Live to Venture (#0)

17 | The Intricacy of Adventure

Novari kept her body very still as the Avourienne sailed out to open water. She could look back at Canale, burning a fiery death, but she chose to keep it behind her forever. Kiera's face, Edward's pistol, the bloodshed.

Instead of thinking of any of that, Novari pressed the balls of her feet into the wood of the deck, rolling her weight, trying to get used to the moving surface again. She glanced at Bardarian, in front of her, subtly gesturing to his first mate, Everson, to hand him a pistol.

Novari rolled her weight onto her toes again, otherwise still. He was looking out at the ocean, rolling his shoulders, pretending to be nonchalant. His hand twisted so he could maneuver the gun more quickly, then let his finger drift to the trigger. Novari watched it carefully, her muscles jumping with anticipation. She couldn't move too soon; she couldn't move too late.

Bardarian whirled around, the pistol low on his body, aimed out at her. He was fast for his size, but speed was her thing. She reached out, flipped the weapon and pressed it to his neck.

The crew all snapped into motion, bringing out their pistols, forming their circle, ready. He held up his hands so no one would move, shaking his head a little in disbelief. "You never lose a round, do you?" he asked, calm beyond Novari's comprehension. He liked his ship, and reuniting with her gave him a knifelike confidence.

"Liar," she whispered, the word barely audible over the gentle wind. His eyes followed her lips as she spoke the words, "We had a deal."

He looked up at her eyes, salty sea spray twirling strands of his hair into his face. He dropped his hands back to his sides. Novari placed the palm of her hand flat against his shoulder, where she'd be able to feel preliminary muscle movements.

"I'll keep the deal," he told her. "Precautions first."

"You promised me a position on this ship," she hissed.

"You'll have it," he replied. "If I decide you're safe to keep."

Novari kept the pistol steady. She dug it into his trachea a little, but he didn't squirm.

"Don't blame me," he told her, his voice stern but kind. "I just witnessed you kill your friends and turn your back on everyone you were once loyal to."

"For you."

"Not for me," he started. Novari had her hand on his dominant shoulder, which should've alerted her to his movements—a trick she used consistently, and one he must've known, because he rolled his opposite shoulder at the same time he twisted his head, tucking the pistol into his jaw and clamping it. He slid the barrel over her shoulder before she had time to duck, to move, to comprehend what had happened. "For yourself," he corrected, keeping a firm hand behind her neck to keep her still. He wasn't pointing the barrel at her, but he could with just the jerk of his fingers.

Novari felt her heart stutter for a second. She didn't get beat. She didn't get pistols taken from her. She didn't even understand what happened.

"It's just experience," he explained. "Everyone does that trick. You'd know that, if you lived out in the real world more often."

Never. Never had she felt so out of control as she did in this instant. Never had she felt like nothing in her life was hers to manipulate and change. If he'd been condescending, rude, insulting just to be insulting—maybe then this would be easier. But it was the kindness and the reasonability that drove her mad.

Her fingers itched, ready to put him back in his place. Experience was an attribute of his, but she could beat him. Easily. Easily. She'd put the barrel of that pistol in his mouth.