Chapter Twenty-Eight Before #4
“Quiet,” he hissed in her face, his grip tight. Enough to hold her in place. Perhaps enough to bruise. “Quiet.”
Her pulse beat against his palm at her throat, her skin burning to match the flame of his.
It was not fear that coursed through her now, but rage.
The indignity of being touched in such a way, silenced—and all in front of the crew, too many eyes watching as the pirate captain of the Covenant manhandled his captured lady.
It made Cat want to tear her skin off, and his too.
“I’m going to let you go, if you promise to be silent,” Valerian growled, the fingers on her throat loosening little by little. “Will you be silent, Lady Rose?”
She had not expected to taste him again so soon, nor under such circumstances. Her teeth met the flesh of his hand, hot iron bursting on her tongue.
To Valerian’s credit, he did not wince or cry out or even break his hold. But his eyes narrowed, the only testament to his pain. And strangely, his pursed lips twitched, betraying the smallest curl of a smirk. As if he were somehow proud of her.
In spite of the circumstances, Cat felt the same, having finally grown fangs of her own. If only for a second.
“Will you be silent?” he said once more, his hushed voice a lower timbre.
Cat nodded as best she could, his hand following the motion of her head. It made her feel like a bridled horse, and she endeavored not to bite him again. A streak of his blood worked its way over her chin, painting a scarlet line down her throat.
Satisfied, Valerian released her with maddening slowness. Behind him, Garedo looked on, his warm brown skin washed blue by the predawn light and the shifting fog. His brows knitted with concern as he glanced between captain and lady. As if one might attack the other at any moment.
“I’m not going below,” Cat said again, dropping her voice to a whisper.
Trembling, she wiped away the blood on her lips with a sleeve, leaving a bloom of scarlet at her wrist. She imagined her face made for a horrid sight, a smear of crimson across her mouth as if she were a lady panting in the back hall of a ballroom, a stolen kiss still burning on her lips.
Valerian’s blood certainly still burned, the taste of metal lingering on her tongue.
His eyes held hers, luminous and unyielding. She expected him to dismiss her fears, and the walls pressed again. He need only signal, and his crew would drag her from the deck.
Instead, he stepped backwards, arms outstretched in some strange welcome.
Like another ghost, Mr. Brimley faded out of the fog, now wearing an officer’s uniform. He carried a coat over one arm.
It was cobalt blue.
Her teeth clenched as Valerian slipped into the coat of a Meridian captain, still adorned with gleaming buttons and filigree, the white cuffs and lapels set with gold embroidery.
She did not miss the hole at the shoulder, a circle of torn fabric edged with dried blood.
Another crew member appeared with a black tricorne, setting it on Valerian’s head.
He grinned beneath it, his golden tooth winking to match the buttons of a dead man’s jacket.
“Very well, Lady Rose, since you are so eager to learn,” Valerian whispered, throwing her words back in her face.
Above him, heavy canvas flapped and the Lion unfurled from the masts, triple flags flying in the fog.
“Their spotters will see us well before we are within opportune range, and a woman on deck will cause quite the confusion.”
His smirk was a dagger, sharp and stinging.
“You will make for a fine distraction.”
* * *
WHERE THE LADY’S overcoat had come from amongst the varied stores of the Covenant, Cat did not know—and the middle of an ambush was hardly the time to ask.
She picked at the thread of the green brocade, her nightshift obscured beneath.
At least they let me put shoes on, she thought, eyeing her borrowed boots peeking out beneath the hem.
To anyone with a spyglass, she would look like a passenger taking the air on the deck of a Meridian warship.
She almost laughed at how good a ruse it was.
After all, she had been such a passenger mere weeks ago.
Though the officer next to her had not worn a murdered captain’s coat.
Valerian paced slowly at her side as they walked the starboard rail, a performative escort. His eyes were on the fog, and whatever he knew lay in wait shrouded in the gray. Occasionally he glanced over the rail, looking into the dark blue waves as if they held some secret in their depths.
“I suppose you aim to show me the whole of it,” Cat hissed, trying to glean anything in the fog. But the world was shadowed and gray, inscrutable. Just like her future. “What I asked for so foolishly.”
“Hardly,” Valerian scoffed, though she did not miss the color rising on his face. “A prize was spotted, and I would not be captain long if I let such an opportunity go.” His voice took on a darker edge. “This is our nature, Cat.”
It almost sounded like an apology.
“How do you know what’s out there?”
She could see nothing for the fog—no sails, no flags, no lanterns.
“These are what the Arcayans call the Amori, the snake tides,” he answered.
“This time of year, they swell through the Furies and form currents like rivers. Any ship without a sharp heading and a hard hand at the helm will end up in these waters. And Mr. Garedo spotted such a ship on the path last night.”
The new tone in his voice, easy and prideful, gave Cat pause. “Certainly, the navy can navigate the tides as well as you.”
His cocked his head. “Shall we bet on it?”
“Very well, Captain,” she said, watching him turn back to the waves. “But at least one of your legends isn’t true.”
He did not look away from the water, but his jaw tightened a fraction. “Which?”
“The one about salt water in your veins.” She brushed a hand to her now clean mouth. “To that I can attest.”
Before he could reply, three flares of golden light bled through the fog, too small and uniform to be the distant dawn.
Lanterns, Cat knew, her breath caught in her teeth.
Bow, mainmast, and stern. The prize was close, barely a quarter mile from the Covenant.
She expected Valerian to shoot her a triumphant look, but his focus was entirely on the opposing vessel, the captain’s mantle settling back around his shoulders.
Whatever lay between them disappeared, forgotten in the face of the hunt.
The ship took shape through the fog, planted perpendicular to the Covenant’s path, Meridian flags catching the soft wind. The Lion roared through the fog, the flags and figurehead matching those on the Covenant. The ships were brothers once, and it showed.
But no longer.
Cat squinted at the warship, trying to count.
Decks, guns, sails. To measure the size of the prey against the size of her hunter.
Not to mention count the dozens of Meridian men on the other ship, sailing directly into a trap.
Men with families and friends, men who only hoped to do their duty for Crown and Empire.
She felt sick with possibility. The other vessel might have been her salvation once, a ship of the fleet come to save her.
Now it could send her to the bottom of the sea in the ensuing firefight.
Rescue or death.
Valerian motioned, fist opening and closing behind his back. On cue, the lanterns of the Covenant flared to life again, blazing through the fog. As if they had only just appeared, and not stalked the other warship as a wolf would a lamb.
“What happens if I scream?” Cat murmured, chest rising and falling beneath her coat. Once more she felt the press of walls, of water, of the weight of the Lyrian Sea dragging her down and down.
His heel hissed on the deck as he spun, and Cat half expected to be seized again. But Valerian held his ground, staring down on her.
“That is a fourth-rate ship of the line, thirty-two guns a side. Thirty-two guns shooting twelve pounds of solid iron each,” he answered with a low growl.
Over his shoulder, the other warship loomed.
“I will not bore either of us with the arithmetic, though I’m sure an educated woman like yourself can solve the equation.
We have speed and stealth, but they have the angle of the shot at present. ”
His face tightened, and Cat saw a glimpse of what his enemies might see. A warrior. A conqueror. A king no matter how many times Valerian Kane claimed to be anything but.
“Would you like to scream, Lady Rose?”
“No,” she answered, too soft for even her own ears.
But Valerian perceived.
He nodded once, tricorne dipping. Even when he was in uniform, it still felt impossible to picture him as a sailor of the fleet, a man of His Majesty’s navy. Every inch of him cut a hard contrast against Meridian cobalt and an officer’s filigree.
“Just play the part and all will be well,” he muttered, barely brushing her sleeve with his hand. Again, his touch was ice, freezing her to her spot.
She nodded mutely, forcing her face into the calm mask of a lady, distant and imperious. Any spotter would see only a woman with downcast eyes, her expression soft and empty. Silent as a woman should be.
The Covenant crept closer, still headed directly for the opposing ship.
The fog drifted, turning pinker but not lifting as the dawn broke.
Out of the corner of her eye, Cat watched the crew scurry into place, some hidden on the main deck, while others ducked below, certainly to man the guns.
Mr. Brimley, disguised in uniform like the captain, stood at the bow, a rifle at his feet.
It was the same with the few others still visible on deck, performing at chores with weapons close at hand.
Ana was nowhere to be seen, the rest of her painted crewmates having disappeared entirely.
In the rigging, one of Valerian’s crew raised a small horn, issuing a note to hail the other vessel. After a moment, they answered in kind, a flurry of motion on deck.