Chapter Twenty-Two Before #2
WHEN FIRST SHE made her crossing, Cat knew little of piracy, and only then what gossip and books could tell her. After six months on Rosby, she knew barely anything more. After one night on the Covenant, she ventured she had a stronger grasp at the very least.
Captain Morovant commanded the Seadragon, a vessel even larger than the Covenant, big enough to challenge even the men-o’-war of the fleet.
And Valerian Kane was his lieutenant, or first mate until very recently.
It was no wonder he was still sailing in tandem with his mentor, especially if this was his first hunt.
This rendezvous was certainly agreed upon already, to divide the spoils of the Venerable.
Or what was left of them.
Pressed up against the door, Cat waited tentatively for the first muffled sounds of conversation. Minutes passed, marked by a clock ticking valiantly in the corner. It was nearly broken, the seconds too long, but Cat tried to find comfort in it. It was either that or smash the thing for good.
Perhaps this is all a trick and Ana shoved me back in here as a joke, she thought. Certainly, they would meet on the grander ship. Certainly, Morovant would not come down to Valerian, but make Valerian come to him—
Beyond her cabin, a door hinge squeaked, and Cat inhaled sharply, holding her breath.
As if whoever arrived might hear her across the room on the other side of the door.
Both were men, muttering to each other in low voices.
And there was no mistaking either, despite the long months since Cat last heard Captain Morovant’s triumphant laughter.
Their footsteps echoed as they entered, Valerian’s light prowl soft in contrast to Morovant’s heavy tread.
Quietly, Cat sent a burst of gratitude towards Ana, wherever she was on the ship.
Morovant’s voice had a melody to it, audible even behind the door. There would be no mistaking his lilt for Valerian’s rougher tone.
“I suppose we’ll get the worst out of the way,” the older captain said, a clap resounding through the council chamber. “I see no prize anchored alongside the Covenant.”
“Let no one say Harry Morovant is unobservant,” Valerian muttered, sounding amused. He laughed alongside his mentor; the two sounded more like father and son than two pirate captains.
But for their sharply differing appearances, Cat might have assumed they were.
Steps continued thumping, the voices growing closer as they rounded the table. There was a creak as someone sat down in a chair, followed quickly by a thunk—like a boot on the tabletop.
Cat guessed that was Valerian, meaning Morovant still paced.
“Did you sink it?” the older captain said, his jovial tone dissipating.
Valerian drew a heavy breath. “Not intentionally.”
Someone’s hand slapped the table with the sharp ring of metal. Morovant’s jewelry.
“I told you, running up on another vessel at the edge of a storm—it’s dangerous, unpredictable. For you and the prize!” Morovant scolded, his adornments jingling. Cat imagined him shaking a finger in Valerian’s face. “No matter how keen a sailor you claim to be.”
“It was barely a thunderstorm—”
“Valerian.”
The melody was gone, Morovant’s voice turning lethal.
“If you worry about my ability to read the sea, you should not have made me captain of this ship,” Valerian answered tightly.
“It is not you I worry for! If it were you alone against a hurricane, it’s you I’d bet on.
I may not believe in the same things you do, but I believe in you, my boy.
” The floor creaked as Morovant resumed pacing, circling closer to Cat’s door.
“Alas it is not you alone on this ship. You have a solid crew, but we are all men. And men make mistakes.”
“I trust my crew,” Valerian answered evenly, a chord of something deeper in his voice.
“Men make mistakes,” Morovant said again, albeit more gently.
Valerian scoffed. “The captain of the Venerable certainly did. If he’d maintained his powder stores properly, all would have gone to plan, and I’d have quite the prize on my hands. Even Goa would have licked his lips at the spoils.”
“Well, the Lyrian claims the prize now.” Morovant sighed and Cat heard a cork popping free of a bottle, followed by the slosh of liquid into cups.
“May the sea always sing for you,” the older captain said, their glasses clinking.
“May the sea always sing for you,” Valerian echoed.
Silence fell between them. Cat supposed they sipped watered wine or ale, as it was not even noon. But then one could never tell with pirates. For all she knew, they could be gulping rum.
With a smack of his lips and the scrape of a chair across the floor, Morovant sat heavily, groaning the way old men did when they moved.
“What did you manage to salvage?” he said, more liquid sloshing into his cup. “You know Goa. The Prince of Merchants will find a buyer, no matter the product. Certainly you took something from the wreck.”
Low laughter spilled from Valerian Kane, the sound so deep Cat could almost feel the vibrations of it through the door.
Her skin crawled, what little warmth she had felt last night disappearing in an instant.
That’s all I am. Salvage, she thought, waiting for the captain to detail his meager prize of a destitute lord, his even more hopeless wife, and one snarling Meridian officer.
“Lady Rose?” Valerian’s voice called out, and Cat almost fell back in surprise. She bit her lip tightly and clapped a hand to her mouth, stifling any sound.
But it was no use. The laughter rang again.
“I assume you are listening at the door,” he said.
Cat could easily imagine his smirk. She did not want to give him the satisfaction of her presence, summoned like a whipped dog. But it would do her no good to remain behind the door, caged by her own choices and her own fear.
Steeling herself, she gently undid the latch.
“Captain Kane,” she said curtly.
She barely glanced at him as she stepped into the chamber, a single glimpse enough to get her bearings.
Valerian sat a few feet away at the corner of the long council table.
He certainly did not seem worse for a night of gambling and drinking—he was well used to such pursuits, Cat assumed.
Nor did he try to look presentable for Captain Morovant.
Like the rest of the crew, Kane was wet all over, having left a trail of watery footprints across the floor.
His sodden hair was pushed back from his face, most of it tucked behind his ears, but for one strand that had slipped free, dangling by his left eye in a way that made Cat’s heart skip.
He had a boot on the chair next to him, a wineglass held lightly in one hand.
The other twisted the chain around his neck, her prayer bead dancing on the golden thread. She saw it for the taunt it was.
Valerian Kane had taken from her already; nothing could stop him from taking again, if he so chose.
It made her shiver . . . and not entirely with fear. Though Cat could hardly admit it, even in the echoes of her mind.
Then her eyes fell on the other pirate, far older and more dangerous.
“Captain Morovant,” she murmured, her voice softened as she dipped into a curtsy.
At the head of the council table, Harry Morovant laughed too, his empty wineglass discarded.
The hat she remembered was on the table next to him, green to match his coat, the feathered plume drooping and wet.
His hair was the same, sopping black curls falling about his shoulders along with his furious beard.
With a glimmer of amusement, he drew a pipe from his velvet coat, the fabric set with an impressive line of silver buttons, bright as the jewels around his wrist and the many rings on his fingers.
His pipe was equally opulent, a masterwork of carved ivory and tortoiseshell.
If not for the circumstances and the wet clothing, he might have looked at home in the Meridian court.
But Captain Morovant was no preening courtier. The dagger at his hip, bejeweled but well-used, was testament to that.
“Lady Rose,” he repeated, as if turning her name over in his mind. His hands moved deftly, packing tobacco, though his black eyes never left her face. “I’ve seen you before.”
“On the Credence,” Cat offered, her voice slightly unsteady.
Morovant’s eyes danced. “It seems every ship you set foot on ends up captured.”
Cat clenched her teeth. “Or sunk.”
At that, the older captain grinned, standing to light his pipe from one of the oil lamps. He gripped the neck between his teeth as the tobacco burned. His eyes reflected the sparking embers, his gaze burning like hot coals.
“If I believed in superstition,” he said, blowing out a ring of smoke, “I’d tell Valerian to send you to the deep.”
Valerian drained his glass and noisily set it down, drawing Cat’s attention. He smirked up at her.
“I do believe in superstition, and I am still deciding,” he said, though there was no bite to his words.
Strange. Cat did not expect his familiarity, even after their battle of wits the previous night. But the presence of Captain Morovant did not make Valerian stiffer. On the contrary, he seemed more comfortable in the company of his superior.
Cat wondered if there were truly ranks of hierarchy among the pirates, as there were in the navy and Meridian society.
Perhaps not, she thought, glancing between them.
Dangerous as they were, neither seemed it now.
Morovant puffed on his pipe, pacing again.
He looked older than she remembered. Up close, she could see the first threads of gray in his black curls, the dark strands streaked like a night sky filled with lightning.
He had wrinkles around his eyes from squinting into the glare of the sun, and lines around his mouth.
From smiling, Cat realized with an odd jolt.