Page 41 of Tempest

“Sir,” the Paladin officer replied, bowing once more.

Quine replied with a stiff salute.

“For Crown and Empire,” he said.

The crew echoed Quine, a hushed roar from every mouth.

Even Cat’s.

“For Crown and Empire.”

* * *

THE OFFICER FROM the Paladin did not depart at once but idled, allowing the men of the Venerable time to gather their letters. Whatever correspondence they had bound for the Continent was collected and handed over to be sent to Meridia with the Paladin, instead of an Archenport mail ship in a week’s time. Some men emptied weeks’ worth of letters to their sweethearts and wives and children. A few dropped to the deck, scrawling out notes as fast as they could, sharing ink and parchment. One or two narrated to a hasty scribe, unable to write for themselves.

Cat watched the flurry, with Ryman clinging to her side like a blister.

He still had porridge on his face.

“What a desperate sight,” he muttered, disgusted. “We will be in Archenport in a week’s time; they can send their letters then. This is slowing us down.”

Cat let her husband’s callous comment pass without reply—only for another voice to answer.

“This is the Lyrian Sea, my lord,” Lieutenant Fell said, his hat shading his face. Still, his eyes gleamed. “We do not deny the men any opportunity they have to write home. It may be their last.”

His smirking look was gone, his jaw hard. Cat could see his concern for the ship and its men written plainly on his face, his entire demeanor sobered by the news from the Paladin.

Ryman was not so observant. He glared at Fell, a snide remark clear on his lips.

“Of course, Lieutenant,” Cat said quickly, cutting her husband off before he could destroy what remained of his dignity. She took him by the hand, though she shivered at the brush of his clammy skin. “We would never begrudge your men such a comfort, and certainly not while they defend us in war.”

Lord Rose was less than pleased. He shrugged out of her grasp, frowning.

“You are as soft-hearted as my wife,” he sneered at Fell, stomping away.

His steps echoed, heavy against the deck. Cat waited until he was safely below before exhaling a long breath.

“My apologies,” she said, her voice too sharp for contrition. “My husband is—”

“A complete fool?” Fell offered.

Cat caged a laugh and turned into the sun to hide her smile. She leaned over the rail, bracing her elbows against the wood. Waves broke on the hull beneath her, sending up a cooling spray.

“I was going to say tired,” she murmured as Fell joined her.

“You are kinder than I am, Lady Rose.”

The lieutenant did not lean, standing straight as a saber. But he removed his hat, one hand smoothing back a few strands of black hair. Without the tricorne, his expression was easier to read. There was sternness to him, but anger too.

“Will this be the end of it?” Cat ventured. She could not help but think of the navy, the fleet, the many thousands of sailors and officers, countless ships. Either burned in Allisport harbor or pointed towards it, sailing back to home waters.

Fell raised an eyebrow. “The end of what?”

“The war,” she said. “Esperin has certainly crippled the navy.”

“That remains to be seen,” the lieutenant answered neatly. “Though I doubt it. The Empire may be wounded, but she is far from dead. A lion does not surrender at first injury.”

Hardly the first, Cat wanted to say but held her tongue. The war with Esperin had been dragging on for years, with blows struck on both sides. Before they came to the Lyrian, Ryman used to rant over sea battles in the Strait or infantry clashes on the Esperese plain. It sounded more like points scored back and forth in a game, the risk simply a few coins on the table, and not many thousands of lives.