Page 14 of Tempest

“Only one person here owes an apology, Derry,” she called. “Send for Ms. Moseley, she knows what must be done.”

The march of booted feet drowned out the maid’s response, her soft voice swallowed up as Fell’s men pulled Cat out the door and down the steps of the townhome. Indeed, the captain’s carriage was there, waiting for Fell. Behind it idled something brutish and ugly, barely more than a wooden box on wheels, hitched to a pair of stinking mules. It had not been there minutes ago, hidden until Fell could spring his trap.

Another bluecoat jumped to attention, throwing open the door to the fetid coffin. To her relief, the prisoner transport was empty. Dire as the circumstances were, Cat hoped to preserve a little dignity.

At least, what dignity she had left before she was strangled to death in front of a crowd.

As the bluecoats shoved her in, Cat glimpsed Fell one last time, the captain silhouetted against the flickering lamplight of her little street. Behind him, the townhome stared down, its windows like glowing eyes in a warm face. Cat wondered if she would ever see it again.

“I made you, Fell,” she said again. Her heart pounded in her chest.

The captain gave no answer, his face dark as he slammed the door shut.

Chapter Four Before

WHAT WILL YOU do about the pirates?

It was the first question anyone asked when they learned Lord and Lady Rose planned to make the crossing to the Lyrian Sea. In her quiet country town, Cat gave such things little thought. Pirates were the navy’s problem, not theirs. And there was no force in the world like the Meridian navy.

How foolish we were, Cat thought, her face pressed against the window in her cramped cabin.

She blinked out at the pirate ship, drawn up alongside the Credence, the sea sloshing between them. Barnacles striped the waterline of the opposite hull.

“That is a third-rate ship of the line,” Lord Rose muttered, his face centimeters from her own. His breath fogged the glass, and Cat wrinkled her nose. Indeed, she counted two gundecks on the pirate ship, one more than the Credence. And so many cannons, aimed and ready, staring across the narrow stretch with abyssal black eyes.

“Sixty guns at least, crew of two hundred men or more,” her husband continued to marvel. “How the hell did they commandeer a ship of the line?”

At the opposite wall, Sara gave another whimper, sandwiched next to Mr. Greer. Cat almost whimpered too. She knew little of ships, but the thought of so many guns was terrifying enough. Foolish as her husband was, she believed his assessment. Now instead of lamenting their possessions carried up on deck, she only prayed they were enough to slake a pirate’s appetite.

When the cabin door shuddered, she knew such prayers fell on deaf ears.

Sara screamed and attempted to burrow under the bunk, with Lord Rose not far behind her. Mr. Greer was smart enough to barricade the door with his body, bracing his arms against it. The cramped space left Cat with nowhere to go, the window against her back, blocking out most of the daylight. She held her breath, expecting to hear a volley of gunfire or clashing sabers.

Instead, the cabin door flew open, and the manservant fell backwards, sending up a violent cloud of dust. Beneath the bed, Lord Rose whimpered like a kicked dog.

Only Cat remained standing, her body to the wall, her face to the open door and the passage beyond. Dust motes swirled and the scarce beams of light traced her silhouette on the floor.

Another shadow lingered, framed in the doorway.

His green-blue eyes caught the light, flaring through the dimness. They seemed a storm, a tempest, the warring color of wind and sea. For a moment, the eyes pinned her in place and Cat felt frozen, bound, even her heart refusing to beat.

The eyes did not move, but another pirate shoved around him into the cabin, burly and sun battered, a barnacle in a dirty shirt. He hauled Mr. Greer out, then Sara, pulling her from under the bed like a rotten tooth from a reluctant gum. Lord Rose went next, sputtering every protestation he knew, though his body fell limp, his fists resolutely at his sides. His yellow face was a shocking shade of white.

The gnarled pirate reached for Cat last.

She expected to go limp, to turn in on herself. It was her usual way, to shrink and become small in the face of horrible things. Cat barely felt the prayer beads in her hand, round pieces of polished marble and precious stones wound against her knuckles. But she felt them as they split her skin, her fist hitting flesh, catching the invading pirate’s face. He went sprawling, howling as he struck the cabin wall.

Pain lashed up her arm as the shattered beads rolled along the cabin floor.

She dropped, clutching her wounded hand, blood welling up between her knuckles, scarlet red against freckled white.

The offending pirate moaned on the ground.

Above him, beyond the door, the tempest eyes widened.

Cat froze, unable to do anything but stare, the pain in her hand disappearing in an instant. The light of the window illuminated him fully, and the tempest became a man. Her eyes widened, trying to commit him to what would be a short-lived memory.

If I am going to die here in this filthy cabin, I might as well know who did it.