Page 118 of Tempest

“Have any of you set foot on Arcayo, or in the port of Nera?”

She addressed the skeleton crew of the Fledge, assembled on the main deck at her request and Fell’s command. Most looked at Cat with suspicion or open disdain. But they were not stupid men. Even they knew to listen to whatever counsel she might give.

Cat was unsurprised when no one answered. They were men of the navy, not explorers. Even Fell was silent, clad in the red merchant vest again, and the battered hat. After weeks aboard the Fledge, he truly looked the part of a civilian sailor. But for his clean-shaven face, still painstakingly smooth.

“Arcayo is called Crownless, and for good reason,” Cat called out, raising her voice to be heard over the waves. “She is a sovereign nation, the only one remaining in the Lyrian Sea. The last unclaimed, beholden to herself and her people. Not the Meridian Empire. Not Esperin. Not Itzima. Though all three have tried, and all three have failed.”

Many amongst the crew rolled their eyes, and Lieutenant Whisten sneered, his bulldog jowls shaking. “We’ll see how long that lasts,” he muttered.

“You do not strike me as a gambler, Mr. Whisten. But I am. And I would bet on Arcayo,” Cat said, shooting him a glare. “She is ancient, proud, and most of all, a survivor.”

Beneath his hat, Fell scoffed.

Cat took it in stride. “Nera is a grand, beautiful place. But do not let it disarm you. Often times, great beauty hides great danger.”

The still-sneering lieutenant could not help himself. He snickered behind his hand, loud enough for all on deck to hear. “You know that well enough, Widow Rose.”

Cat curled her lip into a terrible smile, baring her teeth. “I don’t think your wife will appreciate you calling me beautiful, Mr. Whisten.”

His round face went redder than Fell’s vest, and Whisten fell silent, his eyes resolutely on his shoes.

“As the lady says,” the captain barked, clapping his hands for attention. The crew snapped to him at once, eager for a command they could willingly follow. “Upon docking, Lady Rose and I will get the lay of the city and stay together in our search. The rest of you will remain on deck to mind the ship.”

Dr. Bryer, the ship’s surgeon, looked puzzled, a gray eyebrow arching. “Should we not split up into pairs to help?”

“I would not advise it.” Cat shook her head. Beyond the prow, Arcayo swallowed the horizon. “As much as I wish to lose some of you.”

She threw a dark look at Whisten, who returned it in kind.

To the dismay of the crew, Captain Fell nodded his head. “Now prepare to make port.”

“Aye, sir,” the crew rang out in unison.

They moved at once, tacking sails and running out oars to maneuver into the harbor. When Cat made to follow, Fell caught her around the arm, spinning her to a halt.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he muttered in a low voice. “I’ll leave you dead in the street if it means getting my men to safety.”

“Do what you like. My corpse won’t stop you,” Cat replied. “But you should stow your flags,” she added, nodding to the pennants streaming from every mast. Then to the grand ensign at the stern of the ship, big as a bedsheet, the Lion blazing on white. It was not the flag of the Meridian navy, but still a flag of the Empire.

Fell hesitated, his reluctance clear as day. “You really think they’ll turn on Meridians? Even merchants? There is no war between Arcayo and the Crown.”

“The Crown would certainly like one,” Cat shot back. “To claim this island as they have so many others. I would prefer not to put anyone on edge without cause.”

It was a sound argument, one even Fell could not deny. He gave a begrudging nod, releasing Cat with a flex of his hand. She wasted no time hastening away to the bow, where she nestled herself as far forwards as she could, alongside the carved wooden figurehead of a falcon in flight. She felt wings of her own, stretching out from her back, ready to carry her aloft. Away from the Fledge, from Jasper Fell, from the Lyrian Sea.

All this could be over in hours, she thought, watching the island and the port grow closer.

Above her, ropes creaked, and the Meridian flags lowered. She smiled as the golden sun of the Empire disappeared, tucked away in the hold.

Then the wind shifted, carrying the damp, clean smell of freshwater instead of sea, mist instead of wave. As near Rosby, tears pricked her eyes again, the memories rising up like a storm, eager to consume her. These were happier, brighter—but bitter too, turned by time and circumstance. Cat gritted her teeth against the onslaught, refusing to be swept away in the echoing tide.

She kept her face forwards, into the wind.

I have never been here without Valerian, she thought, feeling his absence more keenly than she had in months. As if the sun had fallen in shadow, its warmth stolen away.

I never thought I would be here again.

Arcayo was not so large as Prospera, but similar in its natural geography. Both islands were overgrown with blooming green jungles, and volcanic mountains clawed up from the sea. But there were no sugarcane fields here to cut through the landscape like patches on a quilt. Instead, sweet potato farms and guava orchards terraced up from shore, nestled in amongst the ridges and hillsides. Arcayo was well provided for, both by its soil and the sea, as well as through flourishing trade with Itzima. There were no famines here, or economic disputes, not like the claimed islands dependent on the delicate balance of import and export across the ocean.