Page 168 of Tempest

THE WALK TO the brig felt like a death march, every step heavier than the last. Until Cat thought she might simply collapse to the timbers, overcome with shock. The battle still raged behind her eyes, the flashes of powder and sprays of blood like fireworks. And the smiles of the Covenant crew, eager in their hunt, like hounds loping after a hare. Ana, Garedo, Brimley, even Ratter.

And Valerian of course, the leader of the pack.

How did I ever think this could be a place for me? she thought, cursing the foolish hopes of an even more foolish woman.

And her inescapable fate.

The brig was a foul sight. The battle had upended the shared bucket and sent Ryman spewing in the corner. He was still retching when Cat finally entered, her ears ringing and stomach churning. The smell almost made her turn around, but she forced herself forwards, much as she wanted to retreat to her cabin and her bunk, to burrow into darkness and forget.

Welcome to the Lyrian Sea, she thought bitterly.

Lieutenant Fell leapt up from the bench, eyes wide with worry. The days belowdecks gave Fell’s face a pale-yellow pallor, and his meticulously combed hair was hastily tied back in a knotted black tail, his scalp shiny with grease.

“You’re injured,” he barked. “We must send for the surgeon—”

“The blood isn’t mine,” Cat murmured, shrugging out of the ruined coat to show her nightshift beneath. In another life, she would have cringed to stand before another man in such a state, but such bonds of etiquette were long gone.

For her, at least. Ryman somehow managed to leer at her from his fetid corner. He was a ghoul raised from the grave, his eyes glassy and white spittle crusted to the corners of his mouth. He blinked at her slowly, as if he could not make sense of her presence.

“For gods’ sake, cover yourself,” he hissed.

Both Cat and Fell ignored him, eyeing each other instead.

“What ship did they come upon?” the officer said, his expression blank. He looked like when she first found him in the wreck of the Venerable. As if the light inside him had been snuffed out.

“The Victorious.”

His lips pursed.

“How many dead?”

“I’m not sure, but the captain certainly. Most of the survivors are being set adrift.”

The rest chose the black flag, Cat thought, but refused to say so. It would only be salt in a wound. She filled in the rest as best she could, barely understanding the battle herself. Ana’s ambush, Valerian’s disguise. The many repairs needed on both the Covenant and the Victorious. She could only wonder who might captain the captured warship, given command of the newest pirate vessel in the Lyrian.

“That’s all I know,” Cat mumbled, the useless feeling creeping back into her body.

Ryman seemed to pounce on it. “And what about before the sea rat’s attack on a ship of the Crown?” he said, sounding like a rat himself. “Where have you been, my loyal wife?”

“I do apologize for my absence,” Cat answered quickly, bowing her head to stare at the floor. It was easier to twist the truth that way. “But I have done—what I could to mend things. To find a way out of this for us.”

For me.

And I failed.

Ryman shuffled his way to the cell door and scowled at her through the bars. “You mend things? You couldn’t mend a shirt, let alone this mess you’ve put us in. Locked in the dark, at the mercy of pirates and worse.”

Heat crept up her neck, but Cat did not relent. She raised her face again, hands clasped in front of her, drawn up like a lady addressing a dinner party. It was the best way she knew to reach Ryman—to treat him like the lord he pretended to be.

“Yes, Lord Husband,” she murmured. “You are right in that regard. But I did convince Captain Kane to—take what we can give. From Rosby, when we arrive.”

A white-blond brow arched on Ryman’s face. “Oh?” he said, intrigued.

Fell shifted, some life returning to his face. The shackles around his wrists jingled, metal links clinking as he moved. The skin where iron touched flesh looked raw and inflamed, and Cat winced to think of it.

“What did I tell you, Cat?” he growled in a far harsher tone, the naval officer’s teeth flashing in the dim light of a single lamp. “Hold the ruse.”

“And I would have, if Captain Kane was a stupid man,” she answered, remembering her conversation with Valerian in the Drowning Drink. It was only a few days ago but felt lifetimes away now. “He is well aware of the navy presence in Archenport, and naval tactics, as you know now. He never planned to take us there or empty a bank vault that does not exist. There was no ruse to begin with, Lieutenant.”