Page 141 of Tempest

He did not acknowledge either man. Behind him, members of the Covenant crew fanned out. They wore faces Cat knew and cared for, or had once. She expected the same anger on them, the same stinging accusation.

Strangely, she saw none.

Not on Cavallid or Brimley, or Ratter grown tall as a mast. Not even on Adelo, Ana’s replacement, the pragmatic first mate privy to any and all of the captain’s whims.

Her grip on the pistol loosened, if only a little.

But her lips did not part, her voice too far away, her tongue like lead.

Then Valerian swung a leg over the back of an empty chair, tall enough to pass over it, and sat soundly at the card table. The smallest huff of breath left his mouth, chest rising and falling between the folds of yet another shirt open near to the navel. Not once did his eyes leave Cat’s face, his stare enough to keep her nailed to her chair.

Her gaze wavered only an instant, flashing to the feast of bare skin and curling chest hair. She ventured she could draw it from memory, the lines of hard muscle, the scars and the tattoos, every looping necklace of beads and gold and precious gems. A single burning emerald stood out among them, catching her eye. It was new to his collection.

Her mouth went dry, recognizing the cut of the green stone.

Morovant was stripped of everything before they executed him, Cat knew, the sight seared in her mind. He wore only a prisoner’s shift when they tied him up, one limb to one horse. No plumed hat, no velvet coat, no bracelet of fierce emeralds winking green fire.

She assumed the governor had helped himself to the jewels.

But not this one. Her head tipped, studying it. Trying to imagine the path the stone took from Archenport, under the thumb of the Meridian navy, all the way to Valerian Kane.

But the emerald was not so puzzling as the other addition to his treasures, sticking out sharply as a broken finger, small as it was.

A rope of Lyrian-blue stone, beads smaller than pearls, with a battered gold amulet half hidden amongst the other chains. It was an odd shape, and an odder color. Darker, older. A cylinder with notches along its length, barely bigger than a knuckle joint.

Cat had never seen such a necklace before, and she knew every piece of him.

Intriguing.

But not more than the man in front of her, who held her fate in once-treasured hands.

Her pulse thumped. Suddenly Cat regretted her choice of dress, the bodice fitted enough she worried all the room might be able to see her heart ramming against her ribcage.

He opened his mouth, and Cat saw a fate worse than the noose. She knew what it was to face death on the waves, having seen it before. Black waters and the crushing weight of the sea.

Then Valerian grinned, the smile sharp and bitter, his single gold tooth a demon’s fang.

“Deal me in, Vex,” he growled, leaning in his usual way, the legs of his chair balancing, a boot on the table, and one on the floor. Precarious, cocky, and entirely Valerian in nature.

In her pocket, Cat’s fingers fell away from the pistol, and her mind spun. She barely dared to hope, but kept her face blank, buying whatever time she could to puzzle out what lay before her.

A trap? A parlay? A moment of reprieve for old time’s sake?

Valerian always did like to play with his food.

Again, she glanced through the crew of the Covenant. Some of them were smirking. But none of them rippled with anger. They did not look like men betrayed but men amused.

Ana always was the smartest of them, she thought, pieces slotting together.

Her pulse thumped again, more desperate.

And against her nature, hopeful.

He never told them what I did.

Cat drummed her fingers. There was a chance yet, however small.

Valerian Kane was a ruthless man, but he carried a foolish heart.