Page 160 of Tempest

She nodded mutely, forcing her face into the calm mask of a lady, distant and imperious. Any spotter would see only a woman with downcast eyes, her expression soft and empty. Silent as a woman should be.

The Covenant crept closer, still headed directly for the opposing ship. The fog drifted, turning pinker but not lifting as the dawn broke. Out of the corner of her eye, Cat watched the crew scurry into place, some hidden on the main deck, while others ducked below, certainly to man the guns. Mr. Brimley, disguised in uniform like the captain, stood at the bow, a rifle at his feet. It was the same with the few others still visible on deck, performing at chores with weapons close at hand.

Ana was nowhere to be seen, the rest of her painted crewmates having disappeared entirely.

In the rigging, one of Valerian’s crew raised a small horn, issuing a note to hail the other vessel. After a moment, they answered in kind, a flurry of motion on deck.

Next to her, Valerian’s stance broadened, his shoulders thrown wide, his hands clasped behind his back in cruel mimicry of a Meridian officer. Cat could not help but think of Lieutenant Fell below deck, his posture rigid as a walking stick.

“For Crown and Empire!” Valerian shouted across the steadily closing gap between ships.

Behind him, at the wheel, the helmsman angled, turning so the Covenant might move parallel to the other ship. Sails reefed and oars clacked, running out alongside primed cannons to help maneuver. All of it happened in terrible sync, the crew of the Covenant dangerously well-practiced in the art of plunder. It was no longer difficult to imagine how Valerian had claimed the Covenant to begin with, wrestling a ship of the line from the fleet.

And he’s going to do it again, or die in the attempt.

Cat could barely watch, her teeth clenched tight, as the Covenant eased towards the Victorious, the ship’s name painted in gold along the intricate taffrail. But her mask held, even if her hands shook with terror.

Valerian’s hands were the opposite, steady as he turned, putting his back to the Victorious. With quick but methodical motions, he drew the murderous flintlock ever present on his hip.

Wide-eyed, Cat watched as he calmly loaded the gun—powder, wad, shot, ramrod, powder again. Valerian did it all with the ease of a fish taking to water, as if it were second nature, pure instinct. Then he returned the pistol to his hip, beneath his coat, and spun back to face the Victorious, just in time to come level with its captain.

Cat held her breath. There were scarcely five yards between the ships, both vessels riding the gentle swell of the sloshing waves. At such close range, she could see the Victorious was smaller—but barely. And her captain was old, gray-haired even without a wig, still blinking sleep from his eyes.

He stared across the distance, peering at Valerian with the squint of an aging sailor. A few officers clustered around him, equally confused and off guard.

“For Crown and Empire,” the captain of the Victorious shouted back, adjusting the fit of his hastily donned coat. It was thrown over his nightclothes. “My apologies, madam,” he added, eyeing Cat with a flush. It only deepened as he studied the Covenant and Valerian lording over it.

He doesn’t know the ship, but will not say so, Cat thought, reading the potent mix of pride and ignorance on his face. She curtsied, careful to keep her eyes down and her shaking hands hidden.

Valerian offered a tight smile, the pompous kind that was not a smile at all.

“It seems we are both off course, Captain,” he called, his rough voice smoothed into the clipped tones of a Meridian gentlemen. It did not suit him, just like the uniform.

“Indeed. These currents, this blasted sea,” the other man answered with a sharp look at his staff. “The charts will have to be updated when we reach Longdawn.”

Valerian only shrugged.

“If.”

Cat’s eyes fluttered shut, just for a second, and she imagined herself on dry land. Anywhere but a powder keg in the middle of the Lyrian Sea.

“I beg your pardon?” the Meridian captain said.

“If you reach Longdawn, sir,” Valerian answered.

On the Victorious, one of the officers reeled backwards, perceiving the danger. Another slipped down the ladder, his face going white.

Their captain did not notice, still squinting across the short distance. “What is your name, Captain?”

Valerian’s grin widened, the gold tooth winking, and Cat suddenly wished she had stayed in her cabin. Her knees bent, ready to run, even if there was nowhere to go.

“My name is of no consequence.”

The captain of the Victorious cursed, ugly realization sweeping across his face. “You’re pirate scum—”

He was silenced by the smooth draw of an already loaded pistol, leveled at his heart.

“This is not the only gun pointed and ready to fire, of that I can assure you,” Valerian said, the clipped accent falling away as he looked down the barrel. Cat tried not to imagine how many cannons were loaded and aimed on the gun decks, ready to tear apart the Victorious at close range. “Surrender, and your crew will be given quarter.”