Page 169 of Tempest

It sounded like an apology, and Fell took it as such, swallowing hard and nodding his head.

“Kane is certainly a smarter man than I took him for,” the officer muttered, his disdain laced with a surprising thread of respect.

Ryman was not so calm. “Then we are finished!” he yelped, throwing up his unbound hands. “I’m surprised they haven’t chopped us up for meat already. Perhaps they’ll sell our bones. Human ivory fetches a fine price.”

Cat tried not to think of human ivory, or how her husband knew the economics of such a gruesome commodity.

“They aren’t going to sell our bones, Lord Rose,” Fell said wearily, settling back on the bench.

“Well, not yours!” Ryman snapped, whirling on him. “You still have a ransom. The Meridian navy will pay handsomely for your return. As for us—we must throw ourselves upon the mercy of the gods.”

Cat watched him with weary eyes, already exhausted by his presence. “I don’t think that will be necessary,” she replied. “I have a few dresses at the house. My last necklace. A pair of earrings. Some good crystal wineglasses. We will offer them water when they need it, and shelter on Rosby if asked. We can even give them the horse if they’ll take it.”

Her heart twisted at the thought of giving away Sparrow. She was getting on in years, but the piebald mare made life on Rosby a little bit more bearable. Cat wondered how she might survive without her daily rides, when there was nothing to keep her company but the wind and the sky and the unrelenting sea.

“I’ll hardly be housing pirates on my island. And there is simply nothing I can part with.” Ryman shrugged, matter-of-fact. “Nothing of value, I mean.”

Fell gave another exasperated sigh, covering his face with his hand. “You’ll find something.”

Something.

Ryman Rose had never been a difficult man to read, but for once Cat wished he was not so transparent. His roving stare made her skin crawl, her stomach rolling like the waves beneath the ship. A blind man could have guessed his intention, and Cat was far from blind anymore. One fist clenched against her skirt, the only motion she would allow, the only indication of her terrible discomfort. It almost made her yearn for the bloodied deck.

Swallowing around the lump in her throat, she raised her head, tossing back a few curls. They smelled of gunpowder and smoke.

“Perhaps we can petition the governor for restitution, once things settle,” she said, trying to sound bright and hopeful. And not disgusted by her husband. “Lieutenant, we would appreciate your support in that endeavor.”

Fell peeked over his hand, meeting her gaze.

Cat offered him a tight smile. “When you are returned to the navy, will you make arrangements for us?”

“I shall try,” Fell answered, sounding unconvinced.

Ryman dismissed it all with a snort. “That means nothing, Catrine. Or are you so naïve as to think Lieutenant Fell will waste another thought on us once we are separated?”

Fell’s lip curled but he did not give Lord Rose the satisfaction of a retort. Cat certainly did not envy the lieutenant his time in the brig with the worst sort of company.

“If I am naïve, then so be it,” she said stiffly, taking a step back from the bars. “Think on what you can hand over when they take us ashore.”

* * *

THERE WAS A great deal of work to do in the wake of the Victorious, and Cat endeavored to stay out of the way. Not just to allow repairs to proceed without her entanglement, but because she could hardly look a single member of the crew in the eye. Even with the blood washed away, the decks swabbed, the bullet holes smoothed over, there was no forgetting what the Covenant could become.

Or always was.

The errant hope of somehow remaining on board disappeared like shot from a cannon, replaced with the sobering knowledge that Cat did not belong here. Rosby, Ryman, the cage she had only just fled—that was her single option for life in the Lyrian Sea.

She even avoided the burials, though she certainly glimpsed them from the windows, watching as bodies shrouded in white plunged into the deep.

Cat passed the dwindling time clearing Valerian’s cabin, returning everything to its exact location. Or as close to it as she could. Some of the maps were certainly out of order, and the books somehow did not fit the shelves in the same way. But she did her best, straightening the captain’s cabin until it looked like the day she had first walked into it. When Valerian had sat smiling with a boot on his desk and she had shivered in his chair, half-naked in a wet shift.

After folding away her borrowed clothes and making up the bunk as neatly as she could, Cat glanced across the room one last time. The gallery faced aft, out to the open sea, but Rosby was ahead, the prow of the ship pointed directly at the huddled little monster. Still, she lingered, gazing out to the blue stretch of horizon.

May the sea always sing for you.

She looked at the clouds and wished, praying for them to darken. To move impossibly and catch the Covenant, dangerous as it was, and carry her far away from this place.

May the sea always sing for you, she thought again, as if the words held any real meaning.