Venture to Uncertainty (#1)

01 | The Decision of Uncertainty

Part I: The Avourienne

Today, Archer would murder his lover.

She perched in the dinghy across from him, slender hands folded in her lap like a well-trained court lady despite her ripped capris and stark yellow hairband. She noticed his gaze, then pursed her lips in a tight smile. She knew she was going to die today, and she knew he would be the one to do it.

"Beautiful day," she noted, inspecting the sparkling navy water as it sloshed against their boat.

Archer, whose ankles were propped up on the gunwale, leaned his shoulders back against the bow. "Aye," he said, returning to his infatuating book on rigging knots, the pages of which were dotted with sea spray.

She shifted uncomfortably, wobbling the little boat with her land-learned movements. "Arch," she tried.

"Jeanne," he said back, turning a soggy page.

"Don't tell me you're still mad."

He rolled his gaze to her. The sun beat down relentlessly, not a cloud in the cerulean sky. Her hands were still folded, her posture probably far straighter than any other deathly sick girl in the sea.

"I am not mad," he said, glancing at the sun as it began its leg towards the west. On the horizon was Orphano, the island they'd rowed from, and the only slice of land either of them had ever known. It was nothing but a dot out among the waves now, but he swore he could still see that sign the kids had made for him, complete with three different coloured exclamation marks—Good luck, Archer!!! What morbid children this ocean had created.

"Considering I have less than an hour left to live," Jeanne started, "I figured you might forgive me for the time being."

Archer shifted his eyes to her from the island in the distance. She was probably right, but considering he hadn't exactly decided if he was going to go through with her little game at all, he wasn't sure he had anything to forgive quite yet.

"You agreed to it," she said.

"I did not," he replied. Seafoam crawled up the side of the boat, little bubbles popping in the air. Sure, he might've let Farley and her shove him into this pathetic little vessel under the assumption that he'd go along with their sudden wrench in his plan, but that didn't mean he was going through with it.

It was supposed to be a straightforward proposal—or at least it had been when he and Farley had dreamed it up two years ago: train hard in close combat, figure out the quickest route to the King, and shove something very sharp up through his chest. Stop the suffering with one good blow.

Wrench number one: The only boat that travelled to the Kingsland was the Avourienne, a pirate ship so heinous some people refused to even speak the name.

Wrench number two: The Avourienne had two very difficult people on board. One was the Captain, a man who'd made his name as much out of charm as he had of murder, and the other was his oh-so-pretty prodigy, a cunning half-breed so otherworldly talented that they'd nicknamed her the Champion of the Sea.

Wrench number three: There was a heavy, heavy price to board the vessel.

"I've less than a year to live anyway," Jeanne said.

"Doc's been saying that for ten years," he answered. Granted, the doctors on Orphano were orphans like the rest of them, and no more in tune with the outside world at that. Most of the time, they had no clue what they were talking about, either.

"Fine," she said. "Let's say I've got five more years—not good ones, because I haven't had a good year in my recent memory—before I have the pleasure of being thrown in a grave."