Venture to Uncertainty (#1)

34 | The Angst of Uncertainty

The castle was an eerie type of silent. Nothing moved or shook or dared to breathe, not even Archer or Denver. They quickly moved from corner to corner, navigating the maze of hallways.

They ran into two crisps around a blind corner, a mere few minutes into their separation.

For the second time in his life, Archer killed someone. He couldn't believe he'd gotten this far on the Avourienne without doing it already. He wanted to knock him unconscious, do less damage, but the last time he'd left someone alive, it had nearly come back to kill him.

Still, he promised himself that this night would be the last one in which he murdered people. This was the end of the killer he'd morphed into. This night was the end of it all. Tomorrow, he'd retain his morality. Tonight, anyone unlucky enough to cross his path would have to pay the ultimate price. This was war, wasn't it?

They didn't speak as they ran into another two crisps. They did their best to keep it quick and silent, but that wasn't easy. They weren't using their pistols yet, for they had only one bullet and the guns were awfully loud. They were forced to get down to the nitty-gritty details with knives, and they had to make sure the men were silenced before they called for help. Archer only hoped the other group was being equally methodical.

Archer dragged his dead assailant down the hallway, laying the body in the corner where someone was less likely to see it. Denver followed, sweat glistening down his forehead and his cheeks reddening.

"I'm supposed to lose you," he whispered, wiping the perspiration from his neck. "That's what Britter told me."

Archer hadn't realized that had come up so fast. They were far away from Bardarian now, but he didn't feel safe. Not for himself—for Denver. If Archer left him now, Denver would be solely responsible for his attackers, which wasn't a good place for him to be. After all, he'd been put on this mission because he wasn't that good.

"I can stay a little," Archer said, making his way down the hallway. He pulled back when he saw a group of four crisps. He pulled Denver into a lone corner where they'd be hidden. Four crisps were too many crisps for them to take on silently.

"I was supposed to lose you as soon as possible," Denver whispered.

"They told you that because they don't give a shit about your life," Archer snapped back quietly. "I'll stay a little longer, get you closer to the group again."

"I don't need your help," Denver hissed.

Archer didn't respond as the crisps passed. Once they did, he came out of their hiding spot.

"Don't be proud, Denver," he said. "Two is better than one."

"I don't need your help."

Archer ran a hand through his hair. He couldn't let Denver go; he could get killed by any one of the passing crisps.

"You're being ridiculous," he said quickly, eyes jumping from the right to left hallway, searching. "You could use the help. I could use the help. The crisps travel in two. You can't do that over and over again by yourself."

"I can, and I will," Denver said, gritting his teeth.

Archer searched his friend's face. "You're doing this for them, aren't you?" he asked, realizing why his friend was so desperate to go off on his own. "To prove yourself?"

"Everyone on the Avourienne is capable, Archer," Denver insisted. "I'm the new dud. I have to do this, or they'll realize soon that I'm not all that useful."

Archer shook his head vigorously. "That's insane. This is your life you're playing with."

Denver laughed heartily, but his pale eyes didn't crinkle around the edges like they did when he was truly amused. "You don't get it, mate. You came onto this ship perfect. I've no clue how, but you did. You're capable enough to do whatever you want."

"Denver—"

"I'm not finished. You received no training from anyone, but you nearly beat the Champion. And speaking of which—while the rest of us fought for our status, you slept your way there."

Archer blinked. "That's not what I did."

"Isn't it? The rest of us tiptoe around that woman while you have her pulling strings for you. The point is, Archer, you got noticed by Bardarian—whether it was in a good or bad way. And we're pirates; I don't blame you for taking advantage where you could. But the truth is, I don't know who you really are, and it doesn't matter. You just don't get it."

His tone was sharp and uninviting, bottled up. Archer had no clue Denver despised his so-called success so venomously. All this time, he thought Denver was just loyal to his captain, but maybe that wasn't really it. Maybe he was intimidated and frustrated into jealousy.

"Denver, I wish you would just think straight. None of that matters. Your life does."

"I'm leaving, Archer. That's the end of it."

He wanted to shake his friend's shoulders until the logic finally bore itself into his thick skull. This wasn't about Archer and his talent for fighting or the Captain or Silta. It was about Denver, with the friendly eyes and the welcoming grin. Denver, who'd murdered his sister to join the most esteemed crew in the world. Denver, who had clapped Archer on the back and told him he'd be okay after the murder of Jeanne.

Archer watched him leave, for there wasn't much else he could do. Denver felt he had to prove something, and nothing would change his mind.

When Denver disappeared around the corner, Archer suddenly noted he was now on his own, too. It was then that he realized that he had no clue in the world what he was supposed yo do. According to Silta, he was supposed to get the hell out. Climb through one of the windows and get into one of the rowboats and leave the Kingsland. Do what he needed to do to save himself.

But he couldn't do that, could he? He searched his mind, trying to decide if he could.

In a way, he wanted to. He wanted to crawl out the window and disappear into the night. He wanted to start a new life and live a new adventure by his own rules.

But that's not what he came here to do. It's not what he left Orphano to do. He embarked on this whole thing, at heart, to kill a tyrant king. That king would die tonight, without a doubt, but what if another one simply took his place?

Captain Bardarian wanted that throne, and Silta was going to give it to him. Once King Kain was dead, Bardarian would kill Kerian, and the Cobalts would be his to destroy as long as Silta kept that ring on her finger. The two of them were a destructive pair—to themselves, to those around them and to the world. Archer could not, in good conscience, let Bardarian take that crown. Or Silta, for that matter.

He stared out the window he'd come up to. He was so close to freedom. So close he could taste it, a sweet feeling in his dry mouth.

He looked down the hallway.

Lyra was in here somewhere, and she'd pledged her allegiance to him. She'd said she would fight with him should he choose to do the right thing.

He took a deep breath. Whatever he was going to do, he needed to do it now. He could hear the approaching footsteps.

His head spun wildly. He needed to decide. Now.

The footsteps grew closer. Archer picked out two separate ones.

He closed his eyes.

Hold off on freedom for a while, then. Chaos would have to do for now.