Silta didn't act like the threat everyone knew her to be as she came up to the General. She walked like she was his old friend, having the acquaintance they talked about. She made a signal with her fingers for Archer to follow, so he glanced at Lyra and shrugged before doing as he was told. Archer hadn't anticipated the General wanting to talk; everyone knew better than to play mind games with her.

The General instructed his remaining men to lower their guns. They'd shot a few times, but reloading was hard when your hands were shaking from stress and action—something crisps didn't often come across. And as Silta said, pistols were inaccurate in motion. As long as you kept moving, chances were you'd avoid the bullet.

"You've stolen a lot from me," the General began cautiously.

"Cannons and gunpowder are simply things," she replied. "You took something a lot more valuable from us."

"I took your crew member only in retaliation," he said.

She grinned. "I hate ports," she said suddenly. The tone of her voice had changed, causing Archer to pay close attention. He was only a few feet from the General now and might have to act soon.

"You know what happened to me in the last port I was at?" Silta said. "The contact that's supposed to be on my side got excited about that bounty that's on my head. You know the one?"

Archer squinted. Sure, she was talking about something that had no connection to what was happening now, but she did nothing without reason.

"I know the one," the General said.

"The contact pointed a pistol at my head. Can you believe that? What a shame. While my own crew member was only a few steps away."

She was trying to tell him something. The port, the contact, only a few steps away—and there it was.

In Port Marcel, when Shiv had turned on them, Archer had taken a step forward and nobody had noticed; Silta was telling him to do the same thing now. Something about Archer allowed him to appear somewhat insignificant to the enemy. Perhaps it was his lack of a reputation, or even the morality that seemed so obvious. It was the same concept, over and over again. Disregard the whole without ever glancing at the details.

He took one, small pace towards the General. Nobody noticed.

Silta smiled. "Tell me, General. Do you want the bounty, or just the honour?"

The General did not smile back. Archer took another step. Silta was slowly letting the bow fall further and further down her shoulder until she could reach it with her hand.

"I want to do what's best for the Cobalts," the General said. "What my King asks of me."

Another step. The bow slid a little more.

"Speaking of, have you seen my father lately?" Silta asked.

There was a long, gruelling pause as Archer took his last step.

"You're stalling," the General said.

"Smart man," Silta said, her voice soft like honey. She dropped the bow into her hands, nocking an arrow, fingers practiced and quick. Archer darted forward as she let the arrow fly, wrenching it out of the cushion on the throne where she'd aimed it. He spun around, bringing the arrow to the General's neck, pulling him back to the throne before either of the guards had processed the situation.

Because they couldn't kill him. They needed a trade—the General for Lyra.

"Being smart," Silta said, taking a step forward, "doesn't mean much if you're not the smartest, love." She took another step, eyes bright and focused. "Then you're not clever. You're just behind."

Archer pushed the tip of the arrow into the skin of the General. Just as he'd done with Captain Kernite, he didn't apply enough strength to break the surface. Just enough to be firm.

Silta gave Archer a look, and it held a clear message: He was not to shake, not to cower. Not to give any indication of being a bluffer like he had last time.

Nobody called his bluff. The General was still in his hands.

"You," Silta said, turning to the man with the pistol on Lyra, "you know what to do."

"Do not let go!" the General protested from under Archer's grip. "That is an order."

Silta raised her brows and turned back to the General. She didn't prompt him to explain.

"As I stated before," the General said, taking shallow breaths, "I do what's best for my people. Taking you and your crew is far more important than my life."

"Noble," Archer mumbled.

"Be honest with yourself, love," Silta started, rolling her shoulders in a gesture that suggested she was growing bored of the conversation. "You're not killing me today." She pointed to a line on her tattoo. "Look at that," she said. "That was the General in Port Clipton. And this one over here is the old General in Chorro—"

"I will not succumb to threats," the General said stoically.

Silta shrugged. "Fine. Kill him, Kingsley."

"Wait!" the General cried.

Silta grinned, but her smile was uneasy. She'd called his bluff right, but there was one problem: In the seconds between Silta's command and the General's response, there had been no reaction from Archer. Because act all he wanted, he was still bluffing. He wouldn't kill a completely honourable and brave man that posed no threat to him.

It was hardly noticeable, anyway, and it did seem like they got away with it, convinced everyone he really was a killer, with one exception.

The weapon's manager peered out from behind a pillar. "Sir," he said, "if I may, the boy is a good sailor. He won't kill you."

Silta lifted her chin and kept her iron gaze on Archer. "Rule number four," she said.

"Tie up Your Loose Ends," he whispered. There was, once again, true wisdom behind it. Behind all of it.

"I'm so tired of being in the same damn situations," she said, raising her bow and nocking the last arrow. She aimed at the General, and therefore at Archer. Again.

He truly couldn't believe his luck. Twice, he'd been threatened indirectly by this woman. It was tiring, the hot and cold interactions; saying what she had back when they were leaving the Avourienne to get Lyra, then proceeding to point an arrow to his neck.

Archer searched her expression. Parts of a whole. That's how he'd looked at Silta's bluff the first time. She was merciless; he was new to her. Of course she'd shoot him. That was the whole. The whole she'd presented to him so he didn't look too closely at the details: If she killed him, she'd never figure out what was going on with Farley and the Kingsland.

"My sailor might be a bluffer, but you know I'm not," she said.

"You're willing to kill one of your sailors...for one of your sailors?" the General said, as if it amused him greatly.

"Kingsley means nothing to me. I'd shoot him for fun."

Silta was a master of deception, but Archer read emotions better than most. Once he knew what he was looking for, he found what he hoped he would. In some way, she was bluffing. At the very least, shooting him was her very, very last resort. He felt surprisingly calm in the path of this fake death.

The General took a long time to speak. He glanced around, looking hard, trying to outsmart, but realized he was at a loss.

"Let her go," came his order.

The soldier holding Lyra dropped the pistol, and she took it from him; the man didn't put up a fight. Lyra came up behind Silta.

Archer let go, too, falling behind Silta as well. He put the arrow back in her quiver, watching her aim stay on the General.

"Side door," Silta instructed, stepping back towards the locked door to their left.

The General gazed at them, clearly relieved, but there was deep shame etched onto his face. Archer wondered what the King would hear about this.

"Trade you?" Silta said to Lyra. Rapidly, the two of them switched weapons, and Silta trained the pistol on the General.

"You're with me, love," Silta said. He stepped forward, into her range. She spun him around and tucked the pistol to his neck. Lyra unlocked and opened the door. There were men everywhere, full uniforms and weapons. They lowered their aim quickly upon seeing the scene.

"Thank you, gentlemen," Lyra said as they made way for the trio. By law, they could not perform any action that could harm a representative of the King. Stocked with all the weapons in the world, and yet they were defenceless.

Silta brought up the rear, following Archer and Lyra as they made their way back down to the ballroom. The remaining guests offered gasps of surprise and terror as the three pirates took the straight way out.

"It's the King's daughter," he heard a man whisper. The admiration in his voice when he spoke the name of his leader—it was something Archer had never heard before. All he'd ever heard from the King's name was spite, fury and disgust.

Silta kept her hands steady all the way to the large archway entrance. Archer's hands shook. After all, the only thing keeping him alive was the insinuation that Silta would kill their General if anyone tried to hurt Archer, who still looked like a crisp.

Lyra led the way out of the arch and onto the ground beneath. Silta turned to the archway, where the King's men had followed them out.

She turned her face to see the General in her arms. He suddenly appeared to be a very small man.

"One-minute head start?" she asked him. "And we won't blow your docks to bits?"

"I think that's fair," he replied.

"Last thing, love," she said. She whispered something in his ear, and the General's face went white.

She backed away, not yet putting the pistol down. "Always a pleasure, boys," she said, and then she turned.

The three of them sprinted back towards south port, the smell of burning embers wafting towards them from across the courtyard.

"What'd you say to him?" Lyra asked Silta.

"To tell the King something for me," she answered.

"Tell him what?" Archer asked.

"You'll find out in minutes. Patience, Minnow."

Archer wildly longed to know what she had said but left it for now, the curiosity eating away at him.

As Silta had promised, the Avourienne had not left. It sat in the water, lines all cast off and drifting slightly in the windless night. The three of them made their way onto the dock, meeting shouts of joy from the crew of the Avourienne. The lines were thrown down, and Lyra and Silta leaped elegantly from the dock, catching the lines. Archer did the same and this time, he didn't even slide back an inch.

As they were pulled up, Silta turned to Archer. "Have you figured it out?" she whispered to him.

"Figured it out?" he repeated. He had trouble thinking when she was this close.

She searched his face for a moment, then drew away, seemingly disappointed. "For a second back there, I really did think we were on the same level, but it appears I'm still alone up here," she said. "It's fine, you know. I'm not afraid of heights."

"Figured what out?" Archer asked again. He desperately wanted to be on her level; he really did. If only she would give him a hint on what in angel's name she was talking about.

"Who our snitch is," she said with a grin.

Archer thought hard. "It's the contact, isn't it?"

They were pulled over the hull of the ship and she hefted herself over. She didn't answer him, but as soon as her foot landed on the dock, her demeanour changed. Her adventure-seeking, thrilling persona melted away to reveal the other part of her that simply spoke less.

She moved past the mast and offered not a word to the crew as they welcomed them back. She made her way to where the rest of the crew had gathered. The Avourienne began to sail smoothly away from port, cutting through the still water like glass.

Silta closed in on the group. In one movement, she raised the guard's pistol to Kip Tanner's head.

Immediately, those in the group backed away and scattered from her aim, but Archer's roommate didn't dare.

The rest of the crew shouted and tried to diffuse before realizing there was something bigger going on. She said nothing for a moment, just looked deep into the eyes of the very crew member who had seemed the least dangerous all these months.

"I had to get one last look in your eyes," Silta whispered to him, "just to make sure."

Bardarian came down the steps of the captain's balcony. "Silta!" He spun around when he reached the bottom. "You're not following your damn rules!"

Silta didn't move. "You tell him, love," she said to Tanner. "I'm tired of explaining things."

Archer had to turn to look at Bardarian, sure that when he turned back, the face of his roommate would be as shell-shocked and terrified as it had been when Silta had first pulled the maneuver. But Kip Tanner's face did not look terrified anymore.

Instead, he smiled.

Maybe it was the stories of Tanner's past, the dark hair, the lack of callouses on his fingers. Maybe it was a million different things that caused Archer to figure it out before anyone else, but just as likely, it was solely because of his smile.

Because of those sharp, royal canines.