PART II: THE CHEST

notable members of the Avourienne (revised)

captain SILTA, Novari

first mate BRITTER, Liam

quartermaster COURTLEY, Charles

strategist HARVI, Jordan

head navigator RUSHER, Alexander

assistant navigator STARLE, James

head scout JACKSON, Fiji

crow's scout NELSON, Trevor

doctor MILLER, Skye

chef KOURVOURK, Stan

deckhand BATES, Corvo

deckhand DIVER, Don

deckhand EILER, Sam

deckhand VALOUR, Vikki

*

He woke to screaming.

As soon as he was up, the sound was gone. He stood immediately, noting the rising sun. There was no need for this panic. The screams were in his nightmares, like always. It had only been a few minutes since he fell asleep; the crew should be awake and starting morning duties, watching the water diligently.

He pressed his fingers into his temples. He couldn't remember why he hadn't been supposed to fall asleep. His head pounded, dull and unforgiving.

Taking a deep, calming breath, he took his hat off his desk, rolling his shoulders from the awful sleeping position. He would go check out the deck and confirm he was just hearing things. When he was satisfied, he'd try to get a few more hours of sleep to calm himself down and think clearly.

He ran a hand through his hair to look presentable, then put on his hat. He pushed open the door to the captain's quarters, sunlight blinding him. He shielded it with his hand and took a step out onto the balcony, blinking to see properly.

"Good morning, Kingsley," Britter said, leaning comfortably against the balcony railing, eyes striking in the sunlight. "Fashionably late, as always."

Archer glanced at him. He looked down at the deck, full of people. Not just his people, but hers. Famously talented Rusher, restraining Alli and Shuri with rope. His meaty assistant navigator Starle at his side, holding a pistol to Pincho's head.

"You'll have to forgive us," Britter said, inspecting his nails, "Cap isn't a very punctual woman, either."

Archer pushed past him, taking the stairs four at a time. It was here. She was here, somewhere. He bumped into once-renowned former first mate Bates, who scoffed and pushed him away.

"You looking for the ship, traitor?" Rusher called, aggressively tying a knot on Alli's wrist. "She's behind you."

Archer spun, stepping over to see the Avourienne beyond the bow of the Myriad. Bloody red sails shone in the sunlight, making his beautiful ship look like a toy. It was empty, anchored by the bows. How, how had this happened with no warning? It had been minutes.

Bile was rising in his throat. Of course. Of course, of course of course it was a ploy, it was all a ploy. The feathers and the map and the mastermind. He pushed his was to the mainsail, through his captured crew and his former one. He whirled back to Britter, still lounging on the balcony rail.

"Where is she?" he called.

The first mate simply shrugged, then looked at the sun as if checking the time. "You'll hear it in a second."

A gunshot snapped through the air, causing Archer and everyone else to duck out of reaction. He spun around again, trying to find where the sound came from.

"Behind you, lover."

And oh, it was sick, wasn't it? This dramatic entrance, these never-ending moves. He knew what he'd see when he turned around, but it didn't make it any less anticipated, less alluring, less perfectly timed. Novari Silta, the queen of mind games.

He moved just his head, glancing over his shoulder. She dropped from the topdeck in one stride, as if the distance didn't bother her joints even the least. She lifted her chin, tanned skin shining in the sunlight.

"Captain Kingsley." She spoke with some fake tone of wonder as she took a few more steps toward him, tossing a pistol to the deck. "Look at you." She took a step to the side, assessing him. She glanced up, offering a beautiful Siren smile. "You look good."

Archer watched her, keeping his head still and his raging heartbeat under control. She was just a woman, just flesh and bone like anyone else. Wholes and details. She thrived off weaknesses of any kind, and he would not give it to her.

"So do you," he said, turning along with her.

She grinned, sharp teeth glinting. She leaned in a little closer, long fingers curling to get his attention and amber eyes forcing his focus. "Want to know how I did it?" she whispered, gesturing to the ship and her victory.

He lifted his chin. "Premeditation," he concluded.

"Smart boy," she replied, still taking slow steps, glancing around. "Weeks of careful meddling. Catching up under the cover of darkness to shift around scout plans, conveniently leaving open an hour of daylight where this pretty ship would be completely blind. Topping up your drinks last night with a fun little drowsy concoction made by Kourvourk, and last but of course not least"—she turned to face him once more—"hunting you with the fastest thing this ocean has ever seen, sailed by the best crew attainable." She raised her arms, drawing shouts of approval from her crew. "It's too easy, Kingsley," she mused.

Archer couldn't look away. So pretty, so mean, so familiar. He would not fall for this.

"Is this your clever plan?" he wondered, proud his voice didn't break. "Attacking a ship protected by the King, enticing his entire royal fleet?" He shook his head. "Your strategy suffers in my absence."

She snapped her fingers, once, twice, like she was considering this. Then she glanced back at him, giving him a secretive look. Think, Kingsley. Think, think, think. Use that lovely head of yours.

He pursed his lips. The King, his entire royal fleet. That map, drawn by a mastermind. Kerian, probably doing his best to bargain with her so she wouldn't take the throne, including keeping her status from Archer. That powerful fleet, presumably under her control as a part of a brilliantly negotiated settlement.

She drew his attention with another snap. "There it is," she murmured.

Archer gritted his teeth. She would not win. She would not. "Kill me, then," he snarled. "Kill us all and destroy this ship—the people themselves will make you pay for it."

"I hope they do," she said, grinning. "It'll be fun."

He wanted to throw something at her, to crack her uncrackable facade. He'd seen visions of her every day for months, but he was shocked to remember how striking she was in the flesh, how quick her replies came, how captivating she became in her element. Nothing instilled violence in his soul quite like she did.

"You were telling the truth?"

Silta's eyes snapped to Lyra, coming up from belowdecks. She had to have been down there when the ship was attacked—why, Archer had no clue.

"I think that belongs to me," Silta noted, but her easygoing act melted away. She took careful steps towards Lyra, eyes cunning and focused.

Archer placed his hand on his pistol. If Silta went for any of his crew, he would die stopping her. He'd fight this fight until Silta put a knife through him. In fact, at this moment, that ending sounded ideal.

Lyra stepped back, swallowing profusely until her back hit the rail. "Angels," she whispered, lips quivering. He'd never seen her showcase fear so clearly, but he remembered something Lyra had said in port, when they were still under Bardarian—Silta and I are closer than we seem.

Silta stopped a few paces away. "Traitorous Tailsley," she said. "I can't count the times I've saved your life."

Lyra cowered in the rail, eyes filling with tears. Archer took a step closer.

"I never expected loyalty for convincing Darian to let you live; we both know I had my own reasons for it," Silta told her. "But that other thing I did for you?" She shook her head.

Lyra closed her eyes. She took a deep, shuddering breath. When she opened her eyes, tears brimmed on her lashes.

"I expected undying loyalty from you," Silta said. "Never-ending devotion that couldn't be shattered even in death." She took one last step. "After all that, you snap on me over a man?"

Lyra opened her mouth, then shut it, glancing over at Archer.

Silta stepped in front of him to block any emotional support he may have provided. "I know you wanted him, Tailsley, but he wasn't worth any of this mess you've caused." She leaned on the rail, nice and close. "Did you ever get him, love?" she wondered quietly, as if she truly cared. "When I was finally out of the way, did he still prefer to pine for the ghost of me rather than take you as some used second-hand consolation prize?"

"It's enough," Archer snapped. Tearing people to pieces from the inside was Silta's most refined skill, and he wouldn't let her do it to his best friend.

She spun around, tossing up a knife she'd produced from seemingly nowhere. "I want her back, Kingsley," she said. "She was mine first."

"Like hell," he snapped.

Silta spun the knife, but he wasn't scared of it. His death was a future event she'd most likely planned down to the blade size; she wouldn't do it out of anger.

"Why don't we ask her, lover?" she wondered. She glanced back at Lyra, who was still blinking her tears away. "You want to stay here, charting your unrequited feelings for the rest of all eternity, or would you like to come back to ship that was your home for seven years, with the people you once called family? You broke your allegiance to Bardarian, not to me. I'll take you back, Lyra. Say the word."

Archer pushed forward, but Silta reached out to stop him, elegant fingers splayed out on his chest to push him back. She was stronger than she looked, and she got him back a few steps before he held his ground. "Aren't you curious?" she whispered, so no one else could hear. "Don't you want to know?"

He leaned away from her, unsettled by her sudden closeness. He was about to snap at her, to tell Lyra that Silta had no plan of taking her back but all the intention of driving them apart with this little scheme, but Archer's first mate was already nodding through her tears, accepting back her old position.

Silta turned back to Archer with a fantastic grin. "Look at that," she mused. She glanced at Lyra, voice dripping with venom, "Rot in hell, traitor. You'll step foot on my ship again over my dead body."

Lyra began to quiver again, but Archer didn't blame her. None of this was her fault or her choice. The victim of a master manipulator was nothing but that.

"You know, lover," Silta said, pushing him back towards the main crew again. "While I don't want your fickle renegade, there are a few of yours I might keep." She nodded towards Isabella, tied up by Jackson. "What about that little psychopath? You're trying to get rid of her anyway, aren't you?"

Archer pushed her away, hating how weak she'd made him look already. He opened his mouth to fight some battle he once again wouldn't win, but he was cut off.

"You'll get nothing from us." It was Marquis' voice, firm and loud from his position by the mainmast. As soon as he spoke, Jackson elbowed him in the throat.

Silta looked over at Marquis. "Oh, I want you," she said. She turned her gaze to Archer. "Let me have him." Or I'll take him.

Marquis coughed out his next breath, struggling to stay on his feet. "I'll never sail for you."

"Come now, love. The Champion's Avourienne or an orphan-child's nepotism ship?"

"Except that you're not the Champion," Alli piped up. When Rusher went to quiet her, she ducked out of his way. "Not anymore," she added. Rusher finally got to her, but by then Silta had waved him away.

"Look at blondie. All the nerve in the world," Silta said, amused.

But there was something off about it. It was almost as if she was getting distracted, pushed off course by a lack of focus. Those animated replies were not consistent with her usual performance.

"How old are you, love?" she asked. "Fifteen, sixteen? A little bold to be declaring status for legends, don't you think?"

Alli had shrunk, losing her nerve. She took a step back.

"I could kill that boy with my hands," Silta told her, sobering back to seriousness. "You want to see?"

Alli shook her head, stepping back.

Silta spun on her heel, moving too quickly for anyone to properly keep track. "Kingsley, where's Harvi? Give him back."

And there, Archer could finally fight.

"Here, Captain," Harvi spoke up from the rail behind her. He walked towards her, grinning shamelessly. "Had him fooled," he whispered, his previous shyness gone, replaced with the Avourienne's signature charisma.

"Fooled," Archer repeated. "I didn't notice a thing—not you dumping knowledge on me all once, not you accidentally mimicking Britter's knife tricks, and most definitely not the damn Avourienne tattoo on your neck."

Britter had come down the stairs, settling his bright eyes on Harvi. "You weren't supposed to get that until after this," he said.

Harvi shrugged, glancing at Britter like he was no one important. "Semantics."

"Oh, now that's a massive word for you," Britter snapped.

Harvi only grinned. Britter looked expectantly at Silta, who reached out to tap Harvi once on the nose. "Doesn't make a difference in the end," she said, turning back to Archer.

There it was, the first clue. It wasn't the touch that had been intentional; it was the lack of punishment for a crew member that had done something entirely irresponsible. It was the exception. There was a dynamic between Silta and Harvi, and it only took him a second to place it: Harvi wasn't just a replacement crew member for those they'd lost; he was Silta's replacement for Archer—the starstruck man to follow her around. The Silta to her Bardarian.

"Kingsley, follow me if you're interested in finding a way to ensure the Myriad doesn't turn to firewood." Silta gestured to Britter, then headed up to the captain's quarters.

Archer watched her go, glancing over at Britter, those familiar friendly faces. He adjusted his hat. So Silta wanted to play mind games.

He could play those just fine.