She smiled as she caught his eye, and he gave her a white-toothed grin in response. His smile froze when he glimpsed her escort. Althea quietly excused herself and hastened up the Concourse steps to meet Grag. He bowed formally over her extended hand. As he straightened, he murmured, “I should have thought to send a carriage for you. Next time, I shall.”

“Oh, Grag. It's only Davad. He has been a family friend for a long time. He would be very hurt if I refused to ride with him.”

“With friends like that, it is no wonder that the Vestrit fortune is foundering,” Grag observed tartly.

For an instant her heart turned to ice. How could he imply such a thing? But his next words reminded her of how grievous his own situation was, and her feelings towards him softened.

“Ophelia has been asking after you. She herself commanded wine boiled as an offering to Sa on Vivacia's behalf. She wanted you to know that.” He paused, then smiled fondly. “She is completely bored with being tied up at the tariff dock. Now that the work on her hands is finished, she longs to sail again. Nevertheless, every time I promise her that we shall get back out to sea as soon as we can, she begs that I find a way for you to come along. I told her I could think of only one.” He grinned engagingly at her.

“And that was?” Althea asked curiously. Did he mean to offer her employment on the Ophelia? Her heart quickened at the idea. She loved the matriarchal old ship.

He reddened and looked aside, but the smile still played about his mouth. “A hasty wedding and a bridal voyage. I suggested it in jest, of course. Such a scandal as that would raise! I expected Ophelia to scold me roundly. Instead, she thought it a wonderful idea.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “Incidentally, so did my father. She brought it up to him, not I.”

He paused and looked at her expectantly, as if he had asked her a question. But he had not, not directly. Even if she had been passionately in love with him, she could scarcely have accepted such an offer while her own family liveship was in danger. Didn't he realize that? She could not keep the confusion from her face. Her distress only deepened when she glimpsed Brashen Trell standing at the bottom of the steps to the Concourse. Their eyes met, and for an instant, she could not look away.

Grag interpreted her confusion as having a different source. “I don't truly expect you to consider it,” he said hastily. He tried not to look hurt. “Not here, not now. We both have too many other concerns just now. Tonight may resolve some of them. I hope it does.”

“As do I,” she responded, but it was difficult to put much warmth into her voice. Too much was going on behind his shoulder. Brashen looked at her as if she had stabbed him to the heart. He had not changed his clothes since she had last seen him: the loose yellow shirt and dark trousers he wore made him look like a foreigner amongst all the robed Traders.

Grag followed her gaze. “What's he doing here?” he demanded, as if she would know. He took her arm as he spoke.

“He brought us word of the Vivacia.” Althea looked up at Grag as she replied quietly. She didn't want Brashen to think they were staring at him and discussing him.

He met her eyes, his brow furrowed. “Did you ask him here, then?”

“No.” She gave a small shake of her head. “I don't know why he's here.”

“Is that Amber with him? Why is she here? Why are they together?”

Althea had to look. “I don't know,” she murmured.

Amber was dressed in a simple gold-brown robe, almost the same shade as her many-plaited hair that hung over her shoulders. She had come from somewhere to stand close beside Brashen. She said something low to him. Her expression was not pleasant, but she wasn't looking at Brashen or Althea. She was glaring, her eyes yellow as a cat's, at Davad Restart. Some vexatious fate had ordained that every facet of Althea's life would collide with every other tonight. Davad Restart had fixed his eyes on Grag Tenira. He was hastening toward them.

Davad was already huffing up the Concourse steps but her mother succeeded in reaching Althea first. Keffria and Malta were but a step behind her. Ronica and Grag greeted one another. Then her mother looked directly in Crag's eyes. “My daughter Althea may sit with you, Grag, if you wish. I know you have important matters to discuss.”

Grag bowed formally. “Ronica Vestrit, you honor the Teniras with your trust. I vow we shall be worthy of it.”

“I, too, thank you for allowing this,” Althea replied formally to her mother. She had to admire the woman's foresight. Now she could take Grag's arm and steer him into the hall before Davad puffed up to them. At least that confrontation would be avoided. This Althea did, urging Grag along in a fashion just short of hasty. She tried not to wonder how her hurried departure would look to Brashen.