Page 57 of Tempest

“Let me do this alone,” she murmured.

Let me go.

Fell held her gaze long enough to light a little candle of hope. Then snuffed it out just as quickly.

“And lose the best chance we have of ending this now?” He shook his head. “Contrary to what you might think, Cat, I have no desire to spend the rest of my days rooting half-dead pirates out of the Lyrian Sea.”

“Of course,” Cat drawled back at him, reading Jasper Fell as she would a book. “It is always so easy to see your intentions. After all, you are not a terribly complicated man.”

His eyes narrowed, two bolts of silver flame.

“You will always choose yourself first,” Cat said, “and follow the selfish course.”

“A trait we share, Lady Rose,” he replied without hesitation.

There was no use denying it. In the scheme of things, Cat was simple too.

“True.” Her voice sharpened, an admission as much as a warning. “True indeed.”

The carriage turned, rolling onto Keystone Street, and Cat leaned with the motion.

“The King is coming, and you will be his champion,” she added. It was not an accusation but a matter of fact. “Who knows, he might even give you a lordship, if you deliver the sea. And I’m sure Osprin thinks the same.”

She tipped her head, watching Fell. Already he basked in the prospect of such a future, his silver eyes going foggy.

Teeth bared, Cat shot forwards to loom over him. Fell did not flinch, leaving them nose to nose in the small space.

“I suppose you’ll drag Captain Kane in front of the King yourself. But will you have the stomach to do the deed?”

The flecks of blue in Fell’s gray gaze seemed to dance. Beneath them, the carriage halted, but Cat kept her balance, one hand braced on the low ceiling, the other pressed flat against the panel beside Fell’s head, fencing him in.

Against the collar of the imperial uniform, his neck turned a bright shade of red.

“Cat,” he said in a low tone, his voice thickening.

As with all things Jasper Fell, Cat knew that voice too. She had heard it many times, all of them desperate and wanting.

One side of her mouth lifted in a sneer. His eyes followed the curve of her lips.

“I remember your face when they tore Morovant limb from limb.” She did not miss the jump of a vein in Fell’s throat, nor the uncomfortable way he shifted. Like a worm squirming on a hook. “I thought sailors didn’t get seasick, but you looked quite green.”

Fell was silent, still staring, still looking her over inch by inch. Cat was accustomed to his observations and knew better than to feel shame before Jasper Fell. He’d seen much and more of her. But still she felt a flush, her cheeks warm in the close space, suddenly aware of the short distance between them, and her disheveled state.

For once, she hoped to see pity in him. Pity enough to loosen the chains that bound them both. Pity enough to end this torment.

Then the footman pulled open the carriage door, spilling hot Lyrian sun through the interior.

Cat did not recoil, holding her ground.

Beneath her, Fell raised his scarred eyebrow, and his gaze turned shrewd.

“I advise you pack light,” he said. Again, he glanced at her rumpled dress, this time with haughty disdain. “Gods only know what manner of ship I might commandeer. You may not be afforded a cabin.”

Cat rolled her eyes. Whatever hope she had for Jasper Fell’s mercy burned away. There would be no release, not from him. Quickly, she alighted from the carriage. Over her shoulder, she blew a poisonous kiss.

“I’d sleep in the bilge if it meant getting away from you,” she called.

Fell did not bother to descend. He glared after her, his mouth torn between a snarl and a smile.