Page 11 of Tempest

Captain Jasper Fell remained unmoving as Cat entered the room. Only his lips curled, betraying a wicked smile.

Like the sailors all over the city, Fell wore the color of the fleet, his coat a deep, dark cobalt. The white shirt beneath was crisp, laced tight up his throat, a glowing contrast to the tan across his cheeks and his black hair tied neatly into a tail at the nape of his neck. Cat did not miss the way his new buttons gleamed, the telltale bright of real gold. Nor did she miss the ornate brocade that edged his coat, along with the badges and honors on his chest.

Fell let her scrutinize him, as always. He looked back at his teacup, focused on stirring in a spoonful of sugar.

Sugar with a side of tea, Cat thought, as she had a dozen times before. His appetite for social standing is dwarfed only by his appetite for sweets.

In the corner, the longcase clock ticked softly, the carved wood taller than a man’s height, its pendulum swinging evenly. Long seconds passed.

Her eyes dropped, but the table obscured the floor. If Fell had brought what he promised, what he owed, Cat could not tell.

“I wonder, Fell, how do you climb the steps of the fort if you refuse to walk anywhere anymore?” she asked, folding her arms in front of her body. “I fear your legs might atrophy if you keep this up.”

It was no use to lecture him again on the idiocy of a carriage in a city so small as Archenport. But she could still needle him about it all the same.

Fell’s wicked smile widened, and his silver eyes narrowed.

“It is a privilege afforded to all captains of the Meridian navy,” he said, finally satisfied with his tea. He raised the cup and winked in such a way that Cat wanted to slap it from his hand. “I am simply behaving like a man of my rank, to better carry out my duties for Crown and Empire.”

“For Crown and Empire,” Cat echoed, repeating the motto of the Meridian. She heard it every day amongst the sailors, shouted out from the arriving ships. “Do you say that when you wipe your ass every morning, or is it reserved for special occasions?”

Fell laughed into his cup, well accustomed to Cat’s sharp tongue.

“Special occasions, I’m afraid.”

“So I’m special, then?” Cat shook her head. “Go on, Fell. Hand it over and be done with it. We are far past the boundaries of our agreement, and there are limits to my patience.”

The teacup made a soft sound as Fell placed it back on the table. His eyes flashed to hers.

“You speak as if you have some leverage here, Lady Rose,” he said evenly.

His words were a small cut, but the stinging kind. Part of Cat knew they were only meant to rile her. The rest hated that he could.

She took one step forwards and leaned, lowering herself to his eye level. Upon closer inspection, she realized Fell had recently shaved. It made him look younger—the way he had ten years ago, when he was little more than a lieutenant with a new sunburn and a ruthless ambition. The latter, at least, had not changed. It made him predictable and easy to use.

“If you think I have no leverage where you are concerned,” Cat replied, “then you are welcome to go.”

Catrine Rose was no cutthroat, but she was not without her own dangers. Her own secrets, carefully kept but ready to be laid out like a deck of cards in a gambler’s hand.

Some color rose in Fell’s face, the only indication of his discomfort.

“I will not insult you further by repeating myself,” she said, her voice dropping. “The price was long agreed upon.”

In her mind, she saw it already. A chest of good Meridian coin, stamped with the crown on one side, the King’s silhouette on the other. Gold and silver, shimmering together like the scales of a beautiful fish. More than enough to finally go, to leave this infernal island behind, and start anew.

Again.

The prospect seemed enormous. She wanted it and feared it in the same measure.

There was nothing so exciting or terrifying as a new beginning.

A muscle ticked in Fell’s cheek.

“The price,” he echoed, a hollow sound.

An odd look crossed the captain’s face, the worst kind of look. The kind Cat could not read.

She searched him again, hunting for what lay beneath the surface of Jasper Fell. She understood him better than anyone outside his own crew, knew his scheming smirks and judgmental stares. Even his carefully guarded and rarely exposed heart. But this detachment, this emptiness, she could not decipher. Her pulse quickened, a bead of sweat rolling down her neck. Cat felt her hands go cold on the tabletop and she recoiled, drawing straight again. Putting some distance between them.