Chapter Eight Before #2
“Thank you, sir,” the officer replied. “But we have orders to sail for Longdawn with all haste.”
A shadow crossed Quine’s face and his eyes narrowed in confusion. “Longdawn?”
Cat tried to picture the map of the Lyrian, imagining Longdawn through the scattered archipelago. It was the southernmost colony in the Lyrian Sea, the farthest outpost for the Meridian navy. Home to a fleet of ships left to patrol the far reaches of the colonies.
Quine broke the seal of the folded page with a swift slice of his finger.
Even from a distance, Cat could see the letters were hastily scrawled, written by a shaking hand. Worse still was Quine’s paling face, and Lieutenant Fell frowning next to him.
Of course, it was Ryman who bullied his way in to face Quine head on.
“What is it, Captain?” he demanded, oblivious to the porridge at the corner of his mouth.
The captain stared back, his face a combination of fury and bewilderment.
For a moment, Cat thought Quine might strike her husband for his impertinence.
She suddenly wished he would. But the captain held his temper.
Instead, he passed the parchment to Fell at his side.
The lieutenant took it quickly, reading the letter for himself before looking up to face the assembled crew.
His steel eyes found Cat amongst the crowd.
“Captain Kent brings us word from the Continent,” he said, his voice echoing down the deck. “Allisport has been attacked by the Esperese navy. The city is in ruins.”
A gasp ran through the crew, from the highest officers to the cabin boy swabbing the rail. Ryman turned pale again, and Cat thought he might be sick over the side. For once, she could not blame him. Her stomach twisted, a wave of nausea washing over her. Even she knew what this meant.
Allisport was a naval stronghold on the Meridian coast, one of the great shipbuilding centers of the Empire, and a well-known anchorage for the fleet.
The Royal Naval College was only a few miles down the coast and most officers aboard the Venerable passed through Allisport during one commission or another.
Some might have families there, she thought, searching their faces. Most were white like Quine, ghosts in uniform. This was a terrible blow to the Meridian navy, and the Empire herself.
“So you sail for Longdawn,” the captain said slowly. “And then the Continent. Back to Meridia.”
The Paladin officer bowed. “Those are our orders, sir. They may be yours soon.”
A chill ran through Cat despite the tropical heat.
“Any other news?” But Quine’s eyes swept out to the waves, his mind clearly across the ocean, in a burning city Cat had never seen.
The officer shook his head. “Little of note. We spotted a black flag two days ago, on the horizon, but heading south into the Furies.”
Cat saw it again in her head, a white skull with a red arrow in its teeth. The monstrous ship that waylaid the Credence, the captain with his green coat. And Valerian Kane, his eyes the same color as a storm.
“Pirates are hardly my concern now,” Quine muttered. “Give my regards to Kent. Good hunting to you all.”
“Sir,” the Paladin officer replied, bowing once more.
Quine replied with a stiff salute.
“For Crown and Empire,” he said.
The crew echoed Quine, a hushed roar from every mouth.
Even Cat’s.
“For Crown and Empire.”
* * *
THE OFFICER FROM the Paladin did not depart at once but idled, allowing the men of the Venerable time to gather their letters.
Whatever correspondence they had bound for the Continent was collected and handed over to be sent to Meridia with the Paladin, instead of an Archenport mail ship in a week’s time.
Some men emptied weeks’ worth of letters to their sweethearts and wives and children.
A few dropped to the deck, scrawling out notes as fast as they could, sharing ink and parchment.
One or two narrated to a hasty scribe, unable to write for themselves.
Cat watched the flurry, with Ryman clinging to her side like a blister.
He still had porridge on his face.
“What a desperate sight,” he muttered, disgusted. “We will be in Archenport in a week’s time; they can send their letters then. This is slowing us down.”
Cat let her husband’s callous comment pass without reply—only for another voice to answer.
“This is the Lyrian Sea, my lord,” Lieutenant Fell said, his hat shading his face. Still, his eyes gleamed. “We do not deny the men any opportunity they have to write home. It may be their last.”
His smirking look was gone, his jaw hard. Cat could see his concern for the ship and its men written plainly on his face, his entire demeanor sobered by the news from the Paladin.
Ryman was not so observant. He glared at Fell, a snide remark clear on his lips.
“Of course, Lieutenant,” Cat said quickly, cutting her husband off before he could destroy what remained of his dignity. She took him by the hand, though she shivered at the brush of his clammy skin. “We would never begrudge your men such a comfort, and certainly not while they defend us in war.”
Lord Rose was less than pleased. He shrugged out of her grasp, frowning.
“You are as soft-hearted as my wife,” he sneered at Fell, stomping away.
His steps echoed, heavy against the deck. Cat waited until he was safely below before exhaling a long breath.
“My apologies,” she said, her voice too sharp for contrition. “My husband is—”
“A complete fool?” Fell offered.
Cat caged a laugh and turned into the sun to hide her smile. She leaned over the rail, bracing her elbows against the wood. Waves broke on the hull beneath her, sending up a cooling spray.
“I was going to say tired,” she murmured as Fell joined her.
“You are kinder than I am, Lady Rose.”
The lieutenant did not lean, standing straight as a saber. But he removed his hat, one hand smoothing back a few strands of black hair. Without the tricorne, his expression was easier to read. There was sternness to him, but anger too.
“Will this be the end of it?” Cat ventured. She could not help but think of the navy, the fleet, the many thousands of sailors and officers, countless ships. Either burned in Allisport harbor or pointed towards it, sailing back to home waters.
Fell raised an eyebrow. “The end of what?”
“The war,” she said. “Esperin has certainly crippled the navy.”
“That remains to be seen,” the lieutenant answered neatly. “Though I doubt it. The Empire may be wounded, but she is far from dead. A lion does not surrender at first injury.”
Hardly the first, Cat wanted to say but held her tongue.
The war with Esperin had been dragging on for years, with blows struck on both sides.
Before they came to the Lyrian, Ryman used to rant over sea battles in the Strait or infantry clashes on the Esperese plain.
It sounded more like points scored back and forth in a game, the risk simply a few coins on the table, and not many thousands of lives.
But after six months in isolation on Rosby, she had nearly forgotten the Meridian was at war. And these men her warriors, so far away from home. She eyed the deck again and the many sailors with their desperate letters.
“I’m sorry about Allisport,” she said to Fell. “Do you have family there?”
Fell seemed to harden before her eyes, his brow furrowing as he donned his hat again. His face fell into shadow.
“No,” he answered curtly, stepping backwards. “Lady Rose.”
Cat wanted to slap herself for her impropriety. She wrung her hands together to keep herself from reaching out. After all, Lieutenant Fell was the nearest thing to a friend she had on the ship. And she seemed to have scared him off.
“I did not mean to pry—” she began, but he quieted her with a pointed glance.
“Lady Rose,” he said again, bowing his head.
Cat relented with a flush, dipping into a curtsy. “Lieutenant Fell.”
She expected him to be gone when she straightened, but the officer lingered a moment longer.
“Sleep early,” he said stiffly. “We are due storms before dawn.”
Cat could only nod, her stomach already rolling in anticipation.
“I will do my best.”