Chapter Twenty Before #3
Then Kane gestured for Cat to do the same, his palm raised and open. Like the rest of him, the flesh was callused and scarred by the harshness of the sea. Cat could not help but remember the brush of her fingers on his, the rough skin warm and real.
Steady as she could, Cat stood up from her stool, weathering the gentle rock of the ship.
“Now off with you, Lady Rose,” the captain ordered. “Take your winnings and go.”
Winnings. Her eyes widened, looking from Kane to the tabletop. The pile was nothing to sneer at, her silver coins and hard-won treasures gleaming. Without question, she dragged an arm across the table, sweeping everything into her skirt. She would take inventory later.
“I still need a light,” she said, her free hand gripping the lamp that sent her out on deck in the first place.
She almost expected Kane to grumble. But he obliged with another wave, gesturing for her to follow.
He set a quick pace, giving her no time to argue as he turned for the quarterdeck, and her cabin.
The crew scuttled away into the darkness of the ship, disappearing to their bunks or other pursuits with only a few errant whispers.
Cat shook off thoughts of them all, too focused on keeping the coins tied up in her skirts as she hurried to catch up.
With the game behind her, the rush of energy quickly faded.
She dreamed of the little bunk as much as the maps she wanted to study.
All together, her exhaustion and her determination were enough distraction.
She barely noticed the path as she followed Kane into the council chamber, his own lantern held aloft.
Only a few hours ago the same way filled her with dread.
Now she just wanted to hurry into the cabin and shut the door in his face.
He seemed to feel the same, reaching for the door to her borrowed quarters without so much as a backwards glance.
The lantern light fell on his forearm, illuminating the strange dots of a stranger tattoo. And Cat could not help herself.
“What constellation is that?” she said. If not for her full hands, she might have reached out to touch the inked stars. “Or should we return to the table so I can win the right to ask another question of my captor?”
Kane froze at the door, fingers on the latch. A muscle ticked in his cheek. Pirate though he was, he obviously did not like being reminded of certain crimes.
“I’m not your captor, Lady Rose,” he ground out.
“But I am a captive. A prisoner,” she said archly. “You said so yourself.”
When he rounded on her, a look of frustration on his face, Cat only raised her dark lamp still in need of a flame. Now he did grumble and used his lantern to light the wick of her oil lamp. Another flame glowed to life, circling the two of them in a bubble of golden warmth.
“It isn’t a constellation,” he said, watching the flicker. His eyes caught the light, seeming to glow. Then he drew back, turning his arm over to hold the inked skin to the light. “It is a collection of islands. Holy places in the Lyrian Sea.”
Cat eyed the markings, trying to memorize the seemingly random pattern.
On closer inspection, she realized they were not dots but tiny diamonds, black as oil against tanned and freckled skin.
She suddenly wanted to run a finger over them, tracing the invisible paths between each.
She told herself it was only the rum talking, though she had only consumed a mouthful when Brimley wasn’t looking.
“Holy to whom?” she wondered aloud.
Captain Kane recoiled sharply, dropping his arm as if burned by her scrutiny. He turned into the shadows, the lantern casting odd shapes on the wall. It made his face impossible to read, his silhouette shifting and changing.
“No gods of yours,” he said, unlatching the door.
Weak light spilled across the floor of his quarters and Cat winced, remembering the absolute wreck of a room left behind.
His papers, his maps, and his books were still splayed out where she had left them, in piles she understood but would seem chaotic to anyone else.
Even shadowed, Cat could see the look of consternation on Kane’s face, his lips opening and closing like a fish on the shore.
The lanterns turned his eyes to molten gold, chasing away all remnants of storm green. It was like looking into the heart of a forge, into the sun itself.
“I asked you to put my things back where you found them, Cat,” he growled.
His voice was enough to make her knees tremble, low and rough, the kind used to give commands on deck, in storm or battle.
She could easily imagine such a voice calling for a round of cannon fire or sentencing a man to die.
And yet it was all undone by the last word, said with equal ferocity, but none of the fury.
Her true name.
Cat.
Her heart thundered in her chest. She pushed past him, squeezing between man and doorway. It was terrifying and thrilling in equal measure, her shoulder brushing the hard lines of his chest. He felt solid as a plank of wood, smooth as the planes of the ship itself.
She glanced up at him, inches away, his eyes hot. “I will when I’m finished with your things, Valerian,” she replied, latching the door in his face.