Page 131 of Tempest

“The alternative is to be drowned or hanged,” she offered, collecting her hat from the ground. Swiftly, she tied it back on her head. “I am presently trying to avoid the latter. I will be making arrangements to leave as soon as possible.”

“That Meridian officer.” Garedo frowned, glancing back to the street. “He looked like—”

“He hunted me here, intending to bring me back to Archenport to face the governor’s justice,” Cat said sharply, cutting him off. Indeed, Garedo had seen Jasper Fell ten years ago, but in the brig of the Covenant, a simple lieutenant held for ransom. And Cat would not give him the time to place the face. “The justice waiting for us all,” she added, taking his arm again, imploring him. “I suggest you keep moving too. It won’t be long until the navy spreads through the sea like fever.”

Garedo relented, looking away from the door, back to her.

“Very well.” He sighed. “What of Valerian?”

She was prepared for the storm of emotions coursing beneath her skin, and curled a hand in her skirts, grounding herself against the onslaught. Her face went carefully blank, her voice dry, even as her throat tightened.

“What of him?”

Garedo was kind, but not foolish. He gave a knowing bob of his head.

“I am sorry to hear you have parted ways,” he muttered, putting a hand to his heart. “May the sea always sing for you, Widow Rose.”

She swept into a grateful curtsy, eager to be on her way with the next step in her plan.

“May the sea always sing for you, Captain Garedo.”

Chapter Twenty-Four Before

THE RAIN RELENTED just before sunset and Cat marveled at the sight it left behind.

Impossible pinks and oranges bloomed across the sky, the light shimmering through the last scattering raindrops drifting from the distant storm. It was too beautiful to witness behind glass windows. Without regard for Valerian’s dismissal or Captain Morovant’s ship still anchored alongside the Covenant, she rushed out onto the main deck, skirts gathered in her hands so as not to let them trail over the still-slick planks.

She slowed as she walked to the rail, transfixed by the mystifying beauty around her. The sea bled, mirroring the glow of the sun as it lit up the clouds. The colors ran together like globs of paint, though there was no painter in all the world with such skill. Not in the mansions and palaces of Continent or the studios of the great masters. Cat could hardly blink, loath to miss even a heartbeat of the Lyrian sunset over Drowning Key. Already she mourned its loss, its beauty barely held before it slipped through her fingers.

She leaned as far as she could over the rail, hands braced to hold herself in place. Though she would not have minded tipping into the golden sea.

Will it turn me golden too? Made of impossible beauty, fleeting but unforgettable?

She almost giggled, overcome by the desire to strip off her borrowed dress and dive into the water. It would hardly be difficult. They were anchored in the shallows, the waves lapping gently at the hull, and she knew the water would still be warm despite the rain. There was nothing cold in the Lyrian Sea, not truly.

Nothing but Ryman, she thought, the warmth replaced by the cloying sense of clammy hands on her body.

Reluctantly, she stood back from the rail, holding herself tightly, lest she lose all her restraint and dive headfirst into the waves.

“You should see the sky after a hurricane,” a low voice said.

She whirled to watch Valerian drop out of the rigging, his hands striped red from gripping the ropes. His golden hair, usually loose, was pulled back into a knot, exposing curls at the nape of his neck. He wore a belt of tools slung about his hips, his pistol discarded, but his knife still sheathed at his hip. Worst of all was his shirt, or lack thereof. Cat’s throat bobbed as she fought to keep her eyes on his face. It was surprisingly difficult, the lines of his abdomen, hard muscle beneath tanned skin and golden hair, beckoning to her.

She had seen more of only one male body in her life—Ryman’s, and he looked like a fish belly in comparison. Pale, shapeless, cold. Nothing compared to the carved figure in front of her, golden as the jewelry he wore. Valerian was a pirate of the Lyrian Sea, lean and lethal, as far from her husband as another man could be.

Cat refused to blink, fearing her gaze might shift and betray her.

“If you’re going to send me back to my cabin, I beg you wait until the sun is down,” she replied.

He prowled towards her, his gait loping on the steady deck, compensating for the swell of nonexistent waves. His severity from the earlier meeting with Morovant seemed all but gone, his playful manner returning.

Her hand twitched on the rail, as if her fingers itched to walk the darkening road trailing from sternum to navel.

He angled his face, looking down at her. “And in exchange?”

“In exchange?” she said, rising to the challenge. “I’m already paying you a small fortune for my release, Captain Kane. I’m afraid I have little else to offer.”

A small fortune that does not exist and may send you to the gallows.