Page 28 of Tempest

“First Lieutenant Banniton,” he said. “And my second lieutenant—”

“Jasper Fell, my lady,” the other offered, his bow low and graceful.

His black hair was too dark for candlelight. When he straightened, Cat expected him to wield the same smile he had worn that morning. The clawing kind, searching for some hold in her. Instead, he narrowed his eyes, his silver gaze like a knife. Cat felt it run all over, and not in the usual way men look at women. He was sizing her up—but not for his own pleasure.

“Charmed,” she answered, turning back to Captain Quine. “We are glad to have you all.”

Her skirts swirled as she took the last open seat in the room, perching herself on the couch next to Ryman, careful to keep a comfortable distance between them. The others reclaimed their chairs, settling in for the usual hour of drinking and preening in the parlor, before drinking and preening over the dining table.

Cat swallowed her questions, knowing it was not her place to ask after Captain Quine’s ship or his journey. She was a woman, her purpose the same as a finely pressed curtain or oil painting. To be seen, and nothing else.

Thankfully, Moseley brought a glass of dark red wine. Cat took a sip, ignoring the bitter taste of a less-than-excellent vintage. As the men spoke, Cat examined a chip in the lip of the glass. Again, Moseley was careful to save the best pieces for their company, and Cat felt a rush of gratitude for her.

“You are an uncommon man in the Lyrian, Lord Rose,” Quine said from his chair.

As Lieutenant Fell had studied Cat, so did the navy captain examine Ryman. Cat watched his eyes tick over her husband, snagging on the discolored hem of his collar, long yellowed by sweat.

Ryman did not notice Quine’s curling lip. He grinned and sipped his wine. “It is kind of you to say so, Captain.”

Across the room, the lieutenants exchanged glances, their smirks barely hidden. Though Cat disdained her husband, she could not help but flush. She heard the insult plain as day, though her husband was too stupid to notice it.

Captain Quine was more reserved. He crossed his legs, his black leather boots gleaming like the gold filigree on his lapels.

“I mean to say—there are very few lords of the Meridian Empire who choose to make a life here in the Lyrian Sea,” he said, gesturing with glass in hand. His wine was plainly untouched. “Amongst wild islands and changing tides, with enemy ships behind every gust of wind.”

After a moment of bewilderment, Ryman gave a little shrug. “There are many lords who claim islands here. Lord Norton owns Tharrow, Lord Sildon is master of Eastermount and Peerless. The Marten family are mine own neighbors across the water,” he added, raising his hand to point towards Willemsport Island.

In the completely wrong direction, Cat noted, sipping her wine again. And the lords Sildon, Norton, and Marten have never set foot in the Lyrian Sea.

Quine smiled coldly. “Of course. But it is rare to see a man such as yourself, of noble blood, on this side of the ocean.”

“This island was given to my lord uncle for his services to Crown and Empire, and rightfully so,” Ryman sniffed. “He was a great hero of the Anticlean Wars thirty years ago, even lost a foot to their blasted grenadiers at Montarne.”

Ryman jabbed a thumb at an oil painting on the wall, the muddy image depicting a sallow man in uniform. It was so ugly, the pirates hadn’t bothered to plunder it from the Credence, though Cat often wished they had. The family resemblance was uncanny, the old Lord Rose as sluggish as his nephew.

Cat forced another sip of wine, if only to keep her mouth shut.

“This island has passed to me, and I mean to make it a triumph, as my family triumphed in the Spice Islands,” Ryman continued, stamping a foot on the ground for good measure. Everyone had the good sense not to mention the Spice Islands were lost to the Rijkstad, their wealth seized or spent. “For Crown and Empire!”

“For Crown and Empire,” the officers echoed, Cat’s voice barely a whisper with them.

A triumph, she thought, echoing Ryman. A triumph of what, she could not fathom. There were no fields, no gold mines, no great forests. There was not even a suitable harbor for a town, let alone a city of any repute. Rosby was nothing but the last corner for Ryman Rose to hide in, to avoid the truth of his pitiful existence, and perhaps some angry creditors too.

Cat’s grip tightened on her glass. Captain Quine had yet to say the purpose for their visit. Perhaps it was just that. To arrest her husband and drag him back to Meridia and debtor’s prison.

Where would that leave me? she wondered, both delighted and terrified at the prospect. Cast out amongst the islands, or chained to Ryman’s fate?

“I apologize for my ignorance, sirs,” Cat said demurely. “But what brings you to Rosby Island? Certainly, you have more than enough to handle with the Esperese navy, not to mention the pirates.”

Again, those wretched tempest eyes flashed across her mind, blue and green and something else, too deep to understand.

Lieutenant Banniton’s lips twisted in an unkind smile. “Ah, we explained as much to Lord Rose earlier in the day.”

“Of course,” Cat recovered. “I am sorry I have forgotten what my lord told me of your meeting. Such is the mind of a woman.”

Polite laughter rippled around the parlor, no man so loud as Ryman. Strangely, Lieutenant Fell did not laugh at all. He remained quiet and observing, his charming smile long gone. The presence of his captain seemed to subdue whatever roguish manner Cat had seen before—or perhaps he knew it would not serve him here.

Ryman took the opportunity to put a hand on Cat’s knee, his smile wet and toothy. Cat’s skin crawled, but she was long used to his unwanted touch and kept her composure.