Chapter Six Before #3
The higher ranked of the two gave her a sharp bow, his movements rigid as his starched collar. He had a plain sort of face and strawberry-blond hair.
“First Lieutenant Banniton,” he said. “And my second lieutenant—”
“Jasper Fell, my lady,” the other offered, his bow low and graceful.
His black hair was too dark for candlelight.
When he straightened, Cat expected him to wield the same smile he had worn that morning.
The clawing kind, searching for some hold in her.
Instead, he narrowed his eyes, his silver gaze like a knife.
Cat felt it run all over, and not in the usual way men look at women.
He was sizing her up—but not for his own pleasure.
“Charmed,” she answered, turning back to Captain Quine. “We are glad to have you all.”
Her skirts swirled as she took the last open seat in the room, perching herself on the couch next to Ryman, careful to keep a comfortable distance between them.
The others reclaimed their chairs, settling in for the usual hour of drinking and preening in the parlor, before drinking and preening over the dining table.
Cat swallowed her questions, knowing it was not her place to ask after Captain Quine’s ship or his journey. She was a woman, her purpose the same as a finely pressed curtain or oil painting. To be seen, and nothing else.
Thankfully, Moseley brought a glass of dark red wine.
Cat took a sip, ignoring the bitter taste of a less-than-excellent vintage.
As the men spoke, Cat examined a chip in the lip of the glass.
Again, Moseley was careful to save the best pieces for their company, and Cat felt a rush of gratitude for her.
“You are an uncommon man in the Lyrian, Lord Rose,” Quine said from his chair.
As Lieutenant Fell had studied Cat, so did the navy captain examine Ryman. Cat watched his eyes tick over her husband, snagging on the discolored hem of his collar, long yellowed by sweat.
Ryman did not notice Quine’s curling lip. He grinned and sipped his wine. “It is kind of you to say so, Captain.”
Across the room, the lieutenants exchanged glances, their smirks barely hidden. Though Cat disdained her husband, she could not help but flush. She heard the insult plain as day, though her husband was too stupid to notice it.
Captain Quine was more reserved. He crossed his legs, his black leather boots gleaming like the gold filigree on his lapels.
“I mean to say—there are very few lords of the Meridian Empire who choose to make a life here in the Lyrian Sea,” he said, gesturing with glass in hand. His wine was plainly untouched. “Amongst wild islands and changing tides, with enemy ships behind every gust of wind.”
After a moment of bewilderment, Ryman gave a little shrug.
“There are many lords who claim islands here. Lord Norton owns Tharrow, Lord Sildon is master of Eastermount and Peerless. The Marten family are mine own neighbors across the water,” he added, raising his hand to point towards Willemsport Island.
In the completely wrong direction, Cat noted, sipping her wine again. And the lords Sildon, Norton, and Marten have never set foot in the Lyrian Sea.
Quine smiled coldly. “Of course. But it is rare to see a man such as yourself, of noble blood, on this side of the ocean.”
“This island was given to my lord uncle for his services to Crown and Empire, and rightfully so,” Ryman sniffed. “He was a great hero of the Anticlean Wars thirty years ago, even lost a foot to their blasted grenadiers at Montarne.”
Ryman jabbed a thumb at an oil painting on the wall, the muddy image depicting a sallow man in uniform. It was so ugly, the pirates hadn’t bothered to plunder it from the Credence, though Cat often wished they had. The family resemblance was uncanny, the old Lord Rose as sluggish as his nephew.
Cat forced another sip of wine, if only to keep her mouth shut.
“This island has passed to me, and I mean to make it a triumph, as my family triumphed in the Spice Islands,” Ryman continued, stamping a foot on the ground for good measure.
Everyone had the good sense not to mention the Spice Islands were lost to the Rijkstad, their wealth seized or spent. “For Crown and Empire!”
“For Crown and Empire,” the officers echoed, Cat’s voice barely a whisper with them.
A triumph, she thought, echoing Ryman. A triumph of what, she could not fathom.
There were no fields, no gold mines, no great forests.
There was not even a suitable harbor for a town, let alone a city of any repute.
Rosby was nothing but the last corner for Ryman Rose to hide in, to avoid the truth of his pitiful existence, and perhaps some angry creditors too.
Cat’s grip tightened on her glass. Captain Quine had yet to say the purpose for their visit. Perhaps it was just that. To arrest her husband and drag him back to Meridia and debtor’s prison.
Where would that leave me? she wondered, both delighted and terrified at the prospect. Cast out amongst the islands, or chained to Ryman’s fate?
“I apologize for my ignorance, sirs,” Cat said demurely. “But what brings you to Rosby Island? Certainly, you have more than enough to handle with the Esperese navy, not to mention the pirates.”
Again, those wretched tempest eyes flashed across her mind, blue and green and something else, too deep to understand.
Lieutenant Banniton’s lips twisted in an unkind smile. “Ah, we explained as much to Lord Rose earlier in the day.”
“Of course,” Cat recovered. “I am sorry I have forgotten what my lord told me of your meeting. Such is the mind of a woman.”
Polite laughter rippled around the parlor, no man so loud as Ryman.
Strangely, Lieutenant Fell did not laugh at all.
He remained quiet and observing, his charming smile long gone.
The presence of his captain seemed to subdue whatever roguish manner Cat had seen before—or perhaps he knew it would not serve him here.
Ryman took the opportunity to put a hand on Cat’s knee, his smile wet and toothy. Cat’s skin crawled, but she was long used to his unwanted touch and kept her composure.
“We have been summoned to meet with the new Lord Governor of the Lyrian Sea,” Ryman explained slowly, as if speaking to a child. Then he glanced back to Captain Quine, his tone turning smug. “Another uncommon man like myself, might I add.”
It would not serve anyone to point out the difference between a lord appointed to govern the Meridian colonies and a lord who fled to them, so Cat held her tongue. Instead, she forced another sip of wine and lowered her eyes, hoping to hide her sudden burst of excitement.
They had not stopped in Archenport, the capital of the colonies, on the crossing, and Cat was eager to see what passed for a proper city in these waters.
Already her mind spun, imagining paved streets and little shops; perhaps even a real party at the governor’s mansion, filled with people other than Ryman.
“Captain Quine will kindly accompany us to Beacon Island, where we will meet with Lord Governor Baltross at his seat in Archenport.” Ryman did not try to contain his glee, grinning to show wine-stained teeth.
Lieutenant Fell raised a black eyebrow. “You seem cheered by the prospect, my lord.”
“Of course. We’ve been here six months without so much as a dinner invitation!” Ryman replied, spilling his wine a little. “A summons to the governor is quite the event indeed.”
Again, Cat watched the officers and thought of circling sharks. Her excitement ebbed away, fear taking its place. Of what, she did not know.
Suddenly Lieutenant Fell met her eye, and she felt seen through.
“I’m sure Lady Rose shares the sentiment,” he said, a corner of his mouth lifting.
“Of course,” she answered too sharply, her head buzzing.
* * *
DINNER FOLLOWED DRINKS, and pipes followed dinner, with Ryman ushering the officers of the Venerable back into the parlor to enjoy their tobacco. Cat neatly excused herself, grateful that etiquette dictated ladies took no part in such things.
As she fell asleep, she thought of the distant city, its governor awaiting them, and whatever that entailed. Some part of her felt drawn to Archenport, eager to leave Rosby behind, if only for a few weeks. The rest was strangely hesitant, though she could not understand why.
She awoke to the same undercurrent of dread, woven beneath every movement as she packed her single trunk with Moseley and Sara.
The maids chattered together, but Cat could not, too distracted by her torn emotions.
She felt caught in a storm, battered by winds she could not fathom.
But the morning sky outside was clear, the distant clouds white and cheerful, the air thick with heat.
She was already sweating by the time she reached the dock.
Ryman fussed on the bench of the little boat waiting in the shallows, his trunk beside him.
He looked like a child ready for an outing with his nursemaid, not a lord with a naval escort.
A pair of oarsmen were seated too, and an officer stood with his back turned, one boot braced on the side of the rowboat, the other firmly planted on the dock.
The Venerable was anchored further out to sea, with three masts and more sails than Cat could count.
It was bigger than the Credence, bigger than any ship she had ever set foot on before.
But still not so large as the pirate ship that waylaid us on the crossing.
Cat shivered, remembering the sheer size of it, a monster on the water.
Though Cat would have preferred Moseley to accompany them, it was Sara who followed her onto the dock. She would be better suited to this kind of trip, where Cat would need a true lady’s maid to attend to her hair and clothing. Even so, she missed Moseley and her jokes already.
The naval officer turned, his silver eyes taking on a blue tinge from the turquoise sea.
“Lieutenant Fell,” Cat said, dipping her head in greeting.