Chapter Thirteen After
STORM SEASON APPROACHED, and the constant threat of hurricane hung over the Fledge. Cat was no sailor, but she squinted at every band of clouds and suspected every change of the wind as they sailed south. She knew the look of an angry sea. And knew to fear it.
But above all, she feared a certain black flag on the horizon, one she remembered too intimately. It beckoned every time she closed her eyes.
The white skull with a golden tooth, and red roses beneath, intertwined with crossed bones.
But storms and flags lay silent, Cat’s fears dormant if not forgotten.
The Fledge left the calm waters of the Stills for the sharper currents of the Furies.
Flat, sandy islands filled with marsh and scrubland became jagged, green mountains, their ridges like spines poking up out of the sea.
The Furies were named for crueler winds and harsher storms, and for the islands themselves.
Most were dead or dying volcanos, their heights wreathed in mist or smoke.
Once their waters raged, not just with weather, but war.
Cat remembered that too, the long conflict between Esperin and the Meridian Empire.
Fought on both sides of the ocean, across country fields and island shallows, through old cities of the Continent and new harbors.
With saber and pistol, gunpowder and cannon, fleet and cavalry. And blood. So much blood.
But those years were over, the truce finally made.
And all the Lyrian would pay the price of such a peace.
We are already paying, Cat thought, watching as the island of Prospera came into view.
Aptly named, Prospera was the jewel of the Esperese colonies, with rich soil for planting and vast fields of sugarcane. Its capital, Alvaris, was a lynchpin of trade between Esperin and the world. And a key way station in the transport of gold and silver from their mines on the Southern Continent.
Many a treasure fleet passed through Alvaris harbor, armored beyond comprehension, too strong for any warship, navy, or pirate.
She turned over her shoulder, away from the prow of the Fledge to face the stern. Captain Fell stood on the quarterdeck, with his helmsman and Lieutenant Whisten alongside. Even from a distance, Cat could see the scowl on Fell’s face.
Approach with caution, she told herself, ascending to the bridge.
“Gentlemen,” she offered, inclining her head to Fell’s men.
Whisten replied with a sour look and the helmsman averted his eyes entirely, focusing on their course into port. Most of Fell’s crew acted in similar fashion, avoiding Lady Rose whenever they could. It was no mystery as to why.
They know not to trust me, Cat thought, keeping her face calm and serene.
They are correct.
“I must voice my opposition one last time, Captain,” Whisten growled, turning on his heel to show Cat his back.
Fell gave him a withering look. “Your opinion has already been noted, Lieutenant.”
Despite Whisten’s rude stance, Cat did not miss the curl of his lip as he frowned. But he would not argue. Instead, he saluted sharply, obeying his commanding officer.
“Aye, sir,” he barked, turning to leave. Though he was sure to snarl in Cat’s face as he departed, his stinking breath washing over her.
“Traitorous whore.”
Years ago, the insult would have stung. Now Cat barely felt it. Traitor to whom? she wanted to ask, but bit back the instinct to infuriate an already furious officer.
Everyone, she knew. I am a traitor to everyone. Everyone but myself.
Cat watched Whisten go, retreating down the gangway to the main deck. He grumbled the entire way, and even kicked a bucket in frustration, spilling water across the timbers. Sailors scattered from his path, avoiding his wrath.
Cat could not help but smirk. Men are so emotional.
Captain Fell was no exception. She turned to find him not angry, but embarrassed. His face was paler than before, a muscle working in his jaw. Mr. Daylor, the helmsman, continued his work, still refusing to acknowledge Cat’s presence.
With a twitch of his hand, Fell beckoned, and she obliged, following him to the rear of the quarterdeck. They overlooked the stern of the Fledge, the grand standard of the Meridian Empire flowing over their heads. The Lion gleamed golden against a blue sky and even bluer waters.
Fell glared out to sea, his silver eyes like mercury. “My apologies for Lieutenant Whisten—”
“Don’t bother.” She rolled her eyes. “Besides, he is hardly the only member of your crew to think such things of me.”
The muscle feathered in Fell’s jaw again.
Cat could not help but lower her voice, leaning into him. She shaded her eyes against the brilliant sun, fixing him with a keen stare of her own.
“Don’t act like you haven’t thought it yourself,” she murmured, her mouth curving into a half smile.
Fell’s cheeks flushed, but he did not try to deny it.
“Very well,” he grumbled.
“Besides, if we’re to measure whores, I’d say you qualify far more than I ever did,” Cat added as his blush spread.
He sputtered, taken off guard. “I beg your pardon?”
“You may not work in a brothel, but you sell your love same as whores do. Just not for coin,” she said, tapping the spot on his chest that usually bore medals and honors. “No one gives me medals for my smiles and good nature,” she added, her grin too wide.
Fell shrugged her off and straightened his plain merchant’s jacket, looking sore. She didn’t know which was more insulting to him—being called a whore or posing as a civilian captain.
“You don’t have a good nature,” he snapped back.
Cat laughed openly, turning to face the ship’s wake.
“I did once,” she muttered, her voice nearly lost with the wind. “I am glad to be rid of it.”
She felt his eyes on her face too sharply.
“I remember the girl you used to be,” he said, his voice trailing away.
“Of course you do,” Cat replied, matter-of-fact. “You were there to watch her die.”
Even now, she could still feel the kick of the recoil, the flash and acrid burn of gunpowder. The weight of a pistol in her hand—the same pistol that sat at Fell’s hip now. It looked exactly as it had that day, almost ten years ago. Fell was so precious with his things.
She expected him to scold her for such dramatics. Instead, he leaned forwards on his elbows, bracing himself against the taffrail, leaving spare inches between them.
He removed his hat, a few locks of hair falling across his forehead. The scar through his left eyebrow glinted white. Not for the first time in so many years, Cat wished the scar was worse, marring his handsome face as he deserved.
No, she thought. He deserved to die with Quine and the rest of the Venerable crew, his bones left to reef-growing off Pearl Key.
“I do not like this plan, Cat,” he whispered.
“You do not like Prospera, or Esperin. And I do not blame you,” she muttered back. “But I need information, and we must try to find it.”
And find her, Cat reminded herself, thinking words she could not say aloud.
Fell gave a grim nod, still refusing to look at the steadily approaching city.
“Well, where do you propose we start?” he said. “Alvaris is a proper city, and while I trust your ability to weasel your way through the worst of circumstances, even you have no advantage here.”
“Thank you for your confidence,” she clipped.
“The Esperese fleet patrols different parts of the Lyrian Sea. If the Meridian navy is losing ships to Kane, he may be preying on the Esperese navy too,” she said.
“If they have reports of missing ships or pirate movements, we can at least collect more pieces of this puzzle.”
Over her shoulder, the port of Alvaris loomed.
The harbor was a maw of teeming ships, both merchant and navy, civilian and fleet.
She scanned the hulking silhouettes, looking for the floating fortress of a treasure galleon.
To her relief, there were none in port. But the ivory flag emblazoned with the green cross flapped from many masts, and a ridiculously large flag flew at the mouth of the port.
There was no mistaking Alvaris for anything but a monument to the King of Esperin.
Still, Cat looked for a stone arch in the water, or sparse ruins in the jungle, remnants of what was. Of the peoples who came before and were swept away by bloody hands.
Fell finally turned from the stern to face the city with her.
“And how do you propose a merchant captain and his crew approach the commanding officer of Alvaris?” he said bitterly, eyeing an Esperese warship as it glided out to sea.
Cat gave him a smirk. “Don’t tell me you left Archenport behind without something to mark you as a Meridian captain? You are allies now, are you not?”
“Besides this, you mean?” Fell huffed, rolling up the sleeve of his coat and undershirt.
His forearm, tanned and muscled from years at sea, bore the usual tattoo of a sailor. The Meridian lion, with an anchor and sun in its paws. Most men of the imperial navy had it.
Most lowborn men, Cat reminded herself.
“It is not often you see an officer with such . . . decoration,” she said.
Fell hissed, pushing his sleeves back into place. “Less often than you see a lady with it. Don’t look so smug, Lady Rose, we both know I’m not the only one bearing ink.”
Cat’s smirk dropped, and Fell smiled, triumphant.
“Not to worry, I also have my orders and a writ of passage,” he added, reaching into his coat, producing a sheaf of parchment sealed with familiar blue wax.
Osprin’s symbol. Cat could only nod mutely, remembering her writ of execution, with the same signature and seal.
She still felt the rope around her throat.
Not tight, not strangling, but always present, never fading.
Beyond the prow, the Alvaris breakwater came into view, a stone wall against the waves. Lighthouses marked each end, one of them beside a ridiculously gigantic flag of Esperin. White foamed against the north face of the break with calm waters on the other side, the harbor like a still pond.
A pond filled with sharks, Cat thought, eyeing too many sails and flags to count.