In the time it had taken Archer to follow her, she'd already made herself comfortable. She was leaning against the back of his plush chair, sifting through the books on his shelf. She didn't look up as he closed the door behind him.

"Novari," he said, like a warning. "Why are you really here?" He held his spot by the door.

"Archer," she said back, still searching the books. "To see my lover."

It was a knee-jerk reply, but it came all the same, "I'm not your lover."

She glanced over at him finally, abandoning the books. It was a variation of a sentence Archer had uttered a million times this past year. Those women at the pubs, those other captains; they'd all ask the same thing. You and the Champion were lovers, no?

We weren't lovers, Archer would lie back. He'd lie to everyone. He'd lie to his own crew; he'd try to lie to himself. He'd insist over and over again that he'd never been involved with her that way. Not a single person had believed him.

"No?" she wondered, turning back to the shelf. "Had a handful of nights that say different." She picked out a book—a fake one Archer had for safekeeping objects—and tossed it up in the air.

As the cover opened, hundreds of feathers came raining down, settling on the furniture and the floor. He looked back over at her. So that was real, then.

"That was most definitely real," she replied. "You absolutely did wrap yourself up like some sort of burrito trying to get away from me. You got a good hit on my jaw, see?" She turned her face to the side, showing off a light bruise on the bone. "You absolutely did lose your shit and try to slit your own throat in some sort of sociopathic panic, and I ended up with an awful crick in my neck from your bony shoulder." She tapped the table as she moved, then looked up to toss him a smile.

He had to be careful, now. Out there, on the deck, Silta was a performer, appearing lighthearted and amusing, witty and carefree. Here, she had her focus solely on him. She would run around him in circles if he didn't pay attention.

"It's been hard for me to tell what's real lately," he replied.

She pursed her lips, but her eyes screamed of sensationalism. "Well, yes," she said. "That could also be my fault."

His eyes snapped up. "That was you?" He wouldn't admit it, but the Silta-ghost actually being Silta was good news; it meant he was not nearly the insane as he'd thought. All those things he'd told her, though, confided in her about; it also meant she'd really heard all of them.

"Yes, Kingsley, that was me. Another reason we caught up to you at night, but it wasn't always fun." She inspected the trinkets he had on his bookcase. "There was the time you almost made the suicidal mistake of getting involved with your psychopath strategist—funny little full circle moment, by the way—that I not only had to watch, but also had to stop. Then there was that one time you actually bumped into me, and I had to jump ship as fast as I could. Missed the Avourienne and ended up whirling around in the water for a good half hour."

"You tortured me. I thought I was mad, Novari." Archer's heart clawed in his throat.

"Yes." She waved a hand. "I did all of that. I take full responsibility for it—in fact, dare I even say I take pride in it? Call me wicked or manipulative, Kingsley, but at least I'm accountable for the things I do."

"I take responsibility for the Kingsland," he snapped. "I've never denied it for a moment."

Her laugh seemed to stumble out before she could stop it. "Only because they made you a hero for it. But the things that aren't so heroic, you deny."

"I don't—"

"We weren't lovers?" she asked. "Isn't that what you tell anyone who cares to listen? You let them idolize you for murdering me, but you wouldn't dare admit that I spent the months leading up to that to that situation under you. You let them think you played an act on the Avourienne, and you hide how much you admired Bardarian. You hide the trust you had in Britter, the friendship you had with Rusher, the bond you had for Denver and the love you had for me. All of those relationships that you shattered to pieces for the title of a hero, then lie about to keep it."

Archer took a step closer, as if he couldn't express his frustration from far away. "I never asked them to make me a hero," he insisted. "I never asked for anything other than a leader for this ocean that wasn't a tyrant."

"You're not the man who gets to make those decisions," she murmured, skirting around outright aggression for the time being. "You're not a royal or a man with power. You're an orphan, Kingsley, and you think you get to decide who sits on the throne? You think you're entitled to the murder of a rightful heir?"

"Yes." He lifted his chin, matching her tone. "And I'd do it again."

She smiled, her features softening. "Really? Even when you've spent the last year wishing you'd never picked up the knife?"

He felt his breath catch just a little. He'd told her that when he thought he was in the comfort of his own mind. She saw the vulnerability and she attacked it.

"Lie to the world all you want," she said gently, her signature tactic to flipping the board. "Don't lie to me, love."

He felt the emotions piling, felt the pain and the suffering of the last year threatening to spill out. He felt his composure break from the kind tone of her words, like she was somebody to trust and hold faith in. He felt the need to wrap himself in her and break into pieces. He didn't want to play this game of deceit and lies. He just wanted to fall apart.

He kept his chin raised. He'd made mistakes. He couldn't change the way he'd fallen for her ploys before. He could change what he did now.

"I did what I did for the throne," he said, refusing to raise his voice. "I did it for them"—he gestured to the window—"despite what I wanted, which was to love you for the rest of my life." He shook his head, holding her gaze. "Look at this mess, Novari. You never stop trying to twist and manipulate me into behaving the way you want. You're poison, and you've been that way from the very beginning. I was completely isolated on the Avourienne, and you knew it. You broke me down and built me back in a way you could benefit from. You had no issues using both my mind and body to get into Bardarian's head. You pitted us against each other—you were the reason I had to kill him. You rewired my entire head, Novari. You manipulated me into loving you."

She tilted her head, eyes stony. "You came to me, Kingsley," she said. "You laid me down out of your own free will."

Archer grinned, but he was anything but amused. "You're so smart, Novari," he said, catching her gaze and holding it. He felt his own words turn disturbed, felt his emotions slip from his control as he spoke, "You take simple things and complicate them, then ignore all the intricate details that you twisted and explain the situation in absolutes. I came to you because you baited me. You lured me with your looks and your mind; you made me feel like we could make it, and then you put me last on your list of priorities. You think I'll let it happen again? You think I don't know what this is?"

"Poor Kingsley," she murmured, her smile vicious. "Poor, lovely little Kingsley who always had the best intentions and the worst outcomes." She laughed, taking a few more steps. "You killed Vallin—"

"He would've killed me first," Archer snarled.

"I wish he did, Kingsley," she snapped. "Imagine what I would've done to you if I'd been in that room. Imagine what I would've done to you if I knew what you'd done at any point in that damn castle. It's not poor Kingsley to me. It's cunning Kingsley. Traitorous Kingsley. The man I made exceptions for and had it come back to kill me and what I loved." She took one more step, putting them a mere breath apart. She watched him, unblinking. "You want to talk about regret, love? I wish I pulled the trigger on you. I wish I shot you on the Forlorn. I wish I shot you in Port Kiver. And on the Devil's name, Kingsley, I wish I put the bullet through your head in the Kingsland."

Archer flinched. She didn't mean that.

"I do." She tilted her head, watching his reaction.

He stayed silent for a moment, searching her face. It could've been his imagination, but she felt taller, like she was looking him right in the eye for the first time. Her jawline felt sharper, her cheekbones more prominent. She'd always had a few years on him, but that moment was the only instance where it felt painfully obvious.

"What's the point?" he asked. "You're here to prove you're the best? You've proved it. You're here to kill me for what I did to Bardarian? Then let's have it. You put your knives on the table, I'll put my gun on the desk, and we'll fight with our hands until one of us is dead on the ground—I could care less who it ends up being. As long as we're not playing games."

"I'm here for the map."

Right. The map. He'd completely forgotten.

She glanced at him. "I drew this for you," she said, flicking the map on his desk.

Archer should've figured this all out sooner, but he'd grown used to being the smartest person in the game, and he'd forgotten what it had been like to scramble to keep up.

There was a knock on the captain's quarters. "Come on in, love," Silta called.

Britter threw open the door. "The ship has been searched, Cap," he declared. "It's not out there."

Silta leaned against the desk. "Excellent," she said, glancing back at him. "Then it's in here. Give it up, Minnow."

Archer was not giving her that map—at least not until he knew why she wanted it.

She sighed loudly and drew a knife from her waistband. She spun it around in her fingers just like she'd taught Archer to. "Don't make it messy, Kingsley," she said. "Hand over the map, and we'll be out of your way."

"Like hell you will."

"I mean it," Silta replied. "You'll never see me again. Tell me where it is, Kingsley, or I'll make you."

Archer held his position. "Torture won't do a thing."

She nodded to Britter. He left the room, so she leaned back lazily on the desk. She tossed up her knife, then caught it. "Of course not," she said. "You wouldn't utter a word with a knife to your throat; I have no doubts about that. Someone else's throat, though? I guess we'll see."

A shuffling sound came from outside, and soon after Britter reappeared, tossing Alli into the room. There were red marks on her wrists, and someone had put a good shiner on her left eye. She stumbled through the doorway, kicking out at Britter as he tried to keep her in his grip. As he reached for her again, Alli kneed him in the face, causing him to recoil for a moment.

Silta, still lounging on the desk and playing toss with her knife, let out a laugh. "All hail my nearly-unbeatable first mate, overcome only by small blondes when they get angry."

Britter didn't reply as he finally got a hold of Alli. He tossed a pistol to Silta, and she caught it as she sat up.

"Call the knife a metaphor," she said to Archer, still perched on the desk. She cocked the pistol and put the aim on Alli's head. "You trust my aim, love?" she asked Britter.

He raised a nonchalant eyebrow. "Of course."

Alli froze, her previous fight dissipated.

Archer feigned composure as he leaned against the desk beside Silta. He gestured to Alli. "She's a deckhand. What does she have to do with anything?"

"She's not a deckhand. She's got ink on her palms. She's a navigator. Your best."

Archer blinked. He really needed to get up to her speed again.

Silta glanced at him. "Good tactic, though—make her think she's less useful and important to you than she really is. Put the map in my hands before I blow your navigator to bits."

Archer pushed away the barrel of the pistol, but Silta only straightened it. "You don't touch her. She's not your problem."

Silta glanced at Alli, then back at Archer. "Is she your Harvi?" she asked, amused. "She's blonde, Kingsley. You don't like blondes."

Archer was about to point out that Jeanne was blonde, but he held his tongue at the last moment. Instead he said, "She's not your problem."

"She's not my problem," Silta agreed, not moving the aim of the pistol, "you're my problem. You know exactly how this plays out. You know exactly who's going to win this."

He acted while she was talking. He reached forward, not to the pistol but to her hand, using all his strength to crush her fingers until the pistol dropped. She reached out to break the joint of his elbow, but he knew she'd do that; she always went for the joints. He switched hands quickly, slamming his forearm under her ribs where he'd put the knife nearly a year ago.

She made no indication of pain as she broke away his elbow. She pushed his arm around and traded hands, spinning him around so she could pull him back in and tuck her knife under his jaw.

"Well, would you look at that," she said. "You're still heavy on the dominant side, and I can still beat you in seconds."

Archer swatted away her hand, knowing she wasn't going to use the knife. He elbowed the same spot on her ribs again and tried to hook her leg, but she got there first and pushed him forward, leaving him stumbling.

"Give it up Kingsley," she insisted. "You're good. You're not good enough."

Archer was only buying time. He knew she was better. "Why do you want the map?" he questioned, regaining his balance. "You'd never want immortality."

"My interest in the map has nothing to do with you. For the last time, you give me the map now, or I blow your knockoff version of me to pieces."

"I'm not a...knockoff of you," Alli mumbled from her spot in Britter's grip. Her eyes were darting. "Although I would like to be you." Archer had never seen her look so out of place.

"Kingsley. The map," Silta said.

Archer looked from Alli to Silta. He was trapped; there was nothing else for him to do. He ran his hands through his hair, racking his brain. There was no way out.

When he came up short, he pushed by Silta and took the map from its hidden compartment in the brace. He tossed it to her.

She caught it, moved to the desk and rolled it out. After a moment, she turned around. She'd always held this eerie calm to her expression, but he couldn't find it in her eyes then.

She gritted her teeth and picked up a glass bottle off the desk, hurling it at Archer. He ducked, the glass shattering behind him. She threw something else, and then something else. He looked at Britter in disbelief, but the first mate just shrugged.

She was on him in seconds, lithe fingers around his neck. "You had one task, Kingsley," she snapped, livid. "One damn task."

Archer reached up to her hands and peeled them off, pushing her away with his forearms. Surprisingly, it was easy—she might win the skill game, but he'd win the strength one. It was a small victory, but it gave him confidence as he said, "I don't know what the hell is wrong with you, Novari. I gave you the map."

Britter had let go of Alli and made his way over to the desk, glancing at the map. He picked it up and tossed it to Archer. "That's not exactly the map we wanted, Minnow," he said.

Archer caught and unrolled it. It was singed around the edges, the coordinates blackened and stained with ash. Written across the illegible map was one simple word: checkmate.

He looked up. "It wasn't like this when I put it away. The only person that was on my ship other than my crew was you." He nodded to Silta.

She whipped around and mumbled, "Not last night. This morning, in the daylight—because He knows I like using, and of course it would be night. I got here before Him—I did." She spun around to Archer and pointed at him. "He told you to go batshit with the knife, didn't He? He told you to distract me so He could take it in the morning."

Archer searched her gaze, confused. "Who?"

She snapped her fingers, turning away from him. "You wouldn't have listened. Search the room, can't find it. Wake him up, batshit crazy, distraction. I'll gather up the feathers and leave, come back tonight. He does it during the day. It's brilliant. It's brilliant." She threw another one of Archer's things at the wall.

He looked to Britter, then back to Silta. He'd never known her to speak like that—muttering and mumbling nearly incoherent thoughts. He spoke cautiously, "Who are you talking about?"

She was still mumbling, "I thought I got Him in time."

"Who?" Archer was getting increasingly frustrated.

"What the hell do I do?" she said. She was talking completely to herself, her voice bordering manic. She was spiralling, completely out of control.

"Captain, if I may..."

Silta spun around to Alli, who had spoken. "Why are you talking?" She turned to Archer. "Why is she talking?"

"I memorized the map, Captain," Alli said.

Silta paused, accusatory fingers frozen in the air. "Go on," she said.

"When the Captain first found it, I had a quick look at it," Alli said, her voice wavering. "It's a simple star map, and there's an easy pattern. I'm known for my memory."

Silta snapped her fingers and pointed to Alli, taking a few steps toward the navigator. "Name," Silta demanded.

"Alli Laurier, Captain," Alli replied. "Assistant navigator."

Silta nodded. "You're with me. Britter, bring her back to the Avourienne. If we leave now, we're still on course."

When Britter went to move, Archer took a step forward, catching his arm. Reflexively, he went to jab out with his elbow, but Archer redirected him and sent him stumbling to the wall. That was more like it.

"You're not taking her," he said, backing into Alli.

"I am taking her," Silta replied, gathering her pistol from the ground.

Archer lifted a hand to get Britter to stay away. He placed his other on Alli's shoulder, making sure they kept a safe distance away. "You're not taking my youngest crew member onto the deadliest ship in the world and bringing her into a dangerous plan like this. You won't."

"She's not that young," Silta said, tucking the pistol away. "She's your age, isn't she? You went onto the same ship with a far more dangerous plan when you were younger than her."

Alli blinked. Nearly everyone assumed she was a young teen. Silta even acted as if she assumed it, too.

"And look where that got me," he snapped back.

"A ship, a crew, and nearly the entire Cobalts at your feet?"

Beside him, Alli let out a nervous laugh. "She has a point," she whispered.

Archer had promised Shuri that he'd take care of Alli. He'd promised himself that Alli would not become the person Silta was, and here she was, eager to be taken on board the Avourienne alone, with admittedly half the skill and mind he'd had when he'd done it.

Silta took a step forward, rolling her shoulders. "Let Britter by, Kingsley. She's with me."

Archer desperately searched for a solution. If Silta wanted Alli, she would be able to take her from him either with her own skill or the firepower of her ship. Alli was going on the Avourienne, whether or not Archer wanted her to. But if he played this right, he could bargain Alli a safer ride. The only problem? He had nothing to bargain with—the only thing he possessed that Silta wanted was Alli's memory.

Archer glanced at Silta, and she tilted her head. An expression tugged at his lips, and she deciphered it immediately, but by the time she'd reached for her pistol again, he had spun around Alli and backed both of them into the wall, his fingers threaded into the soft spot behind her ears. Alli gasped with surprise at the same time Britter darted forward to take the navigator back, but he halted at Silta's voice.

"Nobody moves." She held up one hand to stop Britter, the other poised above her pistol. Everyone went deadly still.

Alli's heart raced under his fingertips, but Archer was calm. Finally, he had the upper hand. Finally, he'd be the one in control.

Britter glanced at Silta, then took another step towards them.

"I said don't move," Silta snapped.

Britter blinked away confusion, but he listened, resuming his stillness.

Alli tugged at Archer's arms. "You're going to kill me to make sure they don't get the map?" Panic clawed at her words.

Archer loosened his grip on her but didn't let go. "It's a retrograde knockout," he explained, hoping to calm her down. "Pressing hard on both pressure points simultaneously will knock you out, which can cause significant amnesia." Archer glanced at Silta. "Considering Alli memorized the map just yesterday, I'd say there's a high chance that precious map of yours gets wiped."

Silta ran her tongue over her teeth, remembering something. "That's hard to do, Minnow. It doesn't always work."

"You want to find out?"

Silta took another step forward, and Archer kept his hands firm.

She smiled as if she appreciated the challenge. Then, finally, "Name it, then."

Archer already had his demands worked out. Silta was headed for the chest, despite not using it for her own purposes. There was something going on, and he needed to find out what. That meant he was officially setting his sights on Myria's chest.

"We take my ship to get the chest," he said. "You can bring one crew member of the Avourienne and yourself. Nobody else."

"Flip it," Silta countered. "We take my ship, and I'll allow you and only you to come, along with my map."

Archer hadn't wanted to take the Myriad anyway—it was only a tactic to aim and therefore compromise higher—but going onto the Avourienne alone when most of the crew had vendettas against him was a suicide mission.

"Me plus five of my crew," Archer bargained. He never once took his hands away from Alli. "Not including Laurier."

"You plus four," Silta answered calmly. "Including map girl."

"It's Laurier," Alli interrupted.

"Me plus four," Archer said. "Not including map girl."

"It's Laurier."

"I draw the line there," Silta said. "You, three of your choice, and map girl."

"It's Laurier."

"Deal," Archer agreed. "And there's one more thing."

"I'm not exactly known to be patient, Kingsley."

"You tell me the whole story. You tell me why you want the chest, who wrecked the map and about your deal with Kerian."

Silta glanced at him with narrowed eyes. "That's a lot to ask for."

"I'm the one with my fingers on your map," Archer pointed out.

"I'm not a map," Alli said.

"I'll tell you the answer to those three questions and those three only. And I only tell you when we're sailing away."

"Deal." Archer finally let go of Alli, who reached up and rubbed her neck.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Kingsley," Silta said, nodding to Britter, who wrenched Alli back out the door. As they left, Silta spoke again, "I make no promises on your life nor the crew you bring aboard my ship. I'll toss them over the side the moment they annoy me."

Archer lifted his chin, acting as though he wasn't upset that he'd missed bargaining for the safety of his crew. Towards the end, he'd started to realize that he was going to sail on the Avourienne again—he was going to be on the same ship as her, the same adventure. He'd lost his hold on reality and logic.

She watched him, read him. "You're the same kid you always were." She went to leave, pointing at him as she passed. "We leave at dusk, Kingsley, with or without you." She opened the door, then turned around again.

Archer spun slowly to face her. Maybe it was silly to think she would say it. Maybe it was a long-lost memory, desperate to resurface. But he hoped she would say it.

She lowered her chin, gaze as invigorating as ever. "Halleviere monere," she whispered, and shut the door behind her.