Page 101 of Tempest

Cat could not help but laugh, in spite of herself. The three pirates and their distant manner were almost comical against her circumstances, imprisoned and held for ransom. She raised an eyebrow as she looked them over.

On the Venerable, she had done her best to ingratiate herself to the crew, to separate herself from her loathsome husband and his poor behavior. It felt like a game for her to play, helping to pass the hours on the naval ship. Not to mention a strategic decision to hopefully earn friends amongst the officers of the fleet.

It could be the same here, Cat thought.

“I am but a lady of the Meridian,” she said with a precious curtsy, her borrowed skirts fluttering. She lowered her gaze, lashes fluttering against freckled cheeks in a way she knew most men enjoyed. “I can hardly bring any harm to the likes of you or your magnificent ship.”

The Esperese man did not respond, grimacing at his hand of cards, but the pirate next to him raised his head. He had umber skin and the lantern light gleamed off his naked scalp, shaved clean to show a tattoo over one ear—an eagle in flight, body arched and wings wide. The symbol of Itzima, the mightiest kingdom of the Southern Continent.

“The Covenant is a beauty,” he offered, showing Cat a little white smile. His cards splayed in his hand like a peacock’s tail.

From her vantage point, the game was easy to spot. As she watched, the Esperese man threw down a pair of cards, black swords, with an exasperated sigh. The other two pirates jeered and eagerly added coins to the pot, smelling blood.

Cat smelled it too.

“Is this Red River?” she said, bending forwards to inspect the cards, her eyes going wide as a child’s. If I look stupid, so be it. “I know this game.”

The Itziman gave her another smile, nodding. “Indeed it is.”

But his compatriot, the third pirate, tried to shuffle her off. He stood up from his stool with a jolt and pulled a striker from his pocket.

“I’ll attend to your lamp, my lady,” he offered, striking flint against steel. Sparks danced and guttered like shooting stars. They illuminated his face for a moment, showing ruddy cheeks and a red-blond beard to match his hair.

“You sound like a man of Allisport,” Cat said, her lamp still dangling at her side. His accent was unmistakable.

He only quirked his head, the striker still in hand. “Born and raised. Now shall I light that for you?”

But Cat pressed a hand to her mouth. She felt like one of the pirates at the table, carefully choosing the cards in her hand.

“Oh, sir, I am so sorry for the news,” she murmured, her voice laced with pity.

The pirate’s red brow furrowed, grim lines deepening across his forehead. Still seated, his compatriots looked just as baffled, if not intrigued.

“What news?” he demanded, the striker forgotten in his hand.

“You have not heard,” Cat said softly, shaking her head. “I am sorry to have said anything, but—oh, it is just so horrible.”

When the pirate waved her to his seat, she took it without protest, folding herself down at the card table.

“What are you talking about?” The Meridian pirate drew up another stool for himself and leaned in next to her, a picture of concern. “What of Allisport?”

Her breath caught with a well-calculated hitch, as if she were only a lady speaking out of turn. Cat wished for a fan to flutter, to hide a nonexistent flush. Part of her cringed to use the news of Allisport in this way. Somehow it felt like twisting a knife.

But am I not at knifepoint too?

This was not like country dances, the room filled with pompous men and fawning ladies, all of them trying to entrance the other. Or worse, Ryman’s parlor after their marriage, where he once boasted of his nonexistent triumphs, trying to squeeze a loan out of the few lords stupider than he was. And Cat could only sit there, smiling into her wine, silently screaming.

She would not be silent now.

All three pirates stared as the spray of the sea washed over the deck. They seemed to be holding their breath.

Cat swallowed, as if fighting to speak the words aloud. It was an easy part to play.

“The Esperese fleet crossed to Meridian shores. They burned half the city to the ground,” she muttered, eyes downcast. To the men, she would look too affected to meet their gazes. In truth, she studied the cards already piled, discarded from the game, counting them. “We learned as much only yesterday.”

The Meridian pirate let out a low curse.

“Burned Allisport,” he said in disbelief. His face reddened, flushing the same shade as his hair. “By the gods.”