Page 29 of Tempest

“We have been summoned to meet with the new Lord Governor of the Lyrian Sea,” Ryman explained slowly, as if speaking to a child. Then he glanced back to Captain Quine, his tone turning smug. “Another uncommon man like myself, might I add.”

It would not serve anyone to point out the difference between a lord appointed to govern the Meridian colonies and a lord who fled to them, so Cat held her tongue. Instead, she forced another sip of wine and lowered her eyes, hoping to hide her sudden burst of excitement.

They had not stopped in Archenport, the capital of the colonies, on the crossing, and Cat was eager to see what passed for a proper city in these waters. Already her mind spun, imagining paved streets and little shops; perhaps even a real party at the governor’s mansion, filled with people other than Ryman.

“Captain Quine will kindly accompany us to Beacon Island, where we will meet with Lord Governor Baltross at his seat in Archenport.” Ryman did not try to contain his glee, grinning to show wine-stained teeth.

Lieutenant Fell raised a black eyebrow. “You seem cheered by the prospect, my lord.”

“Of course. We’ve been here six months without so much as a dinner invitation!” Ryman replied, spilling his wine a little. “A summons to the governor is quite the event indeed.”

Again, Cat watched the officers and thought of circling sharks. Her excitement ebbed away, fear taking its place. Of what, she did not know.

Suddenly Lieutenant Fell met her eye, and she felt seen through.

“I’m sure Lady Rose shares the sentiment,” he said, a corner of his mouth lifting.

“Of course,” she answered too sharply, her head buzzing.

* * *

DINNER FOLLOWED DRINKS, and pipes followed dinner, with Ryman ushering the officers of the Venerable back into the parlor to enjoy their tobacco. Cat neatly excused herself, grateful that etiquette dictated ladies took no part in such things.

As she fell asleep, she thought of the distant city, its governor awaiting them, and whatever that entailed. Some part of her felt drawn to Archenport, eager to leave Rosby behind, if only for a few weeks. The rest was strangely hesitant, though she could not understand why.

She awoke to the same undercurrent of dread, woven beneath every movement as she packed her single trunk with Moseley and Sara. The maids chattered together, but Cat could not, too distracted by her torn emotions. She felt caught in a storm, battered by winds she could not fathom. But the morning sky outside was clear, the distant clouds white and cheerful, the air thick with heat.

She was already sweating by the time she reached the dock.

Ryman fussed on the bench of the little boat waiting in the shallows, his trunk beside him. He looked like a child ready for an outing with his nursemaid, not a lord with a naval escort. A pair of oarsmen were seated too, and an officer stood with his back turned, one boot braced on the side of the rowboat, the other firmly planted on the dock.

The Venerable was anchored further out to sea, with three masts and more sails than Cat could count. It was bigger than the Credence, bigger than any ship she had ever set foot on before. But still not so large as the pirate ship that waylaid us on the crossing. Cat shivered, remembering the sheer size of it, a monster on the water.

Though Cat would have preferred Moseley to accompany them, it was Sara who followed her onto the dock. She would be better suited to this kind of trip, where Cat would need a true lady’s maid to attend to her hair and clothing. Even so, she missed Moseley and her jokes already.

The naval officer turned, his silver eyes taking on a blue tinge from the turquoise sea.

“Lieutenant Fell,” Cat said, dipping her head in greeting.

“Lady Rose,” he replied, one foot still planted against the rowboat. She half expected him to push the boat off the dock and leave her stranded, rowing the rest of them out to sea.

Instead, Fell bent at the waist and offered a waiting arm. “If you would make haste, Captain Quine is eager to make use of this wind.”

Cat pursed her lips together, holding back a sharp retort. She was well on time, earlier than instructed, and did not care for the implication that she was holding up an entire warship. Instead, she ignored Fell’s hand and stepped into the rowboat herself, a bit clumsily. The vessel rocked beneath her, and she sat heavily at Ryman’s side, feeling like a sack of potatoes.

Still on the dock, Fell gave a shake of his head. A lock of hair came free from his tail, black strands slanting across his lupine face. They did not hide his flashing grin.

Once Sara and the rest of their effects were safely aboard, a sailor untied the boat. Fell was the last to embark, one foot safely in the vessel, the other pushing them off the dock and into the waves. His men pulled their oars, carrying the little boat into the shadow of the Venerable.

Cat expected to feel some weight lift from her shoulders. They were only crossing the shallows, but Rosby Island was firmly behind her, the house a fading white smudge. She glanced back, hoping to spot Moseley on the veranda. But nothing moved, not even Sparrow tucked away in her stall. It was as if the island was frozen in time.

Perhaps it is, she thought. The days blurred together so easily, as if they never existed at all.

The deck of the Venerable gleamed, every surface swabbed and polished, even as sailors crawled over seemingly every inch of the warship. They were in the rigging, on the masts, hastening above and below, into the forecastle at the bow and onto the quarterdeck at the stern. A cartographer squinted at the horizon, his charts across his knees, his fingers ink stained as he jotted notes on the distant islands. Another checked their position with the helmsman, referring to maps set with the Meridian seal and a compass. The officers looked like insects, blue beetles in their cobalt coats. The sailors of lower rank were less severe, in cream-colored shirts and breeches, donning hats or bandanas. All shouted orders back and forth, their voices a tangle, accents clipped by noble station or rough with humble beginnings.

Ryman delighted in the bustle, beaming and nodding at the passing sailors as if he were the King himself. Cat desired nothing more than to shut herself away in a cabin and burrow like a rabbit in her hole. As much as she wanted to watch Rosby shrink in the distance, after six months on a quiet island, the Meridian warship was an assault on the senses.

“If you would be so kind as to direct Sara and I to our cabin, Lieutenant?” she said, forcing herself to be heard over the din.