Page 176 of Tempest

Her bare feet touched soft sand in a few minutes, salt water heavy on her tongue, and she climbed out of the sea as gracefully as she could. Rivulets of water ran down her neck and hands as she wrung out her hair, twisting the curls like a wet cloth.

Adelo spotted her first, smoking his pipe as he sat on the foundation lip of the old Drink. His beard was gray, but his brows were still a furious black that disappeared into his silver hairline.

“Cat, you can’t be serious,” he muttered, jumping up to meet her. But there was a grin on his lips, his eyes sparking with amusement. “Get back to the ship.”

“Make me,” she retorted, never breaking stride.

Inside the old Drink, a few men played dice on the bare floor next to the old bar, now shoved up against a remaining wall. Cat eyed them, then the bar top and the broken cabinets smashed open. Bits of glass glittered in powder-fine grains of dust, the remnants of another memory. The doorway was gone too, its wall swept away in a hurricane. Once Cat hovered on the same threshold, a foot planted on either side, with storm eyes above her, holding fast. Her heart twisted, a sick feeling in her stomach, and she forced herself through a door that no longer existed.

Then the sailors spotted her. One gave a finger-waggling wave, smiling with a mouth of missing teeth. His curly black hair was shot with silver.

“Has the captain let you out?” Cavallid called, his tone light.

“Hardly,” she answered, stepping into the old Drink. Her eyes flashed over the dice game, reading the bone squares marked with black dots. She weighed their odds.

But the pot was far too poor for her liking.

The new Drink was not so tightly pressed as the old Drink, with the thatched roof high above her and a floor of stones and plank wood below. But it still felt raucous enough. The open side caught the breeze off the shore, cooling the air despite the many sweating sailors drinking and shouting and smoking around her. None of it bothered her. On the contrary, a room filled with drunks felt warm and familiar after so many years tending a tavern of her own.

A fiddler sawed his way around the room, followed by a pair of sailors blowing into hornpipes. Their melodies braided into a tune that made Cat’s blood surge, and many pirates stomped their feet in time to the music. A few even danced, men and women paired together or with each other, all grinning and circling, one hand on a bottle with the other on a shoulder.

For a moment, it was as if the republic had never crumbled. This was just another celebration after a successful hunt, and the Covenant would return victorious to Archenport.

Cat swept a bottle from the nearest table, gulping at whatever liquid it held. Rum, she thought, tasting sweet fire, though it was the burn of taquil she craved.

But even the liquor couldn’t hide the cloud hanging over the evening, shadowing every face and darkening once-bright eyes. Even the brutes and swabbies seemed subdued, despite their laughter and raucous talk. A few spoke quietly, heads bent over wobbly tables or gathered chairs, trading whispered laments. The truth of their plight was undeniable. The republic was lost, and the final gasp of piracy upon them.

Their days were numbered.

If only Valerian could see that, Cat thought, finding a golden head above the crowd.

She marched at his back without regard for her wet clothes or the fact that she was supposed to be locked in a cabin on a ship at anchor. Others jumped aside to let her past, most looking on in amusement, a few with worry. The crew of the Covenant was no stranger to its captain or his lady’s outbursts.

“Who is that?” a young man grumbled, a new face to Cat’s eye.

An older sailor shushed him down. “The captain’s woman, Cat Rose. Best stay out of the way. She’s been locked up since Nera port, and more dangerous than a lit fuse.”

“I’ll wager she’s ready to blow.” The young man whistled, his voice low but hardly low enough.

Cat ignored them, reaching out to grab Valerian by the shoulder.

He spun before she could touch him, alerted by the sudden hush falling over the Drink. His gaze dropped, holding hers so intently, Cat feared he might burn the eyes from her skull. His lips parted, showing teeth on edge, his golden fang glistening.

Without a word, he raised the porcelain bottle in his hand and swigged a healthy gulp of sweet-smelling taquil. As if he needed the alcohol to deal with her.

Cat mirrored him, pulling a gulp of rum.

“I did not realize I had to lock the windows too,” he said bitterly, dragging his eyes over her wet clothes and hair.

Cat held her ground, letting him look. Her blouse clung to her chest, the collar open to show bare skin and an arched neck.

“I could hardly miss one last opportunity to enjoy the hospitality of Drowning Key,” she said, casting a shrewd eye over the room. “Though she has seen better days.”

Valerian made a noise of irritation low in his throat.

“I can say the same of you,” he muttered. “Now are you going to let Adelo row you back to the ship without a fuss, or will he need to tie you up first?”

“Funny,” she replied, squaring to face him. “You used to do that sort of thing yourself.”