Grag took a breath to object, but Reyn interrupted them both. “Let’s go down to the kitchen and discuss it there. I could use some coffee.”

“You won’t get it,” Grag told him grumpily. Reyn saw his effort to change his mood. “But there is tea, still.”

They were not the only restless ones. The kitchen fire had been poked to life and a large kettle of porridge was already simmering. Not only Grag’s mother and sister but also the Vestrit women moved restlessly about the big room in mimicry of cooking. There was not enough work to busy them. A low mutter of voices came from the dining hall. As food was prepared, trays were borne off to the table. Ekke Kelter was there as well. She offered Grag Tenira a warm smile with the cup of tea she poured for him, then seated herself across the kitchen table from him and said matter-of-factly, “The arsonists have already gone. They wanted to be certain they’d be in position before the attack.”

Reyn’s heart give an odd little hitch. Suddenly, it was real. Smoke and flame rising from the Drur family warehouse by the docks was to be the signal for all the waiting attackers. Daring spies, mostly slave boys, had established that the Chalcedeans had amassed their loot there. Surely, they would return to fight a fire. Bingtown would burn its stolen wealth to draw the Chalcedeans to a central location. Once that fire was burning, they would attempt to set the Chalcedean ships ablaze with flaming arrows. A team of Three Ships men, their bodies well-greased against the cold waters, would swim out to the Chalcedean ships and slip some anchor chains as well.

The various Bingtown groups had planned this diversion to disorganize the invaders before they made a massed dawn attack. Each man had armed himself as best he could. Ancient family swords would be wielded alongside clubs and butcher knives, fish bats and sickles. Merchants and fishermen, gardeners and kitchen slaves would all turn the tools of their trades to war today. Reyn squeezed his eyes shut for an instant. Bad enough to die; did they have to be so pathetically ill-equipped as they did so? Reyn poured himself a hot cup of tea, and silently wished well to all the grim saboteurs slipping quietly through the chill and rainy night.

Selden, seated beside him, suddenly gripped his wrist hard under the table. When he looked at the boy questioningly, a strangely grim smile lit his face. “I feel it,” he said in a low voice. “Don’t you?”

“It’s natural to be afraid,” he comforted the boy quietly. Selden only shook his head and released his grip on Reyn. Reyn’s heart sank. Malta’s little brother had been through far too much for a boy of his years. It had affected his mind.

Ronica Vestrit brought fresh bread to the table. The old woman had braided her graying hair and pinned it tightly to her head. As he thanked Ronica, his own mother entered the room. She was not veiled. Neither of the Rain Wilders had covered their faces since the day Reyn had removed his veil at the Council table. If all were to be a part of this new Bingtown, then let all meet eyes squarely. Were his scaling, growths and gleaming copper eyes all that different from the tattoos that sprawled across the slaves’ faces? His mother, too, had confined her hair in securely pinned braids. She wore trousers rather than her customary flowing skirts. In response to his puzzled glance, she said only, “I won’t be hampered by skirts when we attack.”

He stared at her, waiting for her smile to make her words a jest. But she didn’t smile. She only said quietly, “There was no point in discussing it. We knew you would all be opposed. It is time the men of Bingtown remember that when we first came here, women and children risked just as much as their men did. We all fight today, Reyn. Better to die in battle than live as slaves after our men have died trying to protect us.”

Grag spoke with a sickly smile. “Well, that’s optimistic.” His eyes studied his mother for an instant. “You, too?”

“Of course. Did you think I was fit only to cook for you, and then send you out to die?” Naria Tenira offered the bitter words as she set a steaming apple pie on the table. Her next words were softer. “I made this for you, Grag. I know it’s your favorite. There is meat and ale and cheese set out in the dining hall, if you’d rather. Those who went out before you wanted a hearty meal against the cold.”

It might be their last meal together. If the Chalcedeans did overrun them today, they would find the larder empty. There was no point in holding anything back anymore, whether food or beloved lives. Despite the hovering of destruction, or perhaps because of it, the warm baked fruit, redolent of honey and cinnamon, had never smelled so good to Reyn. Grag cut slices with a generous hand. Reyn set the first piece of the warm pie before Selden and accepted another for himself. “Thank you,” he said quietly. He could think of nothing else to say.