Page 6 of Tempest

“Quite right, I must rest and gather my strength,” he blustered, as if he were not fighting to stay upright.

Cat exhaled slowly in relief, shooting Greer a quick glance in gratitude.

“There is much to do when we reach Rosby Island. It is no small thing, building an empire!” Ryman barked out, fighting his cabin door open. “I take this great endeavor upon myself, for all of us. I will bear this burden.”

Cat wished for a fan to hide her face in. Instead, she bit her lip to keep from laughing. Her husband was emperor of little more than a few chests of clothing and an old title with no worth, heir to a defunct spice empire, king of an island no one else wanted. There was nothing he built that did not immediately burn down.

“We are grateful, my lord,” she forced out.

The festering lord gave her a deep nod—the patronizing kind that made Cat cringe—then dismissed her with a wave, his palm white and soft as snow.

“Be mindful,” he called after her. “These merchant sailors are barely better than pirates. They do not act in ways that befit a lady of your station.”

My station.

This time a laugh did escape Cat’s mouth. Luckily the slamming of his cabin door drowned her out.

My station, she thought again, climbing the stairs into the waning daylight. What station? Is there a name for how low I’ve fallen?

Not that I had very far to fall, she thought, considering the short years she had enjoyed between girlhood and the wifely cage. She had been one of six children, all daughters of a failing house, all looking for a path to survival.

She reached the main deck, and the tang of salt water and brine hit her nose.

Despite her husband’s misgivings, no one on the Credence bothered with Lady Rose, too focused on their work. Overhead, trade winds filled the sails, pushing the galleon across the Aviter Ocean. Even with the rough seas, the Credence was making good time. They were late enough to avoid winter storms from the north and would arrive too early for hurricane season in the Lyrian Sea. Or so Captain Meedy said. But Cat knew better now than to trust a man’s word.

She crossed to the rail, inhaling deeply to force the stale cabin air from her lungs.

The horizon seemed endless beneath the late afternoon sun, and Cat stared into it, as if she could see beyond the edge of the world.

There was nothing but cold blue in every direction, no hint of the islands they sailed towards. But Cat’s books were clear enough, every map detailing the same—the Lyrian Sea was ahead, a line of turquoise between the Aviter Ocean and the Southern Continent. The islands were a natural way station for all ships passing between north and south, where flags of the Meridian Empire, the Esperese, Itzima, and every other power collided in pursuit of trade or war or glory. In service of a crown or greed or both.

Cat knew which her husband sought, having found his ruin back home.

She lifted her face into the wind, her prayer beads clutched in her fist. They had miles to go still, but less every day. Alone by the rail, she prayed. But not for guidance or patience or luck. Now she asked for the wind to die, for the currents beneath the ship to lose their strength, for the sun to halt its descent.

For time itself to stand still.

But the wind blew, and the waves rolled.

No gods answered, silent as their many statues in their many churches. Cat tightened her grip on her prayer beads, wishing they would break. Wishing she could throw them into the water, and maybe herself too.

Instead, she watched the sun dip lower and lower, its golden face turning red as it slipped below the waves. Only when the last inch of light bled green, filtering through the blue sea, did she turn away.

Another day lost, another minute gone.

The Credence was a cage, but worse prisons waited.

* * *

SHE HEARD THE gulls before she opened her eyes.

Cat had not heard birds since they left the Meridian coast two months ago. Her heart clenched and a cold bolt of despair ran down her spine. Part of her wanted to slip into the gap between her bunk and the cabin wall, to disappear into the dark with the dust and rot.

Perhaps I can disguise myself as a particularly tall cabin boy, and His Lordship will forget I ever existed.

It was only a passing fancy, and a useless one besides. She had no desire to be a cabin boy, no matter the circumstances.

Instead, she forced herself up and into her last clean dress, the stiff ivory cotton patterned with amber flowers. Cat knew it matched her eyes, though she had not seen her own face in weeks. Probably for the best, she thought, feeling the grime on her skin and the knots in her hair. Despite her best efforts, the sea took its toll on Lady Rose.