Page 143 of Tempest

“Taquil will do that to you,” Valerian said, grinning as she righted herself. He was so quick to let go, Cat thought she might have imagined his arm around her middle.

But the prickling sensation at her side was impossible to deny. She blinked fiercely, trying to bring the room into sharper focus. Everything seemed softer, as if glimpsed through cloudy glass.

“Certainly more potent than anything I’m used to,” she said, trailing in his wake.

Valerian Kane was easy to follow, standing nearly a head above most of the room, his blond hair a guiding beacon. Not that it was a long walk from one side of the Drink to the other. Barely twenty feet judging by their strides. But the seconds seemed to melt, stretching too long, and Cat felt hours passing in the moment it took to reach the bar.

The window behind the bar was jammed open, allowing a salty breeze into the tavern. Cat leaned towards it, the night air rousing her. Her head spun a little slower, and she balanced against the bar top, hands braced to watch Valerian as he rooted through the shelves and little cabinets. Like Cat, he moved more slowly than usual, his once-prowling motions lazy.

“I know I left one,” he muttered, pawing at the dusty bottles on the highest shelf.

Cat found herself marveling at the long length of his body, almost too big for the cramped space. When he brushed up against her, still searching, she bit her lip but did not move. He seemed to throw off heat, the air around him radiating with warmth.

To her chagrin, he pulled back quickly again, another clay bottle clutched triumphantly in his fist. When he grinned, it was not the sharkish look of the captain from the council chamber or the main deck, but the smile of a younger man, free of such burdens, with no thought beyond the path in front of him.

It felt like basking in a perfect ray of sunlight.

“I knew this would come in handy,” he said gleefully, pulling the cork out with his teeth.

She watched him gulp directly from the bottle before finding herself a glass amongst the strewn wares.

“Do you stash taquil on every island in the Lyrian Sea, Captain?”

Using her dress, she wiped the inside of a cup clean, then let Valerian pour. This taquil was darker, amber in color, and sweeter smelling.

Tastes sweeter too, she thought, taking a small sip.

He tipped his head playfully and leaned back, elbows braced against the bar top. He hemmed her in between his body and the window, one side hot and the other cool. Somehow, it did not feel like being trapped. If anything, Valerian shielded her from the rest of the room, giving her a corner to collect herself.

“Not every island,” he answered.

The taquil painted fire down her throat, but the shivering kind. The kind to make one bold.

“On these islands?” Her knuckles brushed his exposed forearm, tracing the tattooed stars that were not stars.

To her delight, she felt him quiver beneath her touch, and his throat jumped above the open collar of his shirt. It made the golden chain glimmer, a thread of light around his neck.

He pulled at the bottle again, but his eyes never left her face. Storm and sunlight warred within his gaze, the deep blue-green swirling with the flickering candlelight. It was as good as a hand holding her chin in place, and Cat knew she could not look away, even if she wanted to.

“You like asking questions, don’t you?” he murmured.

“You said I will learn.” She could still hear him, speaking behind the desk in his cabin, her body wet from the sea. “I’m trying.”

A corner of his mouth lifted. “I saw. Have you put my books back where you found them?”

“Not quite.”

Sighing, Valerian shifted, bringing his forearm level between them. He made a fist with his hand and long lines of muscle jumped out, the tattoos shifting with his flesh. Slowly, he pointed to each in turn.

Cat’s eyes widened, drinking it in.

“Once, the people of Arcayo did not live on just a single island.” He indicated the largest black spot, which was, on closer inspection, a sharply drawn diamond. Then his fingers trailed, tracing the smaller tattoos. “Miradan, Inera, Izin. Guayar.” He touched each spot as he named them. “They were abandoned, one by one. Left to be swallowed by the flags of distant countries and unfeeling crowns.”

A rare current of anger laced his voice, making his words tremble. Cat could almost feel it on the air, the temperature seeming to rise. She eyed the tattoos, each inked in turn, as if the map might form in her mind.

“What are they called now?” she murmured.

It was the wrong thing to ask. Valerian’s cheeks flushed, his brow drawing into an angry line. But his rage was not for her, his gaze still fixed on the tattoo. Again, he walked the line of black diamonds, touching each in turn.