Page 97 of Tempest

She forced herself to breathe the fresh air, smelling salt instead of the iron tang of blood. It calmed her a little, enough to survey herself one last time. Her dress from the morning was discarded, half-stiff with sweat and stained with mud from her pointless climb. Now she wore the second-best dress she had packed, the black fabric tightly fitted and cut beneath her collarbone. Terrible for travel but good enough for city streets. Cat knew the low neckline made her amber eyes seem warmer, her tan golden, and even her freckles more refined. There was little to be done about the state of her curls, so she braided them away from her face and tied them with a gold ribbon to match her eyes.

Even without a looking glass, Cat surmised she cut a fine figure, her narrow waist and flared hips accentuated by the skim of her skirt. She was certainly older than most of the girls she would encounter, but she would not look it.

At least not in dim candlelight, she thought, pinching her cheeks for color.

“You’re not going to run off again, are you?”

She turned to see Fell approaching, his boots a rhythmic drumbeat on the deck.

Gone was the ridiculous merchant coat and tricorne hat, leaving him bareheaded. He had done his best to clean up too, donning cream breeches, polished leather boots, and a loose white shirt beneath a blue silk brocade vest with silver buttons that matched his eyes. If Cat did not know his character, she might think him dashing, with his piercing look and glossy black hair.

“My things are still on your ship,” she said wearily, gesturing in the direction of her cramped cabin.

“You and I both know you would leave everything behind if it meant saving your own skin,” he said.

Cat glanced back at him, her brow tight. “Tell me about the state of my skin, Jasper Fell. You’d know better than me.”

She did not mistake the way he looked at her. Not as an officer would a lady, or even a man would a woman. Fell watched her as he would a snake, waiting for her to strike.

“So long as you do as the governor asks, you will be granted a full pardon, and everything the Meridian Empire owes you,” he said evenly. “I promise you that.”

There was no use in pointing out how little his promises meant. Cat could still feel the heavy damp of the prison cells beneath the fort.

Together they descended from the deck of the Fledge to the docks of Alvaris.

As in the morning, there was a flurry of activity as ships came in for the night or sailed out into darkness. Sailors, merchants, porters, and servants scurried despite the falling shadows. Across the market and city skyline, lanterns flared to life, flickering warm and golden. The pink-washed buildings flushed like rosy cheeks and music drifted through the humid air, the streets still clinging to the heat of the day. While the ordered chaos of the market did not disappear, it moved, drifting from the square plaza at the waterside into the various taverns, parlors, and clubs dotting every street corner. Laughter and jeers spilled from every open doorway and cigar smoke wafted through the windows, perfuming the city with an all-too-familiar scent.

Cat could not help but breathe deeply. For a moment, the smell was a memory, as good as stepping back through time. Her eyelids fluttered, drifting shut. She was no longer in Alvaris, but Archenport a year ago. Still caught in the throes of the pirate republic. No governor, no king. No law but the law of the sea. No empire but what they made themselves.

And it was already crumbling, Cat thought, opening her eyes to the city in front of her and the truth she always knew.

“Mr. Whisten seems relieved he was not asked to escort us in this endeavor,” Cat said, glancing back towards the harbor. The Fledge had disappeared, swallowed up by larger vessels.

Fell tossed back his head and laughed, the long line of his jaw sharp in profile. “Mr. Whisten is more priest than sailor these days, and shockingly faithful to a little wife back in Meridia,” he said, chuckling. “But the others were not so pleased to be left behind.”

“I could hardly turn up on the doorstep of a brothel dragging six men behind me,” Cat replied, turning them onto the wide avenue. “One is enough.”

Beneath her arm, Fell seemed to stiffen, and his gait slowed. She did not miss the way his throat bobbed, the bare skin jumping over the tied collar of his shirt.

Cat fought a smile, amused by the endless contradictions of Jasper Fell.

Sea battles did not frighten him, but a brothel certainly did.

“So, I am to pose as a customer?” he prodded, sounding unsure for once.

“Will that be difficult for you?”

Cat could not help but tease him, leaning close enough to smell sandalwood.

Her smile widened. “I know you would never pay for the pleasure of a woman’s company, even now when you can afford it.”

Pink tinged his cheeks, and Fell swallowed again. “And what will you do while I wait?”

A flush of pleasure washed over Cat, as if she had just gulped down a glass of spiced rum or burning taquil. She inhaled deeply, smelling tobacco again. This time, it did not remind her of the pirate republic and its dying days, but the Widow Rose in her triumph. When the tavern spilled over with all manner of patrons, and Cat ruled them all.

“News of Osprin’s violence in Archenport is well known by now. I am a simple barmaid fleeing the Meridian Empire and the noose. Looking for work, looking for somewhere to go,” she offered. Then her voice rose an octave, her refined Meridian accent replaced by something rougher. “My darling Bobby was just a ship’s mate on the Harmony. He survived the fleet’s arrival just to face the gallows. And I had to run,’afore I hang next to him,” she finished, sniffling. Her eyelashes fluttered for good measure. “Sometimes I think I should have.”

A corner of Fell’s mouth lifted, his cold, iron eyes fixed on her face.