Sixty The Red Tempest

SIXTY

The Red Tempest

MARY

A knock came at the door. I sat up in my hammock, muscles aching in protest, and dropped my bare feet to the deck. My lantern was lit, but the candle inside burned low and the cabin was riddled with shadows.

"Who is it?" I called, pulling my blanket more tightly around my shoulders and making no move towards the door.

"Me, Mary," Samuel's voice replied, just loud enough to be heard. He sounded tired and overburdened, and my caution slipped into concern.

I briefly considered my state of undress, then let the blanket slip farther down from my shoulders and lifted the latch.

Samuel paused, his gaze dragging to my exposed collarbones and the curve of one shoulder. Then he rallied and looked back to my face. "Would… would you prefer a moment to dress?"

I considered myself, adjusting my arms to give my breasts a more satisfying plump. "No. What's wrong? You should sit."

"Mary…" He closed the door and took up station beside it, watching as I moved to the table and sat on the bench. "I came on a rather important matter."

I patted the bench beside me. "Then please sit, Captain. You're pale and hardly recovered."

He perched on the other end of the bench, his focus somewhere else. "I was offered a new commission today. Not just for myself, but for Hart . I turned it down."

All my coyness fled. I jerked the blanket up. "You what? Sam. Samuel. This is what you wanted."

For a stretch, he wouldn't meet my eyes. But when he finally did, the determination in his expression sent a curl of heat through my belly.

"They took you. They ignored our warnings. They took you ." The repetition seemed to cut out of him, compulsive and jagged. "I cannot… Mary."

His voice broke, and my composure with it. I closed the space between us and wrapped my arms around him, careful of his wound but caring nothing for the awkwardness of the moment—one knee on the bench, one bare foot on the deck. His arms locked around me in return and we hovered there, his breath warm on my skin, I stroking his hair.

When some of his tension eased, I sat back on the bench, hands still lingering on his arm and thigh.

"So, what do we do?" I asked, trying to sound factual, even as my heart hammered in my chest. "Are we willing to go back to the Usti?"

"I must speak to Jessin Faucher, first. These allegations… I must put them to rest before I return to Hesten." Sam took one of my hands between his and anchored it there, on his thigh. "With Enisca Alamay missing, I am not bound to return any time soon."

Missing, not dead. I wasn't sure I shared his hope for the Usti spy, but that was a matter for another time.

I slowly nodded, searching my own conscience and gradually giving voice to my thoughts. "If the Usti are responsible for rekindling the war, my mother might never have had to leave the Wold. So many years of conflict could have been avoided. So many people would still be alive. We can't even know how many, or how long this has been going on."

"I agree." He let out a long breath and turned to face me more directly. "I feel as though… I know what I should want to do. I should want to investigate this thoroughly and reveal the truth to the world." He laughed. "Saint, that would have been easier as an officer."

I gave a wry smile and waited for him to go on. If anything, his choice made my affection for him all the stronger. It was an ache in my chest, a tightness in my throat, and a smoldering coal in my belly that refused to cool.

"You should want that, but you don't?" I eventually prompted.

He considered me. "What do you want?"

"I don't want anything to do with Faucher or uncovering truths. It would be… it would be right, the proper thing to do, I'm sure. But I'm tired. I'm tired of running and being afraid. Until we're out of this harbor, I feel that at any moment they'll come to take me away. Or some Black Tide zealot will murder us and sink Hart ."

His grip tightened on my hand, and, for another long moment, he sat sequestered in his thoughts.

"Shall we visit your mother?" He asked the question so suddenly, it took me a moment to register his words. "I will still speak to Jessin Faucher, but, regardless of what I learn, we can go to Demery in the Mereish South Isles. We heal. We rest. Decide what to do, safe from the world."

"Safe from the world in a lawless kingdom of pirates? Well, Charles has still been threatening to return to Demery. What about Benedict?"

"I have asked him to come with us."

"To the Isles?"

"Not specifically. But I offered him a place with us. Are you comfortable with that?"

I huffed a laugh. "Well, I've grown accustomed to him. And I do want to see… what he becomes now. What of his commission?" Even as I asked the question, I suspected the answer. It was written in the lines of Samuel's shoulders.

"The Navy will not give him his commission back, and any court he faces will condemn him."

"Then he stays with us," I decided. I spoke lightly, but the weight of what I needed to say sat heavy in my chest. "Now, can we discuss another important matter?"

"What would that be?"

"Us," I said. The word sounded far more casual than it felt, forced out between a teasing grin and an overpowering urge to back away. But I didn't. "We care for one another. Want one another. But despite your clear intent to keep me about, I have received no proposal, a grand sum of four kisses and one interrupted tryst."

Samuel pulled back slightly, and even in the low light I saw the flush creeping up his neck. "I…"

I crossed my arms over my chest and stared at him, awaiting an answer.

"Then marry me." He looked startled as the words left his mouth, as if he was taken aback at the simplicity of the request. "We have discussed it before."

"That's it?"

"Please."

"You must do better than that."

"Better than… Mary. Should I kneel? Is that what—" He faltered as my face split into a wide smile, and cursed. "Saint, Mary, I beg you. Answer me."

I began to unbutton his coat. He watched me, breathless, as I pried one button after another and pushed it gently from his shoulders.

"Yes," I said, and covered his mouth with mine.

* * *

Some time later, we sought the cool of the deck. Samuel's hand trailed across my back as he spoke quietly to Mr. Keo, ordering the crew rallied and the ship prepared for departure. We did not risk taking the time to restock—the battered town had little enough to offer, anyway.

"Ready, sir," Mr. Penn murmured soon after as the crew was assembled on the gun deck.

Sam pulled his hat from his head and addressed the crew. Men and women crowded the deck or perched on the cannons, many sporting bandages and bruises or the startling lack of vanished limbs.

"We are departing Renown tonight. I realize this comes suddenly, and I do not wish to press any of you to a premature decision, but we are not safe here. The Navy violated our contract with the Usti. They stole our Stormsinger. And I will not hide the truth—the Ess Noti and the Black Tide Cult remain our enemies. My enemies. Anyone who does not wish to share that burden may leave the ship with no guilt, no shame, and my wholehearted gratitude for your service."

A murmur rippled down the deck, startlement and agreement from some, a few mutters of displeasure from others.

Samuel was unruffled. "However, those of you who wish to remain aboard Hart are more than welcome. I cannot yet say what our destination will be, but you will not go without work or pay. All of you, your prize moneys will be put in trust once they become available—please see Mr. Willoughby if you have any concerns about claiming them; he will instruct you. Those of you who have not yet been compensated for injuries, do so immediately."

Samuel fell silent for a few heartbeats, then spoke again. "Thank you all for staying by me during our time in Mere and this last, hardest of battles. It is more loyalty than any captain can rightly expect. Each one of you has proved yourself invaluable, and if you choose to go, know you will be missed. But I truly wish you all the very best."

The crew's response was subdued. There were nods and salutes, and even the grumblers quietened.

Samuel surveyed them for a moment longer, then tapped his hat to his chest and retreated up the companionway. I followed, joining him midships.

"I will head immediately to The Red Tempest and speak to Faucher. There are too many prisoners, and he was never brought ashore." His words slowed, and his brow furrowed. "Mary… Where is Benedict?"

We searched the ship, then I remained behind while Samuel and a small party searched the docks. I watched them from the deck, spying—or fancying that I spied—their forms move from tavern to tavern, business to business, searching for Samuel's elusive brother.

Weary and uncertain, I finally went to Samuel's cabin. Benedict was not there, not that I had expected him to be, but the solitude was welcome. I lingered near the gallery windows, watching as a captured Mereish vessel, bedecked with red sails, slipped from the harbor mouth.

I can't say how long it was until I noticed the letter on the floor, fallen beneath the table. It was unsealed, but securely folded, and marked with a simple "S."

I fetched it to the window and angled it towards the fading light. I should have waited for Samuel to open it, but I had a suspicion as to what I would find inside. And time might be very short.

I unfolded the heavy linen paper and scanned Benedict's quick, but surprisingly artful, hand.

Sam,

I have taken your advice to heart, though as you will undoubtedly question my methods, I leave you this note. I have gone to seek calmer waters, and perhaps a little sun. I have met several others with a similar mind, and together we have claimed the prize that I fairly earned, yet the Admiralty would deny me.

I have taken a Sooth's talisman with me, so feel no compulsion to follow me. I will be, at last, hidden from your sight, and I believe that division is for the best. I will not be dissuaded from my choices, and I do not wish to sully the peace we have struck between us.

I am not ungrateful for what you have done. Rather, it is because of your actions that I assure you: I am no longer your burden to bear.

Ben

P.S. I have taken Mr. Grant with me, so do not trouble your soft heart over his disappearance.

I looked from the letter towards the tower of red sails just as guns began to boom and warning bells rang out. Other ships began to move to intercept, but they were too slow. Soon the Mereish prize was out of Renown Harbor and broke into open sea. Its sails billowed full as I threw open the gallery door and trained Samuel's spyglass upon the vessel. Before I caught the fine Mereish letters painted across her stern, I heard a Stormsinger's song. To my surprise it was deep, not feminine in the slightest. A male Stormsinger.

My last glimpse of the vessel was the name painted across her bow in scrolling, scarlet letters.

The Red Tempest.