Page 183 of Tempest

Then he seized her by the face, thumb and forefinger framing the length of her jaw. All thoughts of the beach disappeared, the sounds of the tavern fading away. Even the feel of the sea vanished, lapping against her calves, her bare feet submerged. There was only the burning skin of his palm against her throat, Cat’s pulse thrumming against Valerian’s open hand.

He bent, nearly nose to nose with her, so close Cat had to stop herself from closing the last few centimeters.

“I did listen. I heard everything you said. I just didn’t agree.” His voice was not soft or kind, making her shiver. Out of fear or pleasure, Cat could not tell. “And I still don’t. This war is not over, and I was hardly going to surrender before it even began.”

“Survival is not surrender,” she bit back at him, leaning into his grasp.

His fingers tightened, pressing deeper.

“I’ve half a mind to give Jasper Fell and his crew to the deep, but at least I respect them. They have loyalty, they have faith,” he growled, never blinking, the fury of a hurricane in his eyes. “They believe in something—other than themselves.”

The red sheen returned, fire licking up Cat’s spine as the world washed scarlet.

“I believed in you once,” she replied, clawing at his wrist. Her eyes stung, the silver moon going red as her anger. “I will never make that mistake again.”

I should have let you sail with Morovant. I should have let you all die and been done with this six months ago, Cat thought, peeling Valerian’s hand off her throat. She knew there was no breaking his hold under her own power, but he relinquished, letting her go. Her mind flew as she moved, turning back to the longboat, pitching herself over the side in a very undignified way.

Flustered and furious, she reached for the oars, thinking only of the Covenant behind her. Not Valerian, not the crew in the Drowning Drink enjoying what last gasps of freedom they could.

Don’t think about them. It’s your head or theirs, your head or theirs...

Her hands closed over the handles of the oars, the wood smooth beneath her grasp. But only one side moved, the other stuck fast against something.

She loosed a frustrated snarl at Valerian standing calf-deep next to the boat, one hand holding the offending oar in place. The other curled over the lip of the boat.

“I am capable of rowing a boat fifty feet,” Cat said dryly.

“I think you’re capable of rowing yourself back to Archenport at this rate,” Valerian answered, putting his shoulder to the longboat and pushing the little vessel off the sandy shore. He moved with it, leaping in with far more grace than Cat had.

Scowling, she crossed her arms and ceded the oars, allowing Valerian to row them both into the shallows. His shoulders worked, rolling beneath the lines of his shirt in a way that made Cat’s skin prickle. Don’t look, she told herself, angling in any direction but his.

She felt his eyes on her face anyway, and the steady rhythm as he pulled the oars, his long body working back and forth. Without thought, Cat dipped a hand in the waves gliding past. Warm as the sea was, it was a cooling balm to her flushed skin.

“I want off this ship. The fleet is trawling the Lyrian, hunting you. And it’s only a matter of time before a man-o’-war runs up on your stern. If you let me return to Nera, I can make my own way from there,” she said, voice stiff as her posture. “I’ll be gone with the next tide, and you’ll never have to think of me again.”

“I think about you every time I close my eyes,” he muttered back, scowling through the darkness. It sounded like a threat. And somehow, a confession too.

Cat bit the inside of her cheek, unable to comprehend much beyond the next slap of the oars. And then the next step up the sea ladder, one hand passing over the other, hauling herself up and onto the Covenant with Valerian not far behind.

She expected him to abandon her on the main deck, or perhaps grab her once more, marching her back to his quarters with the same fury he showed on the beach. Truthfully, Cat did not know which she preferred. She felt unmoored, a ship without an anchor, or a compass without true north, forever spinning.

It was easier to tolerate Valerian from afar. But now, up close, his presence was infuriating. And intoxicating.

And intriguing.

“May the sea always sing for you,” she said, the words a challenge. “May the storm be your shield.”

A lantern glowed weakly from the main mast, illuminating the threads of gold and silver around his neck. And the heavy rise and fall of his chest as Valerian heaved an exasperated sigh. He scrubbed a hand over his face, scratching at a gleam of stubble along his jaw.

“Must remember to hide the key elsewhere,” he muttered. With a flash of his hand, he dismissed one of the sailors stoning the deck nearby, smoothing out the timbers. He scurried off, sandstone still in hand, the shadow of another sailor moving with him.

Leaving both Cat and Valerian alone on the deck of the Covenant, with only the moon and stars to watch.

Cat glared, trying to hold to her objectives. A way to flee, a way to survive. But she could not shake her suspicions or curiosity. Nor her fear for Valerian Kane, and whatever doom he charged towards.

“The Meridian navy reported several ships missing a month ago,” she said, repeating what she learned weeks ago in the governor’s office. “All of them separated from their squadrons, all lost in storms.”

“Such is the way of the Lyrian Sea,” Valerian replied, with a patronizing shrug.