Page 142 of Tempest

The cards shuffled, slapping against each other as Vex dealt around, agile despite his missing fingers. Cat checked her hand with a passing glance, knowing Red River was not only about the cards one held but the cards one did not.

With a clink of metal, she counted out six silver coins with the Esperese cross and pushed them to the center of the table. Vex wrinkled his nose but matched with one Arcayan crescent, the half-moon coin an etched gold.

“Place your bet, Captain Kane,” Cat murmured, watching him think. He finally dropped his gaze, letting her observe him without scrutiny.

Again, she eyed the strange necklace, trying to place it. The beads were Lyrian stone, mined from the islands, the pale color of tropical shallows. And the odd gold piece—perhaps from the Southern Continent?

Like a jealous miser, Valerian counted out exactly six coins from the purse at his belt, matching the pot but not raising it.

Cat could not help but put on a show, her lips puffing into a pout.

“Oh, come now, Captain. I know you’re worth more than that,” she said.

His gaze snapped to hers, and she realized his easy manner, the jovial captain returned, did not reach his eyes.

“I am,” he answered flatly. “You aren’t.”

A low murmur went through his crew, whispers passed behind raised hands. Cat pretended to ignore it, holding her composure, though she could hardly control the heat in her cheeks. All she could control was her own actions, and the game in front of her.

There would be no pushing the pot, not with Valerian. She would not be able to bluff him out of a jeweled ring or stake in a ship. He long knew better than to rise to Cat’s bait. There was only decisive victory, and the glory of a good kill.

“Very well,” she answered, discarding her entire hand in a flip of heavy paper. It was a vicious, daring move.

Again, the crowd whispered, a few gasping. Those who did not know before saw clearly—the lady at the table was no beginner. And those who did know, pressed in.

“The Widow Rose,” someone murmured, and Cat could not help but smile.

Captain Kane was a legend, but she had her own legends too.

Chapter Twenty-Six Before

“CAPTAIN MOROVANT, YOU hold the X.”

With a bellow of dismay, the pirate captain slapped his cards flat, faces fanned out, the scarlet mark of the cursed X on full display.

Half the tavern erupted in cheers, the rest in hisses and howls of displeasure. Outside, the fiddle and Garedo’s flute trilled, the music weaving through the room. A dozen bets changed hands, in coins and crumpled bank notes and pouches of tobacco, while another gambling pot slid across the pitted table into Cat’s waiting arms.

She grinned down at her winnings, even as the world seemed to swim, her body loosened by drink and victory. She welcomed the sensation. It tasted of taquil and felt like heavy coin in her hands, the weight of them as comforting as a soft blanket.

“I did warn you, Harry,” Valerian muttered over his already discarded hand. “She is not to be underestimated.”

“I stopped underestimating her four rounds ago,” Morovant shot back, though he smiled beneath his black beard. “Lady Rose, I think I must admit when I am outplayed. Lest I lose my ship to the next pot.”

Cat could not help but laugh, resting her chin on her palm. “That’s for the best,” she said. Her free hand thumbed the pile of coins in front of her. “I would hardly know what to do with your ship.”

At her shoulder, Ana snickered, and even Valerian smiled into his glass. Morovant roared loud enough for all of them, slapping his knee under the table. Like most of his sailors, he was beginning to look a little cross-eyed, and Cat ventured the wine was beginning to get the better of him.

Across the room, the fiddle floundered and someone shouted, followed by a meaty thunk and a yelp. Wood splintered and a figure went careening off the porch, disappearing into the sandy grass.

Cat jumped in her seat, her spine going straight, expecting the rest of the room to react just as sharply. But a fistfight between two pirates seemed uninteresting to them all, if not commonplace. Valerian didn’t move, shuffling the cards without looking, his cigar between his teeth. Only Morovant huffed and hauled himself out of his chair, weaving his way towards the two sailors now brawling in the darkness.

“Enough of that, Hawkins, Riago, or you’ll spend the night in the brig,” he grumbled, gesturing for another sailor to follow. Cat figured he was Morovant’s first mate, Valerian’s replacement aboard the Seadragon.

With a smack, Valerian slapped the shuffled cards back on the table in a neat pile. Then he gripped the clay taquil bottle, turning it over to pour another cup. Nothing happened.

“I can’t play cards with an empty glass,” he grumbled, sliding back in his chair.

Without thought, Cat followed, her legs moving independent of her mind. After shoving her winnings into her pockets, she stood up from her seat—and nearly dropped again. Her knees wobbled and she swayed on her feet, off-kilter. Until a strong arm caught her by the waist, letting her find her balance.