Tiers of benches surrounded an elevated dais. Several dozen people had claimed seats; it was not exactly a packed gallery, but it was a lot of people to have gathered spontaneously for an unannounced meeting, and more were arriving behind him. All the seats at the Council table on the dais were already occupied except for one. Selden Vestrit’s seat was empty, as it had been the last time he’d been here.

But Malta the Elderling had taken her place at one end of the front row of audience seats. Her husband, Reyn Khuprus, sat beside her. All around the Elderlings, seats had been left empty. Leftrin wondered if it were out of respect or avoidance. Reyn and Malta were not dressed glamorously, but their simple clothing was well tailored to them and in colors that glorified their scaling. Reyn wore a long jacket of dark blue buttoned with gleaming silver buttons over gray trousers and soft black boots. Malta wore a choker of flame jewels that gleamed yellow against the delicate scaling of her throat. Her soft white overtunic was long, to her knees, and her brown-gold trousers were cut full and loose, and by that he judged that she still carried her child. Good. Gossip said she’d had several miscarriages, and some had begun to doubt that the couple would ever produce a child. But she could not be far from birth now. Her husband beside her had a protective air. He looked at them and realized that they showed him what his keeper youths would become. Full Elderlings.

As he entered the chamber, both of them looked directly at him. He fought an impulse to straighten his ragged shirt. Instead, he stiffened his spine and returned their gazes. It had been a hard trip; let them look at him and see what his expedition had cost. Then he nodded to them gravely and received their answering nods. He did not approach them. Not yet. Alise’s message for Malta was safe in his bag. He would give it to her privately.

Leftrin’s gaze roamed the chamber briefly, confirming that the fellow who had been following him had ghosted into the Traders’ Hall behind him. He did not look at him directly; he didn’t need to, for the man was no stranger to Leftrin. It was the Chalcedean “merchant,” Sinad Arich. He kept his wet cloak and hood drawn close about him as if he were still cold, but Leftrin recognized his eyes. The man had threatened him with blackmail once before over his liveship, forcing Leftrin to give him passage up the river. How he regretted it now. He should have followed his first impulse and killed the man and dropped him overboard. It chilled Leftrin to know the Chalcedean merchant was still in the Rain Wilds. It meant he had not given up on his mission.

Why was he here tonight? Leftrin was virtually certain that Arich had been involved in planting that traitor in the expedition, but he was also convinced that the man could not have acted alone. The Council had hired Jess Torkef and sent him to Leftrin as a hunter to provide for the dragons. Possibly he was hoping that Jess had returned on the Tarman, bringing parts of slaughtered dragons with him. A grim smile twisted Leftrin’s mouth. He was going to be disappointed. And desperate enough to try something else. Arich had no real choice. His monarch, the Duke of Chalced, held his family hostage; unless the merchant could provide him with dragon parts for the cures the Duke supposed would heal him, their lives would be forfeit. Arich had deceived, threatened, or bribed someone on the Council to put a traitor on the Tarman. Someone, or perhaps several someones.

Leftrin descended the steps slowly until he stood before the Council table. He cleared his throat, but there was really no need to draw their attention. All the Council members had straightened in their chairs and were staring at him. Silence spread behind him: he heard the small sounds of people rushing to take seats, shushing one another as they did so. He raised his voice. “Captain Leftrin of the liveship Tarman requests permission to address the Council.”

“The Council is pleased to see you have safely returned to us, Captain Leftrin. We cede you the floor.” This husky pronouncement came from Trader Polsk. Her brush of gray hair had been groomed back from her face but was slowly resuming its usual unruly stance.

“And I am pleased to see you in good health, Trader Polsk. I return to announce that our expedition was successful. The dragons are safely settled. I am pleased to report that every dragon survived the move. I am saddened to say that two of our keepers lost their lives. One of the hunters assigned to our expedition died also. The rest of our party was alive and well when I left them.” He used his right hand to scratch his left shoulder, contriving to turn toward the doors as he did so. Gray-cloaked Arich was just slipping out. Well. That was interesting and very unexpected. Had he already heard enough? He longed to follow the Chalcedean, but it was impossible right now. He turned back to the Council. All eyes were focused on him.