Page 125 of Tempest

And she hated how much Valerian enjoyed her predicament, sandwiched between two terrible paths. He watched her closely, as he would a balancing set of scales.

Then, to her relief, he relented, turning away.

“You may join your husband in the brig, if you are so inclined,” he said over his shoulder, throwing her a lifeline.

She stifled a smile and looked at the floor, receding into a soft-spoken shadow. “I would not add to their discomfort with the burden of my company.”

“There you have it, Lord Rose,” Valerian said brightly, flitting his hand. “Away with you.”

With another well-placed kick, Ana got Ryman moving, though Cat did not miss the ugly look he shot her as he fled. Fell was more subdued, shuffling once more, Ana’s flintlock pointed at his spine.

When the door shut behind them, muffling the sound of the rain and the lieutenant’s ringing shackles, Cat finally exhaled.

“Lady Rose, you are dismissed as well,” Valerian said, gesturing in the opposite direction. Now he looked at her without any mirth, his face taking on a harder edge.

Cat wasted no time and gathered her skirts, fleeing the room as quickly as she could. She had suffered more than enough of Valerian’s needling, and did not want to linger in Captain Morovant’s presence much longer. Amiable as he seemed, Cat knew better than to assume a pirate in command of a vessel like the Seadragon was not dangerous.

Better to leave the card table while she still could, with whatever winnings she had in hand.

Of course, that did not mean she could not continue listening at the door.

If Valerian cared to stop her, he did not show it, returning to their discussion at the same volume, without any regard for the eavesdropping lady in his cabin.

“Now what of these larger problems on the horizon?” Morovant grumbled, pacing once more.

“I think the Meridian Empire is losing the war,” Valerian answered, a ferocious desire dripping from his words. “Their days in the Lyrian Sea are numbered. If not doomed.”

Chapter Twenty-Three After

A GRAND PLAZA ran the length of the Arcayan shoreline, tiled with green and white stone to match the city of Nera and the jungle. The paved ground ran straight into the water, with canoes anchored against the tile. They bobbed in the gentle current, painted in varying shades of seafoam and turquoise.

A waterfall made the air damp but not unpleasant, dragging a cool curtain through the air that made the otherwise oppressive heat bearable. It was no wonder the Arcayans chose this place for their grand city, long before the continental crowns even knew the islands of the Lyrian Sea existed. Cat felt her hair frizzing already and donned a straw hat, tying it in place to at least protect her face from the sun. She had collected more than enough freckles on her voyage—she did not need any more.

And I need not show my face so carelessly here, she thought, adjusting the brim just so.

The hat was not all she retrieved from her cabin, though she was careful to hide her heavy purse beneath her skirts, and another pouch in her bodice, tucked between her breasts. Her pack she made sure to leave behind, conspicuously discarded on her narrow bunk. But this time she did not leave her flintlock pistol, small as it was. That she shoved into a pocket, the weight of it both a burden and a balm. She’d bought it years ago, the gun small enough for a lady to carry unnoticed, but not so small as to be useless.

Captain Fell’s flintlock was far more impressive, a permanent fixture on his hip. Cat eyed it as they disembarked, the polished steel and silver adornments catching the sun. She had only held it once, briefly. But she would never forget what it felt like in her hand.

“We’ll be back before dark,” he told his crew before descending to the quay.

There was no port officer waiting with his ledger, as there would have been in another city. Not because Nera did not have them, but because the harbor was too full of vessels. While many passengers disembarked along the quayside, more jumped out of little boats ferrying crews in from the larger ships at anchor, spilling people onto the beach or up onto the plaza. It made for a crowded, chaotic sight, filling the air with tangled shouts in Esperese, Meridian, Itziman, and Arcayan. So many languages wove together, Cat only caught the edges of words she could barely translate.

She spotted fair-skinned men of the Meridian, ruddy with the sun, alongside swarthier Esperese, all dressed in jackets, breeches, and boots. The Itziman sailors looked more like the people of Arcayo, with darker skin, black hair, and sculpted cheekbones to cut glass. Most wore oxblood robes cut to the knee, belted with braided leather, and some sported gold medallions in the silhouette of their king, in contrast to the islanders who had no such monarch.

The Arcayans were far more varied in their clothing, dressed in gauzy white shifts for the heat or deep-green or blue silk patterned like a parrot’s wing, shimmering as they walked. And all were armed, with pistols or with short, thick blades equally suited to gutting fish, cutting through jungle growth, or stabbing an opponent. Many wore glossy feathers in their hair or around their wrists, set with gold, opalescent shells, orange coral, and turquoise beads.

“So many crews,” Fell muttered in her ear, sounding delighted. He was just as observant as Cat, taking in the many ships and varied sailors. “No wonder the whores of Prospera set sail.”

“Not just the whores,” Cat replied.

Indeed, there were many sorts of people making up the crowd. Not only hardened sailors and Arcayan folk, but what looked like foreign civilians too, with all manner of luggage. There were even children throughout the crowd, clutching at their parents or each other. It gave Cat pause; she slowed her pace, puzzled by their presence. These were not cabin boys fresh from the ships, but toddlers and little children with dolls, even infants still in arms. Colonials, settlers, farmers—the kind of folk she would not expect to flee the Meridian. And yet here they were.

But there was no time to linger, and Fell’s guiding hand pushed Cat along.

Another song tower, taller than any other building in the city, loomed over the plaza. Mist spiraled around it, leaving drops of condensation dripping down the carved face. While Fell gawked up at the intricate stonework, Cat dropped her eyes, reluctant to look.

She expected Fell to sneer at it all, to look down his nose as most noble Meridians would. Instead, he gazed at the tower with awe.