Page 139 of Tempest

As she ceded a small hand to the cook, she glanced around the lively hall. Sharks swam at night. The later the hour, the bigger the prizes grew, and the more valuable—and lethal—the gamblers became.

It was a delicate balance. A captain might bet a chest of jewels or a map to his treasure cache. Or even his ship, if he was deep enough in the rum. Life-changing prizes that would set up Cat for a very comfortable life in Itzima. A safe life, protected by wealth.

But there were few captains who did not know her face or name, or her position as proprietor of the Widow Rose. A pirate outfitter and known accomplice to Valerian Kane should have been dead months ago. Cat was a woman on the run as much as any of them, suspicion following in her wake.

“Where did you learn to run the tables so well, Miss?” the Esperese sailor asked, his accent thick and curling.

Cat flashed him a knowing grin.

“Far away from here,” she said truthfully, laying down a pair of stars.

Every day seemed farther from her mother’s house, every step of the path more impossible than the one before. Cat almost giggled to think of it, the unpredictable and implausible journey she had taken from the Meridian countryside to the Lyrian Sea. Much lost, much gained.

But one thing chased above all.

Freedom.

If every passing second tightened the noose, every coin gained loosened it.

Cat kept a weather eye for Goa, who had a habit of melting out of crowds, but he did not appear. She could only hope he did not linger after this morning and was off the island entirely, and out of her life.

The air in the gambling hall thickened, hot on her face. Still smiling, she fanned herself with her hat, the brim washing a cooling gust over her fevered skin. Distantly, she knew the taquil and the rum and the wine were to blame. But it did not stop her from waving for another glass and indicating for the barmaid to leave the bottle. Her gambling companions cheered when she passed it around, thick golden liquid sloshing from chair to chair. The joyful noise and heated game drew eye after eye, and Cat waved for more bottles.

More eyes. More hands. More coins.

More.

More.

More.

The crowd around their table thickened, chairs changing. The cook bowed out to be replaced by a glossy Itziman quartermaster with an envious collar of gemstones that soon joined the pot. The Esperese sailor held his seat, dueling hard to keep afloat. And Vex’s man gave way to Vex himself, the scarred and scowling pirate captain descending like a storm cloud.

“Captain,” Cat said, the tremor of fear in her dwarfed by the thrill of a sizable prize.

Avery Vex was no man to sneer at. Nearing fifty, bald beneath his tricorne, he had the build of a pit fighter, barrel-chested and broad. His skin was the clay red of a Meridian sailor many years in the sun. Appearance aside, Cat knew his reputation, though he had not anchored in Archenport in long years. His galleon, the Harriet, named for a wife real or imagined, was an Esperese warship seized in a daring raid years ago. And while she was smaller than vessels like the Seadragon or even Valerian’s Covenant, she had many kills to her name. Vex was known to blast his way through ships twice their size, cannons loaded with chained shot to snap masts and immobilize hulking warships.

“Widow Rose,” he said gruffly, a tankard of ale clutched in his mutilated hand. Vex had lost two fingers to a skirmish some years ago, though it had not slowed him down. He eyed her shrewdly. “I’m told you shook a navy hunter this morning.”

“I’m told he’s in your custody,” she answered. “Will you bother with a ransom?”

Vex shrugged and watched the Itziman shuffle the cards. “More trouble than he’s worth.”

It was not difficult to follow his train of thought. The practice of ransoming officers was lucrative years ago, but far more difficult now with the pirates on the run. And Cat doubted Osprin would even honor the old terms. His iron fist would hardly open to save a captured sailor.

She swallowed down the guilt bubbling up. Fell would have let you hang, she told herself, though it did little good.

“I agree,” she said mildly.

Across the table, Vex’s bloodshot eyes flashed. “What would you know of it?”

Her first card flipped, black crescents face up.

“I’ll tell you what I told Garedo when I saw him. The navy has returned, the Meridian Empire stronger than ever. It’s only a matter of time,” Cat hissed, staring intently at Vex. “I’m running. You should too.”

He curled his lip, either disgusted with the sentiment or his cards. Cat guessed both.

“Cowards run,” he sniffed, organizing his hand. “Captains fight.”