“I don’t know what to do with myself anymore,” he confessed. “The ship no longer needs me. Kennit no longer needs me. The only use he ever had for me was to act as a go-between for them. Now they are together and I am-“

“Jealous,” Etta filled in. “And fair green with it. I hope that I was subtler when I was in your place. For a long time, I stood where you stand now, wondering what my place was, wondering why or if Kennit needed me, hating the ship for fascinating him so.” She gave him a twisted smile of sympathy. “You have my pity, but it won’t do you any good.”

“What will?” he demanded.

“Keeping busy. Getting over it. Learning something new.” She tied a knot. “Find something else to occupy your mind.”

“Such as?” he asked bitterly.

She bit off her thread and tugged to see if the bone button was secure. With her chin, she gestured at the neglected game board. “Amusing me.”

Her smile made it a jest. The movement of her chin made the lamplight run over her sleek hair and glance off the strong bones of her cheeks. She glanced at him from under lowered lashes as she threaded her needle. Mirth glinted in her dark eyes. The corner of her mouth curved slightly. Yes, he could find something else to occupy his mind, something likely to lead to disaster. He forced his eyes back to the game board and made a move. “Learn something new. Such as?”

She snorted her contempt. Her hand darted out, and with a single move demolished his defenses. “Something useful. Something you will actually put your mind to, rather than making motions while you dream elsewhere.”

He swept his playing pieces from the board. “What can I learn aboard this ship that I have not already learned?”

“Navigation,” she suggested. “It confounds me, but you have the numbers learned already. You could master it.” This time her eyes were serious. “But I think you should learn what you have put off far too long. Fill the gap that you wear like an open wound. Go where your heart has always led you. You have denied yourself long enough.”

He sat very still. “And that is?” he prompted her quietly.

“Learn yourself. Your priesthood,” she said.

His keen disappointment shocked him. He would not even consider what he had hoped she might suggest. He shook his head, and his voice was bitter as he said, “I have left that too far behind. Sa is strong in my life, but my devotion is not what it once was. A priest must be willing to live his life for others. At one time, I thought that would be my delight. Now…” he let his eyes meet hers honestly. “I have learned to want things for myself,” he said quietly.

She laughed. “Ah, at teaching you that, Kennit would excel, I think. Yet I believe you misjudge yourself. Perhaps you have lost the intensity of your focus, Wintrow, but examine your heart. If you could have one thing, right now, what would you choose?”

He bit back the words that sprang to his lips. Etta had changed, and he had been part of her changing. The way she spoke, the way she thought, reflected the books they had shared. It was not that she had become wiser; wisdom had shone in her from the start. Now she had the words for her thoughts. She had been like a lantern flame burning behind a sooty glass. Now the glass was clear and her light shone forth. She pursed her lips in annoyance: he had taken too long to reply. He avoided her question. “Do you remember the night when you told me that I should discover where I was in my life and go on from there? Accept the shape of my life and do my best with it?”

She lifted one eyebrow as if to deny it. His heart sank. Could something so important to him have left no mark upon her? Then she shook her head ruefully. “You were so serious, I wanted to kick you. Such a lad. It does not seem possible you were so young such a short time ago.”

“Such a short time ago?” He laughed. “It seems like years. I’ve been through so many changes since then.” He met her eyes. “I taught you to read, and you said it changed your life. Do you know how much you have changed my life as well?”

“Well.” She leaned back and considered. “If I hadn’t taught you to use a knife, you’d be dead now. So I suppose I’ve changed the course of your life at least once.”

“I try to imagine going back to my monastery now. I would have to bid farewell to my ship, to Kennit, to you, to my shipmates, to all my life has become. I don’t know if I could go back and sit with Berandol and meditate, or pore over my books.” He smiled regretfully. “Or work the stained glass I once took such pride in. I would be denying all I had learned out here. I am like a little fish that ventured too far from its placid pool and has been swept into the river. I’ve learned to survive out here, now. I don’t know if I could be content with a contemplative life anymore.”