Page 64 of Tempest

Huffing, Cat righted her nightshift, adjusting the thin, wet fabric so it did not cling so tightly to her figure. She crossed her arms over her chest, shamefully aware of what a sight she must seem.

“I am no wife,” Cat answered, glad to have shed her wedding ring in the water. “I am a maid.”

The woman tipped her head, still wearing her smile. But it did not reach her eyes. She took a step, then another, boots hard on the deck. Cat swallowed again, feeling like prey. The pirate woman certainly acted like a predator, circling them both with her silver smile.

“You do not speak like a servant,” she replied, gesturing between Cat and Fell. “And he does not look like a lord.”

Cat tried to slump and look small, her spine bowing under the imagined weight of servitude.

“My lord and lady are dead, drowned with the rest of the crew,” she said, sticking to the story. It felt like the right decision.

But only for a moment.

Heads turned across the deck, a sea of squinting eyes snapping to face her. Tanned and battle-honed pirates growled amongst themselves, their anger and frustration on full display. A tangle of rough voices and shifting accents hissed.

“Not even a crown-licking fool to ransom,” a red-faced man barked, his tattooed hand slapping against the rail of the ship.

Another, his skin the same bronze as Cat’s dripping curls, jeered in reply, cursing in a language Cat did not know. But his frustration was easy to decipher. She winced as they shouted back and forth, arguing.

Probably about whether to throw me overboard, Cat thought, shivering.

Fell glared up from the ground, pure venom in his gaze. Cat almost expected him to hiss. He wisely did not, sparing her a single, fleeting glance. But long enough to see his fear.

The black-haired woman continued to circle, intrigued. With a jolt, Cat wondered if she was the captain of the vessel, though Cat did not know if a woman could do such things.

I did not know a woman could even be a pirate until a few minutes ago, she mused, trying to hold the mask of a servant.

Her shoulders hunched and she turned into her hair, as if the wet curls might hide her a little better. Slowly, Cat pulled her fingers into her sleeves, hoping to hide soft hands that had never known blistering work.

The woman came closer. “Your lord and lady are dead?”

Behind her, the crew seemed to press in, a wall of hungry eyes and bared teeth, their scars and tattoos telling similar tales. Of hardship, of violence, of greed.

I have known hardship too, Cat thought, remembering the island and Ryman and what it was to live in a cage. A cage I foolishly chose.

The anger flamed enough to keep her warm.

Cat met the woman’s eye.

“Like I said, Lord Rose is dead. Lady Rose is—”

Something shimmered, catching the sun over the woman’s shoulder, and Cat’s voice died in her throat.

Another face appeared over the rail, the last member of the pirate crew to climb back on deck. He hauled himself up with powerful grace to stand amongst the crew, his smile wide and crooked, a single incisor gleaming gold. Stubbled cheeks had given over to a short beard. His hair was darker than she remembered, wet from the sea, his shirt and breeches soaked through. The man did not blink as he stalked forwards, the crew shifting apart to let him pass. He padded on bare feet, and Cat thought of the lion at the prow of his ship, the Lion of the Meridian. Deadly, powerful, golden, filled with the calm knowledge of his superiority.

King of the jungle.

No, he is not a lion, Cat remembered. As he closed the distance between them, his eyes caught the sun, the blue-gray-green of them flashing dark and deadly.

He is a storm.

A tempest.

He halted side by side with the she-pirate, an amused look on his tanned face.

Valerian Kane.

For the second time in his presence, Cat thought about diving into the water and testing her luck against the Lyrian Sea.