Chapter Twenty-Four Before #3
He held court in the central corner of the tavern, his back to the wall, his green coat the brightest thing in the room.
His plumed hat was gone, revealing lush, black curls streaked with errant threads of silver.
Drops of wine glimmered in his beard, and he drank deeply, laughing at the man across the table from him, who had his own back to the room, his face obscured.
Even so, Cat knew him by the broadness of his shoulders and the ease of his long legs, ankles crossed on the tabletop.
Tonight Valerian did not bother with a coat, but mercifully wore a shirt again, his sleeves rolled to the elbows.
His golden head caught the candlelight, blond waves curling around his ears and over his collarbone.
One arm dangled, a hand clutching a tiny glass barely bigger than a thimble, like something a child might drink from.
As she watched, he motioned for a bottle, and one of his companions passed over a glazed clay jug.
He pulled the cork with his teeth and poured, an amber liquid sloshing out to fill the little cup.
Tossing his head back, Valerian downed the liquor in a single swallow, to the delight of the men around the table, Morovant most of all.
Ana chuckled, saying something Arcayan under her breath.
“What?” Cat muttered, her grasp of languages poor at best.
“The captain is in a good mood,” Ana explained, then dropped her hand, leaving Cat free to move as she wished.
The hot, smoky air made her head light, but Cat remained still, eyes fixed on the back of Valerian’s head.
“How can you tell?”
The golden light made Ana’s skin and eyes glow, like something out of a dream.
“He’s drinking taquil,” she answered. Then her voice rose, loud enough to be heard over the roaring laughs. “Captain, I’ve brought you something.”
Cat reached for her. “Ana—”
“I said I was bored,” Ana snickered, giving Cat a well-placed shove towards Morovant’s table.
After so many days at sea, her balance was not what it once was, and Cat caught herself on the table’s edge before she could topple it over. While Morovant and his sailors drew back, startled by her intrusion, a firm hand closed around her elbow. His fingers seemed to burn through her sleeve.
“Lady Rose.”
Valerian looked up at her, his crooked grin wide, a telltale flush across his cheeks. Droplets of taquil still clung to his lips and blond beard, gleaming in the candlelight.
Cat did not know what taquil tasted like, or even what it was made of. But she was seized by the sudden need to find out.
“A lady of the Meridian Empire come to grace the Drink.” Morovant’s voice boomed out over the tavern, as impossible to ignore as his coat. “Never did I think I would live to see the day.”
Wincing, Cat braced for a resounding wave of laughter, or jeers. Instead, the fearsome pirate raised his glass to her in salute, the apples of his cheeks a merry red.
“You must join us,” he said, waving one of his sailors out a chair.
The warm heat at her elbow disappeared as Valerian loosened his grip. An eyebrow arched on his face, an invitation as much as a question.
For a split second, Cat did not know how to answer. Half of her wanted to bolt for the door and swim all the way back to her borrowed cabin. But the other half was stronger, emboldened by the smell of tobacco and rum and whatever it was still clinging to Valerian’s lips.
With all the grace she could muster, Cat took the chair between the two pirate captains. In her too-small dress, the fabric drawn taut across her chest, she sat stiffly, hands folded in her lap. Valerian’s gaze burned on her face, his scrutiny impossible to ignore.
But she turned to Captain Morovant instead, ever the lady, a picture of Meridian etiquette.
“Thank you for the invitation, sir,” she said politely, inclining her head.
That seemed to please him, the pirate captain tipping his wineglass to her.
While he was not impressive in stature, he more than made up for it with the emeralds glittering at his wrist. Not to mention his scarred knuckles, testament to many bouts over the years.
And she had not forgotten the way every pirate acquiesced to him, even Captain Kane.
Harry Morovant commanded respect from every sailor he encountered, if not fear.
Cat did not intend to find out why. She intended to keep her mouth shut and her head down, to observe, to listen, to gather what she could and learn what she must. That was her aim, to gain advantages amongst the crew. Certainly not to stare at Valerian Kane all night.
Her plan was quickly ruined when Morovant leaned across the table, grinning to show a mouth of too perfect teeth. A full ivory set.
“I’m told you’re a fair hand at cards,” he said, wriggling his brows.
Her eyes flew to Valerian, who only leaned back in his seat, the chair balancing on two legs.
“I did say I wanted another game,” he said.
This time, when he poured his taquil, he poured a second glass.
The liquid pooled, thicker than water, and Cat watched it swirl.
Her pulse thrummed, her skin warmed, and she drew in another heady breath of smoky air.
The edges of the world blurred, conversation and laughter fading in and out. Her head spun, her heart leapt.
Without thought or hesitation, she grabbed for the glass, gulping down the blinding clear liquid before she could lose her nerve.
It tasted like sweet fire, burning her to the core.