Chapter Twenty-Two Before
CAT AWOKE TO the sound of rain and swam slowly from the depths of sleep.
She stretched beneath the blankets, eyes lidded, the world a blur as she roused.
Her hands swept over soft blankets, the smell unfamiliar but not unpleasant.
Dimly, she wondered if Moseley used a new soap for the washing.
Something heavier, with a tinge of smoke and underlying sweetness.
Whatever it was, she enjoyed it, turning to press her face into a pillow.
Cat savored the minutes alone, glad that Ryman kept his own bedchamber and never lingered until morning.
Even so, Moseley and Sara would be along soon enough to pull her from the grasp of a warm bed and fleeting dreams.
Cat’s stretching hands brushed wood instead of the other side of a mattress, her palm hitting the gentle curve of a wall that should not be. And the bed itself rocked beneath her, gentle but ever swaying, as if she were a babe in the cradle.
This was not Rosby.
Her eyes shot open to find a ceiling that was not her own, in a cabin she did not recognize.
She sat up to face the wall of windows, the gray light of a gray day spilling between thin curtains. Beyond, heavy sheets of rain drew across the horizon like a shroud. But not enough to hide that she was on a ship, and quite literally at sea.
The events of the previous day came rushing back in a terrible wave and Cat curled her hands, squeezing the blankets around her body to anchor herself against the onslaught.
The wreck of the Venerable, Lieutenant Fell and Ryman in chains.
And she a prisoner, no matter how long a leash Captain Kane gave her.
Cat forced down a steadying breath and surveyed the cabin.
Valerian Kane’s maps and papers lay like a rug across the floor, weighted down by anchoring books and trinkets. Her eyes narrowed, tracing the lay of the Lyrian Sea. And what answers she searched for, both within and beyond her grasp.
Beneath the blankets, her toes curled, and she tried not to think about her body tucked between the sheets of a pirate captain’s bunk. It certainly made it easier to sweep the blankets away and leave the surprisingly comfortable bed, her borrowed nightgown brushing the tops of her knees.
She went to the window first, squinting at the rain.
The clouds hung low and oppressive but not angry like the storm before.
This was just a passing rain, dumping buckets of water and little else.
No lightning to split the mast, no furious winds to blow them over.
Cat sent a small prayer of thanks to whatever god would listen, though she doubted they truly existed anymore.
Her hand curled, wishing for a prayer bead. But hers were gone, smashed or . . .
Or hanging on a chain around Valerian’s neck.
Cat refused to think much of it. He was a pirate, and pirates took trophies. She only wondered what he might take from her this time, if she could not figure out a way to pay his ridiculous ransom demands.
Perhaps he’ll take Ryman’s head, she mused, though she hardly dared to hope.
Outside, the gentle waves rippled with the pouring rain. It reminded Cat of the little ponds in the Meridian countryside, where rain was plentiful, leaving green hills in its wake. Then the wind shifted, and a gap in the relentless downpour appeared a hundred yards away.
“We’re anchored,” Cat said aloud, surprised to see the distant white line of a beach and the soft swell of a hill above it.
Indeed, they were no longer sailing through the Lyrian Sea to gods knew where.
The Covenant had reached its destination.
“Drowning Key,” she murmured.
Quickly, she donned her clothes from the previous evening.
The rain put a chill in the air and she was grateful to replace her nightgown with more layers.
In the daylight, with her wits about her, she did her best to appear less bedraggled.
She belted the skirts over a white shirt and laced her boots, trying to make the borrowed garments fit better around her curves.
Her hair was another story, the bronze curls even more frizzy from a night of rough sleep.
Cat tried to card through them with her fingers, but to no avail, the knots untamable.
She chewed her lip and eyed the captain’s chest of drawers, weighing the consequences of searching through his personal effects.
The maps were one thing, but this felt like another.
Would he be angry? Would she seem improper?
I fear Meridian propriety has gone out the window, she thought, wrenching open the top drawer.
She hardly knew what to expect in a pirate captain’s belongings but was still surprised by the organized array of bits and bobs. Not to mention the odd treasures amongst them.
Loose pearls with a milky shine. A single gold button studded with rubies.
A horn inlaid snuffbox engraved with the name of a man Cat assumed was long dead.
A comb hewn of real ivory. Coins from every crown, odd seashells with pearlescent whorls, a few scarves with faded patterns, leather cord and ribbon to tie back his hair.
Her fingers trailed the length of one tie, the worn leather soft to the touch.
She tried not to think of it winding tight around a brace of salt-waved, golden hair.
Blushing, she seized the ivory comb and shoved the drawer shut, only to hesitate one more time. A few blond hairs clung to the teeth, catching the light like spun gold.
I’ve already slept in his bed, she scolded herself and dragged the comb through her tangled locks before she could lose her nerve.
It tamed the length enough to braid a crown around her head.
She tucked the ends back into the braid, doing her best without hair pins. Hardly perfect, but suitable enough.
Still, she despaired of herself in the tarnished mirror. Her eyes were ringed with shadows, her skin dull, her hair a desperate braid. But there was little else to be done. Cat had no rouge or powder to aid her appearance. She would wear her freckles and nothing else.
In the time it took her to dress, the rain had thinned, revealing more of Drowning Key.
It was barely a beach and a huddled green hill, waves foaming up on the shore.
An abandoned dock stuck out into the sea, black and broken, unusable to any ships.
Half of it was submerged, water ebbing over rotting planks.
No wonder they call it Drowning Key, she thought, hustling from the cabin and through the council room beyond.
Cat could not help but feel a little excited, though she had no idea what the day or Drowning Key held for her. Somehow, regardless of everything, waking up in the captain’s cabin of the Covenant felt better than waking up on Rosby.
Sounds of the crew on deck filtered through the room, along with the pattering rain. Cat shoved open the door to the main deck—just to be shoved back inside by a woman’s arm.
“Good morning, Ana,” Cat said, straightening herself. Being polite was easier than being flustered. “I was hoping to get some air.”
Ana stared back at her with an incredulous look, her curly black hair slick and wet, the rest of her soaked through as if she had gone swimming in her clothes.
“Perhaps wait for the weather to clear,” she said haltingly, as if the other woman had lost her senses. Then she flapped a brown hand, indicating for Cat to turn around. “Besides, you’ll hear more from the captain’s cabin than you will from the deck.”
Cat tipped her head, peering around Ana’s body through the doorway.
Rainwater puddled over the threshold as crew hurried about, shouting to each other in the varying languages of the Lyrian Sea.
Cat saw Garedo and Cavallid among them, as well as Brimley moving at a much slower pace.
She supposed he was still worse for wear after his night of heavy drinking.
But there was no shock of gold in the gray, no long-limbed captain prowling amongst his crew with a glinting smirk.
“Hear what?” she said, returning her attention to Ana.
The pirate woman only grinned and gave Cat another push. “Just go. You’ll thank me later, Kitten.”
Though Ana was shorter, she was far stronger and sent Cat scuttling backwards. The Meridian lady knew better than to fight the Seawolf. Anyway, she was more intrigued than insulted as she went back to her cabin cell.
“Why are you telling me this?” she asked, pausing at her door.
“Because I’ve never met a lady before, but something tells me you are strange for your kind,” Ana answered with a shrug. “And I like strange things.”
“I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment.” Cat sniffed, followed by a resounding burst of laughter soon muffled by a slamming door.
Cat mirrored Ana, scurrying back into her cabin and latching the door behind her.
She went to the windows first, hoping for some clue as to what was going on.
But the view had not changed, the rain still hissing over the gentle waves in the shallows.
Frustrated, she managed to shoulder open the smallest window on the starboard side of the gallery and poked her head out.
Rain spattered her face, but she barely felt it, too numb to move.
There was another ship drawn up alongside the Covenant.
Bigger, grander, more ferocious in every way.
Painted golden script, painstakingly maintained, read Seadragon below the ornate taffrail, itself carved in the image of a ferocious beast with gilded jaws.
The black flag hung heavy from the stern staff, the ensign big as a sail, unmistakable.
The white skull leered on jet black, a smiling mouth with a red arrow in its teeth.
Cat narrowed her eyes against the rain, her breath catching in her throat.
I’ve seen this ship before.
“Morovant,” she murmured.
* * *