Page 93 of Tempest

“A believer? In what?”

Grinning, Ana slowed and spread her arms wide, gesturing to the shimmering turquoise sea. “In the Lyrian. In the Song of wind, tide, and sun. Can’t you hear it, Kitten?”

There was nothing but the lap of waves and the grunting toil of sailors, but Cat tried to listen anyway. It was of little use, and she flushed, feeling foolish for the attempt. There was no god in the world but gunpowder and coin, a truth she learned more every day.

But a few words lingered in her mind, clinging like barnacles to a ship’s hull.

May the sea always sing for you, she remembered, thinking back to the storm and the Venerable before she was blown apart. At least the prayer had brought her comfort, giving her something to hold when all else was beyond reach.

“I would tell you how Valerian came to believe as we do, but I suppose that is his story,” Ana said. “How he grew legends of his own. You know, his enemies say he has salt water in his veins instead of blood?”

Cat scoffed. “I sorely doubt that.”

“Watch him sail into a storm and see how you feel then,” Ana replied with a grin.

In response, Cat slowed, her pulse quickening. She knew the path beneath her, towards the quarterdeck. After all, she had just walked it only an hour ago.

Back to the captain’s quarters.

She looked up to glimpse the man in question, framed by the open door into the council chamber. Before Cat could protest, Ana led her inside, a hand tight on her upper arm. Though Ana was the smaller of the two women, Cat knew better than to struggle. She did not want to run afoul of the Seawolf.

Valerian Kane stood across the table, hands braced on the back of a chair. Again, he seemed too tall for the room, his neck bent to allow some space between the crown of his golden head and another lamp dangling askew. His stormy eyes followed Cat as she entered, her steps heavy. She stopped as soon as Ana allowed, keeping the wooden table between them.

Once more, Cat shuddered in her shift, wishing for a change of clothing.

“Is there more you wish to discuss, Captain?” she forced out.

Then something thumped in the next room—his own quarters. And the door banged open, revealing a huddle of Kane’s sailors. They shuffled out with arms full, clutching sheafs and rolls of paper, a collection of books, and one of them an entire drawer of clothing pulled clean from the armoire. Cat gaped at them as they passed, all three men wrinkled and sun worn, so pickled by the sea she could hardly guess at their ages. They nodded at Kane and Ana as they went but were careful not to meet Cat’s scrutinizing stare.

“Hardly,” Captain Kane replied, releasing his grip on the chair, his long fingers uncoiling.

Then he stooped, retrieving an unseen sack from the floor and slinging it over his shoulder as he stalked around the table.

“You will tell Ana if there is anything amiss, or anything you need,” he continued, closing the distance between them.

Cat breathed in the scent of tobacco and salt water. And something new. Alcohol, she realized, the bite of it a ghost on her tongue.

The captain did not break stride, skirting around her towards the open door. “If you must touch the books, put them back in order—”

“The books?” Cat sputtered as she whirled. “I don’t understand?”

One arm against the door frame, the other still holding the sack, Valerian Kane gave a sigh like a secretary facing a mountain of paperwork. Indeed, Cat felt like an imposition beneath his withering gaze.

“I’m afraid the Covenant is not well suited to travelers of your station,” he said, emphasizing the word with all the disdain he could muster. “There are no free cabins to be had, and I will not turn out a member of my crew to let a Meridian lady kick up her feet. I’ll not have you whining in my bunkroom either.”

In the corner, Ana stifled a laugh.

Captain Kane did not share her amusement, his expression grim. “We are traversing the Furies, and my crew won’t have their rest disturbed when they can steal it.”

A flush heated Cat’s cheeks and a retort danced on her tongue. I am hardly a disturbance compared to a crowd of rowdy, drunken pirates, she wanted to snap. Then she remembered the bunk room, filled with swinging hammocks and snoring, stinking sailors. There was no comparison between that and Captain Kane’s spacious cabin.

In the doorway, still leaning to accommodate his own height, the pirate captain raised an eyebrow. The motion illustrated another little scar, a nick of pearly white parallel to the brow over his right eye.

“Is there something you wish to say, Lady Rose?” he said pointedly.

Her reply was swift and equally pointed.

“Thank you, Captain.”