Live to Venture (#0)

27 | The Threshold of Adventure

Novari shifted her purpose from revenge to observing, careful and deliberate. The common room was bustling and exciting, rum splashing around and smoke billowing from the mouths of the men. Adrian was leaned into the couch next to her, but he was not the object of Novari's observations, not anymore.

Bardarian was listening to Britter's story, shaking his head with a laugh at whatever was said. He had beautiful, perfect teeth and a beautiful, perfect smile. He lifted his bottle to his mouth and took a sip. Novari watched the muscles in his shoulder flex and relax as he placed it back down on the table next to him.

He'd bought her a cat. He'd declared war, then bought a cat to numb her sorrow. He sat there, patient and professional as she sat there with Adrian. Did he know he was going to win? Did he know he was playing her in a long game, and playing it far better than her?

No one seemed to know about her breakdown, which mean he hadn't told anyone. Adrian didn't even know if she'd gone up that morning or the night before, which meant he hadn't thrown it in his first mate's room, either. Novari wondered if he'd have done the same for Miller or Tailsley.

Rusher tossed Novari a bottle, but she didn't pass it over to Adrian like she usually would. She popped the cork, took a sniff, then drank. She glanced at Bardarian, but he was still listening to Britter, still patiently sitting in his spot, with his hat and his smile and his arms.

She narrowed her eyes a little, searching him for flaws. She wanted him to do something embarrassing, say something to turn her away—because this was a dangerous anger she was brewing and a nasty lust she was harbouring. And the more she drank tonight, the closer she got to tossing her mother's rules to the fire.

Adrian leaned forward to tell her something, placing a hand on her thigh. She kneed it away, taking another drink.

Britter noticed, causing him to lose his train of thought and stumble to a stop. He tried to get going again quickly, but it had already caught Bardarian's attention, so he followed his strategist's gaze to Novari, who met his gaze.

She searched his face. Tell me you have to talk to me, she was trying to tell him. Bring me outside this stuffy room. We don't have to talk.

She could picture it happening, bumping into him belowdecks, getting all swept up in a raging heartbeat. She could almost feel his fingers through her hair, hear the whisper of his unhurried breath.

Him, sitting at that desk, talking about the things he'd done that day while she slept. The way he'd asked her to leave because she was distracting, the way he'd defended her to her father, the way he'd told her to breathe.

He held her gaze for a moment longer, then glanced back at Britter as the story resumed.

He brought the bottle to his lips. She remembered the look in his eyes on Canale, like she was artwork. The low lighting, his mother's ring.

I'm not in love, she thought to her mother. So it's harmless, right?

She found her legs becoming restless, waiting for something to change so she could have her way. Only a few moments later, Bardarian stood, placing his empty bottle on the table. "Goodnight, lads," he said, ruffling Britter's hair as he went by. "Silta," he said as he passed.

He was just saying her name because she wasn't a part of the general term, and he wanted to include her. He wasn't saying it to tell her anything, right? He wasn't telling her to come after him, was he?

When he was gone, Novari leaned over to Britter. "Does he have something to do?" she whispered. "Why is he leaving early?" He always left earlier than everyone, but every time Novari went back down belowdecks, the candles in the captain's quarters were still flickering.