Page 161 of Tempest

“And give over my ship?” the opposing captain said, his wrinkled hands curled into fists. “I would rather die than put the Victorious in the hands of a pirate.”

“That can be arranged,” Valerian said, unperturbed. While the Victorious roused to their predicament, he drew back the hammer on the flintlock, the iron click like a thunderclap.

At the other rail, the Meridian captain flinched but did not run. Nor did his remaining officers. They curdled with disgust, seeing Valerian and his ship for what it was.

Cat watched it all, holding on to her expressionless mask as best she could. It almost slipped when a figure moved on the opposite ship, a head appearing over the far rail, behind the captain and his officers. Black-haired and black-eyed, the streaks of paint dripping down her face as the seawater rolled off her. It made for a ferocious sight.

Cat clenched her teeth to stop from calling out.

Ana.

The Seawolf was not the only one crawling up the hull of the Victorious, using the ropes and rigging like a ladder. One, two—a dozen, all soaked and silent, marked and painted, like legendary creatures drawn up from the deep. One slipped up behind the first officer who fled, holding a knife to his throat in clear warning. Another was even faster, creeping up the gangplank to grab the helmsman without a sound. Ana followed, a smile on her face, her teeth flashing in the fog.

Unbeknownst to the Victorious, Anamina Rualcon held the wheel.

“Surrender the ship, Captain,” Valerian said, sounding almost amused.

And Cat dared to hope. Over without a shot.

The Meridian captain gave an ugly snarl, lunging forwards with a hawkish cry.

“Victorious—to arms!”

Unbeknownst to the Meridian captain, knives opened two throats, the first of his men falling to the Covenant.

Valerian’s curse was low and guttural.

“Damn.”

His left arm was fast, thrown across Cat’s chest. His trigger finger was even faster, a cloud of smoke and a blazing flash erupting from the pistol. The sound seemed to crack the world apart, followed by another staccato of gunfire, raining down from the rigging of the Covenant as Valerian’s snipers peppered the deck of the Victorious.

Cat could only fall, driven backwards by the force of Valerian’s arm as he shoved her behind his body, shielding her from any returning volley. Even so, she saw the captain of the Victorious as he careened backwards, a red flower of blood blooming across his nightshirt. His dying gasps were somehow louder than the guns.

But not louder than the stomp of booted feet as two dozen bluecoats charged up from below, flooding the deck of the Victorious, hastily loading their rifles or raising sabers to fight.

Cat followed the momentum of Valerian’s force, and she stumbled, tripping over herself to get away from the rail. But Valerian held his ground, holstering his pistol to slip free his knives as the first Meridian bluecoat attempted to bridge the gap between ships. He swung towards them on a rope, a battle cry on his lips. It ended with a wet rattle as Valerian stabbed him through the heart, his body falling in a graceless arc.

Directly next to Cat.

He pawed at her weakly, already white with blood loss, more skull than face. She screamed, trying to shove away the dying man, the front of her coat slick and scarlet.

This is a nightmare, Cat told herself. I’m going to wake up.

But the smell of blood and gunpowder was too strong to deny, too real to be a dream.

This isn’t a nightmare. This is hell itself.

The pirates of the Covenant washed over the deck, armed with a stunning array of guns and blades. Even little Ratter was among them, a bag of ammunition at his side as he worked to reload spent pistols and rifles. The gunfire continued, the bluecoats on the Victorious finally getting off a round, even as Ana’s detachment fought through them, preventing the Meridians from getting into formation, their shots erratic.

Cat scrambled on hands and knees, keeping low to avoid the bullets screaming overhead. The timbers beneath her seemed to tremble and she braced for the Covenant guns to rip through the Victorious as Valerian threatened.

Do it, sink them. End this, she prayed, crawling past the mainmast towards the quarterdeck—and the captain’s cabin. End them before they end us.

But no broadside came, no shots fired from below.

And cold realization dawned.

Cat could just see the helm of the Victorious, with Ana still at the wheel. The paint across her face made the whites of her eyes blaze, brighter than the sun peeking through the fog and smoke. Captain Kane would never fire on his own crew, let alone his first mate.