Chapter Twelve Before
CAT FELT LIKE a sack of grain, passed hand over hand and hauled over the side of the pirate vessel.
She fell to the deck like a sack of grain too, her balance thrown off by her bound wrists.
But her concern was elsewhere. Not on the ship, or even the pirates shuffling her along.
She focused on the tale rapidly taking shape in her head.
I’m Sara Cove, a maid to Lord and Lady Rose, both now drowned with the rest of the Venerable. I accompanied the family on the crossing from the Empire. I was born in Thresher, a town outside Brycam City...
It was an easy story to tell, a true one. And Sara did not need her own story anymore.
Fell would be a harder tale to twist. Though he had lost his coat and hat, his hair undone from its neat queue, there was no denying his status as a sailor in the imperial navy, not with such a tattoo on his arm.
Cat only hoped he had the sense to claim a lower rank and masquerade as a seaman who might be shown mercy.
Not like an officer, who the pirates would certainly kill on the spot, if they did not torture him first.
Cat winced as he was forced over the rail after her. Fell wore far more bindings, with rough rope tied around his ankles as well as his wrists. The pirates laughed when Fell collapsed on the deck, unable to stand. Wisely, he kept his mouth shut, lest they gag him. But his cheeks flushed.
Unsteady as she was, Cat tried to help Fell to his feet. Until someone grabbed the neck of her shift, holding her in place like a dog carrying a pup by the scruff.
Blinding rage filled Cat’s body, despite her predicament. Forgetting Fell, she fought to stand on shaky feet and rounded on the offending pirate.
Cat expected a rotten man like most sailors, skin mottled with sunburns and sores, grinning with a mouth of yellow teeth.
Instead, she found herself face to face with the woman from the longboat.
She was black-haired and bronze-skinned, with a hawklike nose and high cheekbones.
Her features were clearly of the south, from Itzima or Crownless Arcayo.
Swallowing around the lump in her throat, Cat tried to compose herself in the face of the unknown.
Then the pirate woman smiled. Her four front teeth gleamed silver, matching the hoops in her ears and the fine chain around her neck.
It made for a shocking—and intriguing—sight.
“Where are you going?” the pirate woman purred, tipping her head.
Indeed, her voice carried a distinct accent Cat had never heard before, rich-toned and almost melodic in rhythm.
She was shorter than Cat, with a curving body on full display in her shirt and breeches.
Despite her womanly form, there was no mistaking the danger of her.
She wore a pair of knives, the belts crisscrossing her hips.
Cat swallowed hard, trying to force down the hasty words already clawing up her throat.
She was not successful.
“Will you at least let the man stand on his own two feet before you kill him?” Cat snarled into the pirate’s face.
The woman did not flinch, but her dark gaze flared, her expression changing from shock to interest. Her black eyes flicked between Cat and Fell, tracing a line between them. Then she loosened her grip, dropping her hold on Cat’s collar.
“I thought Meridian wives despised their husbands,” she said with half a grin.
Huffing, Cat righted her nightshift, adjusting the thin, wet fabric so it did not cling so tightly to her figure. She crossed her arms over her chest, shamefully aware of what a sight she must seem.
“I am no wife,” Cat answered, glad to have shed her wedding ring in the water. “I am a maid.”
The woman tipped her head, still wearing her smile. But it did not reach her eyes. She took a step, then another, boots hard on the deck. Cat swallowed again, feeling like prey. The pirate woman certainly acted like a predator, circling them both with her silver smile.
“You do not speak like a servant,” she replied, gesturing between Cat and Fell. “And he does not look like a lord.”
Cat tried to slump and look small, her spine bowing under the imagined weight of servitude.
“My lord and lady are dead, drowned with the rest of the crew,” she said, sticking to the story. It felt like the right decision.
But only for a moment.
Heads turned across the deck, a sea of squinting eyes snapping to face her. Tanned and battle-honed pirates growled amongst themselves, their anger and frustration on full display. A tangle of rough voices and shifting accents hissed.
“Not even a crown-licking fool to ransom,” a red-faced man barked, his tattooed hand slapping against the rail of the ship.
Another, his skin the same bronze as Cat’s dripping curls, jeered in reply, cursing in a language Cat did not know. But his frustration was easy to decipher. She winced as they shouted back and forth, arguing.
Probably about whether to throw me overboard, Cat thought, shivering.
Fell glared up from the ground, pure venom in his gaze. Cat almost expected him to hiss. He wisely did not, sparing her a single, fleeting glance. But long enough to see his fear.
The black-haired woman continued to circle, intrigued. With a jolt, Cat wondered if she was the captain of the vessel, though Cat did not know if a woman could do such things.
I did not know a woman could even be a pirate until a few minutes ago, she mused, trying to hold the mask of a servant.
Her shoulders hunched and she turned into her hair, as if the wet curls might hide her a little better. Slowly, Cat pulled her fingers into her sleeves, hoping to hide soft hands that had never known blistering work.
The woman came closer. “Your lord and lady are dead?”
Behind her, the crew seemed to press in, a wall of hungry eyes and bared teeth, their scars and tattoos telling similar tales. Of hardship, of violence, of greed.
I have known hardship too, Cat thought, remembering the island and Ryman and what it was to live in a cage. A cage I foolishly chose.
The anger flamed enough to keep her warm.
Cat met the woman’s eye.
“Like I said, Lord Rose is dead. Lady Rose is—”
Something shimmered, catching the sun over the woman’s shoulder, and Cat’s voice died in her throat.
Another face appeared over the rail, the last member of the pirate crew to climb back on deck.
He hauled himself up with powerful grace to stand amongst the crew, his smile wide and crooked, a single incisor gleaming gold.
Stubbled cheeks had given over to a short beard.
His hair was darker than she remembered, wet from the sea, his shirt and breeches soaked through.
The man did not blink as he stalked forwards, the crew shifting apart to let him pass.
He padded on bare feet, and Cat thought of the lion at the prow of his ship, the Lion of the Meridian.
Deadly, powerful, golden, filled with the calm knowledge of his superiority.
King of the jungle.
No, he is not a lion, Cat remembered. As he closed the distance between them, his eyes caught the sun, the blue-gray-green of them flashing dark and deadly.
He is a storm.
A tempest.
He halted side by side with the she-pirate, an amused look on his tanned face.
Valerian Kane.
For the second time in his presence, Cat thought about diving into the water and testing her luck against the Lyrian Sea.
His eyes trailed, running her over, his gaze heavy as roving hands.
“I would not recommend that course of action,” he said, repeating words spoken six months ago on a different ship under similar circumstances.
This time, Cat did not bother denying her thoughts. There was no use to it. Valerian seemed to read her with such ease. And no other words came to her, not even to beg. But her shoulders squared, her spine drawing up tall.
There was no use playing the maid anymore.
Valerian tipped his head to the side, inspecting her.
The white shift left little to the imagination and Cat’s skin prickled beneath the thin cotton.
His eyes seemed to leave a trail, just like the seawater rolling down her body to pool at her feet.
A smirk spread across his lips, but the pirate said nothing.
Not her name, not her station. Cat braced, waiting for the blow of both.
But silence stretched, both excruciating and encouraging. In spite of her predicament, Cat dared to hope.
He has forgotten my name.
Sharpness twinged, and Cat realized she was biting down on her lip, near enough to draw blood again. She loosed her teeth, forcing a shaky breath, her chest rising and falling beneath the shift.
She held his gaze, letting all her hope well up in her eyes. It felt like dancing naked in front of him, and somehow so much worse. Valerian only stared back, his gaze unreadable but impossible to look away from.
Please forget my name.
Then Valerian’s smirk turned into a predator’s smile.
“Your fortunes have changed since last we met,” he said, dipping into a mocking bow. “Lady Rose.”
Cat’s eyes fluttered shut as a wave of noise broke over her. The crew cheered, their despair shifting to excitement.
On the ground, Fell’s face dropped in defeat.
Cat expected to feel the same. But surrender would not come. Instead, she snapped her eyes open, her glare fixed on Valerian Kane. Without thinking, she took a step forwards, towards him and the terrifying crew. Somehow his smirk made her bolder, angrier. And ready to fight.
“I will treat with your captain,” she snapped, trying to sound strong. She thought of Captain Quine and his stern, self-assured manner.
For all the good it did him.
She expected the pirate with the green coat to emerge, sweeping forwards with a flourish. Morovant, Cat remembered, the name echoing in her head. He was charming and dangerous, but ultimately fair, leaving the Credence to sail on, lighter a little cargo.
To her dismay, a chuckle ran through the crew, the she-pirate laughing loudest. And Valerian not at all.
Her stomach turned, her eyes raking the deck again.
This is not the same ship.