Page 123 of Tempest

“I do believe in superstition, and I am still deciding,” he said, though there was no bite to his words.

Strange. Cat did not expect his familiarity, even after their battle of wits the previous night. But the presence of Captain Morovant did not make Valerian stiffer. On the contrary, he seemed more comfortable in the company of his superior.

Cat wondered if there were truly ranks of hierarchy among the pirates, as there were in the navy and Meridian society. Perhaps not, she thought, glancing between them. Dangerous as they were, neither seemed it now. Morovant puffed on his pipe, pacing again. He looked older than she remembered. Up close, she could see the first threads of gray in his black curls, the dark strands streaked like a night sky filled with lightning. He had wrinkles around his eyes from squinting into the glare of the sun, and lines around his mouth. From smiling, Cat realized with an odd jolt.

Valerian was a sharp contrast. Young and golden, lean where Morovant was short and giving way to roundness. But she could see the beginnings of the same lines on Valerian, next to his eyes, around his mouth. Lines carved by the sun and joy.

“So, you’ll ransom her back to that pissing fool of a husband?” Morovant said, speaking as if Cat were not in the room.

It rankled, and she chewed her cheek, trying to hold her tongue.

“That pissing fool is in the brig,” Valerian said smugly, leaning back in his chair. It tipped beneath him, two legs rising off the ground in shaky balance. “Along with a Meridian lieutenant.”

Morovant’s salt-and-pepper eyebrows rose. “A lieutenant?”

Hold the ruse.

Lieutenant Fell’s words echoed in Cat’s mind, and she clung to them. They still had to sail for Archenport eventually if Valerian wished to collect on her promised ransom. And though there was no money to pay, there was still a trap to be sprung. The Meridian navy would certainly overtake the Covenant and the crew with it, freeing them from capture. Hope gripped her—but strangely. Fading, weakening. Changing. Not because she believed there was no way off the Covenant and back to Rosby. But because she feared there was.

Her chest tightened.

“I’ve sent Ana to collect the other two,” Valerian said distantly. “She should be back in a moment.”

“The Seawolf for a first mate. I must say, I’ve never seen a woman rise so high on a ship before.” Morovant loosed another cloud of smoke. “But you always were full of surprises, Kane.”

“I certainly try to be,” he answered, glancing sidelong again, raking Cat with his tempest eyes. “Much like Lady Rose, who has taken to destroying my cabin.”

Morovant froze in his pacing, grinning around his pipe at the implication. Cat could not help but sputter, her cheeks flushing hot as Valerian casually finished his wine.

“He means his library. Books. Maps. I have an . . . interest,” Cat forced out, stumbling through an explanation. “And Captain Kane was good enough to cede me his cabin. For the duration of my imprisonment.” Her voice turned icy. “I am grateful for his hospitality. And his distance.”

Valerian’s grin deepened, but he said nothing more.

“Surprises indeed,” Morovant mused with a shake of his head. “Lady Rose, when you are safely returned to your parlors and dull parties, speak kindly of us.”

I shall do no such thing, Cat wanted to snap. Besides, she doubted there were any parlors and parties to be had in the Lyrian Sea. At least not in her experience.

When Ana arrived, she did not bother to knock on the door, all but kicking it down to march Lieutenant Fell through at gunpoint. Ryman hobbled along behind them, hands bound but otherwise unfettered, with nothing moving him forwards but his cowardice. Cat grimaced, seeing he was no longer gagged. Fell, on the other hand, was shackled at the wrists and ankles, forced to shuffle, the metal clanging with every halted step.

Both men were bedraggled after a night in the brig and Ryman had a very suspicious stain down the front of his nightshirt. Cat assumed he had been sick on himself, and felt a pang of pity for Lieutenant Fell, who looked liable to murder her husband at first opportunity. Though truly, she knew he would not. Jasper Fell was an officer of the Meridian navy, bound to honor and duty. He would not risk all that for the sake of annoyance.

Unfortunately.

Fell stared at her across the room, taking in her appearance as she took in his.

Compared to the two men, Cat knew she looked positively bright-eyed. Her pity quickly turned to guilt. I spent the evening playing cards in the fresh air and slept in a real bed, while Fell spent it shackled to a bench with Ryman moaning next to him.

“Are you well?” Cat said, her concern for Fell alone. He met her eye with a single nod, his lips resolutely pursed, black hair about his shoulders. But for the raw red skin where his shackles chafed, he seemed otherwise intact.

Ryman was not so stoic.

“I am dying!” he wept, collapsing against the table.

Ana rolled her eyes, her pistol still trained on Fell. “You’re not dying, Slug. Now stay on your feet. I don’t want to mop up any more of your slime than I have to.” She even kicked him for good measure, and Ryman rebounded, springing up straight.

“I’ll have you drawn and quartered for that, wench,” he hissed.

The Seawolf only grinned back at him, her silver teeth bared. It was more than enough to cow Ryman into trembling silence.