The captain of the River Snake had freight to deliver and was eager to be on his way. Malta, Reyn, and Tillamon were scarcely in the passenger cabin before he was having his crew untie from the docks. In a matter of moments, the rowers had the long ship free and headed out into the river. Malta sat down gratefully on one of the padded benches that lined the walls of the cabin, but Tillamon stood at the aft window, looking out longingly. “It has been so long since I’ve been away from home to go anywhere. Ages since I felt full sunlight on my face.”

“You don’t need my permission,” Reyn commented.

“No, and I never did. I just need to find my courage. That’s all.”

Malta followed her gaze. There was a small square of deck outside the cabin and then the tillerman’s area. The man was working the long sweep in a series of steady arcs, holding only when the captain called a course correction to him. There was a strange beauty in the man’s strength and sureness as he either guided or pushed the ship along. Somehow he became aware of their scrutiny and glanced back at the cabin. His face was pebbled so that his brow overhung his eyes; a string of growths that reminded Malta of a fish’s barbels lined his jaw. “I think I’ll go out,” Tillamon declared abruptly. She lifted her veil and discarded it with the hat that had secured it, then peeled off the long lacy gloves that had covered her hands and arms. Without another word, she set the garments on the bench beside Malta and opened the small aft door to step out on the deck. Chill wind gusted in; it didn’t deter her. She went immediately to lean on the railing, turning her face up to the sun that was peeping through a break in the overcast sky.

Reyn moved aside his sister’s hat, veil, and gloves and sat down beside Malta. She leaned her head on his shoulder and for a moment was happy. Sunlight made a bright square on the floor of the cabin. The only sounds were that of the ship, of the creaking oars as they moved in rhythm, and occasionally the captain’s shout back to the tillerman. She yawned, suddenly sleepy.

“What is it that I don’t see about my sister?” Reyn asked her plaintively. He lifted up the hat and the attached veil. “Is this so terrible? When I came to Bingtown to court you, I was as heavily veiled. It was tradition.”

“Tradition born out of discomfort,” Malta observed. “Rain Wilders were thought grotesque. They still are. I have lived among you and become one of you. But I know what Tillamon knows. If she were to go to Bingtown and walk unveiled, people would stare. Some, even some born in Bingtown, would say unkind things, mock her, or turn aside in horror. People want the treasures of the Rain Wilds but don’t want to see the price it exacts from those who provide them.”

“Did you think I was grotesque? When you first met me and I went veiled?”

She laughed softly. “I was a silly little girl then, full of odd tales of the Rain Wilds. I was sure that my cruel mother had sold me off to some frightful creature. Then I discovered the frightful creature was incredibly wealthy, burdened with hundreds of little presents for me, and full of compliments that I could not wait to hear. So then you became mysterious. Unknowable. And dangerously desirable.”

She smiled and gave a little shiver as a thrill ran up her back.

“What was that?” Reyn demanded. He set aside his sister’s hat and took her hand.

Malta laughed aloud, mildly embarrassed. “I was thinking of the first time you kissed me. My mother had left the room and the only servants there were yours, all veiled and suitably busying themselves with tasks. You leaned in close to me and I thought you would tell me a secret. But then you kissed me. I felt your lips through the lace of the veil. And the tip of your tongue, I thought. It was . . .” She paused and was surprised to realize she was blushing.

“Very erotic,” Reyn finished quietly for her. A slow smile spread over his face, and his eyes gleamed with remembered pleasure. “I had only thought to steal a kiss while your mother was not looking. I had not realized that the barrier to our touch would only enhance the moment.”

“You were a wicked boy. You had no right to kiss me.” Malta tried to sound affronted but failed. She shared his smile, with a touch of sadness for the foolish girl she had been.

He held up his sister’s veil before his face. She could scarcely see his features through the multiple layers of dark lace. “And now I do. Should we try that again?”

“Reyn!” she rebuked him, but he did not pause. He draped the veiling over his face and leaned in to kiss her.

“It’s Tillamon’s best veil!” she objected. But then the lace brushed her face and she closed her eyes as he kissed her, a very chaste kiss that nonetheless swept her back into memories of their first passion.