship, Archer had taken to scrounging his deckhands for strategist potential. Since Harvi had taken to locking himself belowdecks any moment he could, he was one of the last ones he'd yet to gauge. Despite having the illusion of charisma with his sparkling green eyes and his clearly Myrian skin, he never spoke a word to anyone unless he was forced to. As much as he hated to admit it, he'd immediately picked Harvi from the list of potential crew members on the basis that he was Myrian. Archer found comfort in a fellow Myrian, and he thought he might be able to understand something more about himself through Harvi. Unfortunately, the deckhand didn't talk much.

And so, he dragged Harvi onto his team with Marquis. He led them inland in search of water, taking the furthest and most northern portion of the island. In the thick of summer, the air simmered with heat and caused beads of sweat to roll over his neck.

"Captain, if you don't mind my curiosity," Harvi spoke from behind him, "what's the plan for the map?"

Archer furrowed his brow before he answered. He'd classified Harvi as someone who didn't speak unless spoken to. Perhaps he'd been wrong.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Archer glanced back at Harvi. "To find it." His response came out deadpanned—the point of this was to develop a bond, but he was finding it awfully hard in this heat.

Harvi wacked away a bush with his longknife, walking next to Archer. He ran a large hand through his curls. "You know anything about the spells and caves and such, sir?" he asked.

Archer also hacked at a fern, confused that he'd initially guessed Harvi so wrong. "I know enough, I think," he replied. "Royals can't get to it because of some spell."

Harvi raised an eyebrow, glancing quickly at Archer. He wasn't a tall man, but his features more than made up for it. He had an alluring presence that must originate from Myria.

"I know quite a lot about the chest," Harvi replied, turning his gaze back to the bushes and whacking some more. He almost cut Marquis beside him, but he didn't seem to care. "I found it personally interesting, so I've done my research."

Archer flicked a spider off his hand. "Do tell," he said.

"For one, the royal spell isn't the only one on the cave," Harvi explained. "There's actually a few."

Archer stopped hacking and turned to face the older boy. "Like what?"

"You can't access the map if you're currently in possession of the key to Myria's chest. You also can't access it if you have the chest itself, either. Basically, if you have any one part of the golden three, you can't have the map. It smoothens the whole thing out, so you can't destroy the map."

"A key?" Archer asked. He didn't know about a key.

"Yes sir, there's a key."

Archer shared a look with Marquis. "We don't need the key. We're not going for the chest. Just the map."

"You know anything about getting the map from the cave?" Marquis asked, his dark skin beading with sweat. "That'll be helpful."

"I do, actually," Harvi told him. "But it's a bit pesky to explain the whole process."

So Harvi would have to be a part of the team that would get the map. It was a bit conventional, but coincidence was just coincidence. He wanted Marquis already, and he was debating on Alli. He had to bring Lyra, of course, but that left Kick in charge of the ship, and Archer wasn't sure about that. He figured he'd add Harvi to the list.

"You hear that, Captain?" Marquis asked, turning to look at them with almond eyes.

Archer focused in on the sounds of the island: The chirping of the birds and the whisper of wind. Beyond that, he heard the faint trickle of water.

"Excellent," Archer said. He pushed away the leaves in front of him, working his way over to the sound. Eventually, he parted the trees to reveal a tiny pond with an equally small waterfall rushing over the side of some dark rocks.

They dropped the barrels they'd been lugging into the water and filled them. Archer splashed water onto his face and ran the liquid through his hair. The cool water did little to drop his temperature, and as soon as he had the barrel on his back again, the sweat returned.

He tried not to complain as Marquis did all the way back to the ship. Harvi didn't seem as annoyed, probably because he grew up in deep Myria, where one was used to the heat. Once in a while, when he naturally met Harvi's gaze, the deckhand would look somewhere else.

Archer brought up the rear, watching Harvi walk in front of him. There was something about him that became unsettling.

Harvi hacked at a bush, and the muscles in his shoulder flexed. As he walked, he spun the longknife onto the back of his hand, let it balance for a moment, and then tossed it up and caught it in his palm again.

It was a mindless maneuver, just a neat way to keep your hands moving, but it wasn't exactly the knife trick that caused Archer's breath to hitch—it was who'd come up with it.

Liam Britter.

Archer continued watching, not daring to interfere in the conversation that Marquis and Harvi were engaging in. He watched Harvi carefully.

It was peculiar that he hadn't ever spoken a word before today, and the moment he chose to, the only things he could talk about were maps and Myria's chest. Interesting, how Harvi was armed with knowledge on the chest that no one else seemed to have. Interesting, how Harvi was mindlessly performing Britter's tricks.

Archer glanced at the skin behind the deckhand's ear. It was the place where crew members kept their ship tattoos—Archer had waited on his, as he hadn't wanted to mark anything related to the Kipperly on his skin. But Silta's had been in that place, and so had Britter's. Conveniently, Harvi's curls were long enough to cover up the area.

Archer leaned forward, interrupting their conversation, "You've got a biter there on your ear, Jordan."

Harvi reached up and brushed away the non-existent spider, muttering a thanks as he went back to conversing with Marquis—but not before Archer caught the symbol of the Avourienne, permanently etched into his skin.

So Harvi was theirs. Truthfully, Archer didn't suspect he was dangerous at all, but the mere fact that the Avourienne had eyes and ears on the Myriad was disconcerting.

Even so, he decided not to confront the deckhand. He needed him to access the map, probably, hence why the Avourienne had planted him. Once they had the map, he could deal with the traitor.

The sun hugged the horizon as the Myriad finally came into view, the blue colour morphing with the water. Three teams were already back, some dragging full barrels and others coming up empty-handed.

Archer ordered a fire to be built and squinted out at the Myriad, trying to spot the three crew members he'd sent out in a rowboat to inspect the hull following the Tipler attack.

As the cook roasted newly caught fish, the rest of the crew filed in. He noticed Alli laughing at Bickie's joke, and Shuri giving Pincho a smile while Lyra and Kick immediately parted ways. So it hadn't worked for everybody, but it had worked for some. That was all he needed.

Archer told them they'd sleep off the ship tonight because he wanted to give them a rest. Since they weren't allowed time in port thanks to Myria's vendetta against him, they should be allowed to at least sleep on solid ground for a night.

The light dimmed as he helped row out more barrels to the ship and back. When everything was loaded, he found a spot by the growing fire and sat, stretching out his legs and watching his crew. He paid special attention to Harvi, but the Myrian had gone back to being mute.

Archer glanced at Lyra, wanting to tell her what he'd discovered. She was arguing with Pincho heatedly, and he shouldn't ruin her night. He'd tell her later.

"I'm just saying!" Pincho insisted. "If you were really that important, they wouldn't have left you there."

Lyra let out a groan. "They didn't leave me!" she insisted. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"Captain!" Pincho shouted across the fire to Archer. "Did Bardarian try to leave Tailsley in Port Kiver?"

Archer glanced at Lyra. "No. He sent Silta and I to go back for her."

Lyra threw up her hands. "I told you."

Archer glanced at her. "What brought that up?"

Pincho leaned forward, firelight flickering on his face. "I asked her what her most exciting adventure was, and she said Port Kiver. What's yours, Captain?"

Archer grinned. "Port Kiver."

"Seems like one hell of a night."

His grin wavered. Pincho begged for the rest of the story, so they told it. It seemed fun and exciting and terrifying, but he couldn't help but remember how little he'd had to do with Lyra's rescue from the royal port all that time ago. After all, Silta had been the schemer. Silta had been the rescuer, and Bardarian had been very much prepared to leave Lyra there. But Archer? He'd done very little.

Pincho said it was the best story he'd ever heard, which was ironic to Archer, because he'd left out all his favourite parts. He'd left out the curl of Silta's fingers around his wrist, the sparkling look of uncertainty in her eyes. He'd left out the part where, back on the ship, he'd pushed open the door to the corner room, still clad in the wrinkled shirt of the King. He'd left out the part where Silta had taken it off.

He insinuated Port Kiver was memorable because of the mission, for he couldn't bear to admit to them the real reason he remembered that day.

And perhaps if he told the story enough that way, he'd start to believe it.