Chapter Seven After #2
“You are either complimenting my charm or insulting my seafaring skills,” he said. “Fortunately, with you, I know to assume the worst.”
“So you aren’t completely stupid,” Cat replied. “What a revelation.”
Fell only grinned. He broke stride, gesturing to an open door flanked by bluecoats. Cat glimpsed a large study on the other side, the walls lined with bookshelves, an intricate desk in the center. There was no one seated behind it, but she could rightly guess who would.
The governor.
Her heart thumped, a bead of sweat rolling down her neck and under her dress.
Cat told herself it was just the heat. After all, she was no stranger to powerful men and their appetites for gold or blood or glory. Osprin was just another one in a long line.
But deep down, she knew it wasn’t true. No man had ever filled the streets of Archenport with so many corpses.
Cat refused to be one of them.
Her teeth clenched and she inhaled a sharp breath, steeling herself for the precipice. Then she leapt off it without so much as a backwards glance, stepping forwards into the study.
Fell shut the doors behind her, leaving Cat to face Governor Osprin alone.
Coward, she cursed, though she had little time for frustration. With another breath, she squared her shoulders and turned to face the ornate desk in the middle of the study.
It was aggressively organized, with sheafs of paper perfectly aligned.
They reminded Cat of soldiers in battle formation, waiting to charge.
Maps in one pile, letters and reports in another, again divided by some neat categorization.
It made it too easy to spot the one paper out of place—what looked like a half-written letter, still waiting for a seal and signature.
The sturdy wooden chair was without an occupant. Instead, Osprin stood at the window, silhouetted by the greenery outside.
Cat had only glimpsed Osprin during the executions, and his appearance in the streets had not disappointed.
An ornate coat, a bejeweled collar to mark his station, a powdered wig of gray and white curls.
Jeweled buckles on his shoes, pristine white stockings.
Jon Osprin was a duke’s son, raised in splendor across the sea.
He was every inch a lord of the Meridian Empire, as far from the men he hanged as the stars were from the sand.
She expected to face that same preening lord today.
But the man at the window was someone else entirely.
He wore no wig, his hair ash brown shot with spindles of silver.
It was pulled into a neat tail, the ends cut in a blunt, severe line.
His hands clasped behind his back, fingers laced together.
Cat eyed them sharply, noting scars and calluses not often seen on Meridian nobles.
He still wore fine clothes, his velvet coat a deep, cobalt blue to match the fleet, with gold filigree at the shoulder.
His breeches were ivory, and polished black boots replaced the jeweled shoes.
Cat thought of the checkered tile in the entrance hall, the black and white slabs beneath her feet. It looked like a game board, and Cat chose her next movements as carefully as a chess player.
But chess was never your game, Cat warned herself, even as she made her first move.
“Governor Osprin,” she said, dropping into the best curtsy she could muster. Her knee cracked, one of many testaments to the long years between herself and high society. And youth.
A corner of the governor’s cheek lifted, and he turned to face her with a smile, his eyes an unsettling black.
His skin was pale but sun damaged across his cheeks, and the lines on his forehead were deeply carved.
Too long frowning into the horizon, Cat thought, reading the years on the governor’s face.
The sea aged everyone, and she ventured him to be nearing fifty, young for a ruling lord, but old for a sailor.
He made for an odd sight, a noble with callused hands. Like a commodore in command of a fleet, not a lord hiding behind his polished desk. The rumors said he was an admiral before being appointed—but there were many jumped-up lords in the navy, highly ranked without skill.
Osprin did not seem to be one of them, and it sent a chill down her spine.
“Lady Rose,” he answered, giving no bow in return.
Cat dipped her chin.
She was long years from a governess, but Lady Rose knew to remain standing until invited to sit.
Holding her ground, she eyed the desk again, now close enough to recognize the nautical maps and charts.
All were of the Furies, the islands south of the Stills, where harsher storms and other kingdoms ruled beside the Meridian.
Esperin, Arcayo, empty keys and uncharted islands...
A gentleman would have waved her to a seat, but Osprin lingered by the window.
He reached into his coat to retrieve an ornate porcelain snuffbox on a gleaming chain.
Real sapphires and gold leaf winked in his hands as he flicked it open, absently sniffing a spoonful of black powder.
He took his time, letting Cat watch. Making her wait.
She did so in silence, using the seconds to study.
The box itself was worth more than most of the furniture in her house, judging by its intricacy and shine.
The lid was shaped into blue waves studded with sapphires, with the Meridian lion roaring up out of the miniature sea, its teeth little cuts of diamond.
Cat could not help coveting such a fine piece of craftwork, more valuable than any bauble in her collection.
The sapphires alone would have made a fine set of earrings.
Then it disappeared, shoved away into a pocket with a wet huff.
Jon Osprin was not only a governor and a lord but a man of immense wealth to carry an object of such value with so little care. Cat chewed the inside of her cheek. Warships and noble blood were deadly weapons, but there was no force in their world more powerful than cold, hard coin.
And Governor Opsrin had all three.
He still did not take a seat, to her chagrin. Instead, he prowled to the far side of the study, gesturing for Cat to follow with a single crook of his finger. Gritting her teeth, she obeyed, even if she felt like a whipped dog.
The great lord halted at a low table, its face set with such an array of precious stones.
It put the snuffbox to shame. Most of the surface was dark blue lapis, speckled with sapphire here and there, the chips catching the sunlight.
There was onyx too, forming shapes Cat could not immediately recognize.
The bright gold spots were more revealing.
It’s a map, she thought, seeing it again, the known world flattened across the tabletop.
The gold was the Meridian Empire, with Meridia at its center, the island nation bordered with brilliant rubies, and Brycam City marked by a flawless diamond. Osprin stared at it, silent, forcing her to stare with him and behold the full might of the Meridian.
Gold speckled the map. Colonies, crown holdings.
Port cities, fortresses, trade outposts.
They radiated out from the center like the rays of a blinding sun, spanning the width of the table.
North, south, east, west, the Meridian reached in every direction, all-consuming.
New Merid along northern shores, the conquered stretches of Imperial Harra far to the west. The Spice Islands were black and scratched, the gold chipped off, removed when the Empire lost the colony on the other side of the world.
And the Lyrian, the gold denoting the colonies a starry constellation against deepest blue.
Cat had seen maps of the greater world before, but not often and not recently. It was no use looking beyond the boundaries of the Lyrian Sea. She kept her eyes on what lay directly in front of her, ignoring the greater world and hoping it ignored them too.
How foolish I was.
“Magnificent, isn’t it?” Osprin muttered. His voice was gravel, worn out from shouting orders on some distant ship.
Cat nodded grimly, scanning the map again. This time she did not marvel at the jewels but trembled at the terrible picture they made.
The Lyrian Sea looked so small, and Archenport was not mapped at all, with no gem to mark its place. Her jaw clenched as one hand trailed along the chain of her pocket watch, trying to steady herself with the cold feel of golden links. It was little use.
To her relief, Osprin relented and turned his back to the map, retreating to his desk.
He took his seat, leveling his black-eyed stare at Cat’s face. He gestured once and she sank into the opposite chair, facing him over the desk. Meeting his gaze felt like staring into a hole.
“Your home is so beautiful,” she offered, looking up at the painted ceiling in a show of admiration. She widened her eyes, as if impressed by the room she had already seen countless times over. It was an easy mask to slip behind, the preening lady, even after so many years.
Osprin tipped his head.
“Do you remember what this place was, madam?”
Cat wanted to laugh but stilled her face.
She guessed the governor would not like to know much about the recent history of his home.
The Duchess commanded a brothel within your walls, and Abby All-Smiles used this very room for clients, she thought, remembering the long couch in the corner, and the many eager patrons lined up at the door.
And your grand ballroom was a gambling hall, filled with tobacco smoke and spilled wine.
Instead she shrugged, giving a large sigh.
“No, my lord, I do not remember it well,” she said sadly. “I was a guest of Lady Baltross and the former Lord Governor, but near ten years ago, before he was recalled by the King.”
And Baltross was a pompous old lord who could barely hold his piss, let alone govern the Lyrian Sea, she thought, careful to keep her face blank. It was no wonder the King stripped him of his office and sent him scurrying back across the waves, a cowering shepherd leaving the Lyrian to the wolves.