“So. Our Magnadon Satrap Cosgo again saw fit not to join us at table?”

Malta patted her lips and took her time answering. “Captain, I’m afraid he is still indisposed. His upbringing did not school him to the rigors of sea travel, I fear.”

“His upbringing did not school him to any rigors. Say rather that he disdains our company.”

“His health is delicate, and his circumstances distress him,” Malta replied easily, determined not to speak critically of the Satrap. If she turned on him, she would no longer be seen as his loyal, and perhaps valuable, attendant. She cleared her throat slightly. “He again requested smoking herbs, to ease his seasickness.”

“Pah. They do nothing for seasickness, save make a man too dazed to be bothered by it. I have told you we allow none aboard. It was debt for smoking herbs and other similar amusements that brought our company to the tattooist’s stocks.”

“I have told him that, Captain. I fear he does not believe me.”

“He longs for them so that he cannot imagine we do without them,” the captain scoffed. He cleared his own throat. His demeanor changed. “He would do well to join us tomorrow. We should like to discuss with him, genteelly, the terms of his ransom. Do urge him to be here tomorrow.”

“I shall,” Malta replied earnestly. “But I fear I cannot convince him that this would better the circumstances of his captivity. Perhaps you would allow me to act as a go-between with your terms. I am accustomed to his temperament.”

“Better say that you are accustomed to his temper, to his sulks, his arrogance, his childish spite. As to confiding my intentions, well, all have agreed that the Satrap of all Jamaillia will make a fine gift for Kennit, King of the Pirate Isles. Many of us would find it amusing if our boy-Satrap finished his days wearing a crow tattooed beside his nose and shackles on his feet. Perhaps he could be taught to wait at table for Kennit’s meals.

“But Kennit tends toward greater pragmatism. I suspect that King Kennit will ransom the Lord High Spoiled One back to whoever will have him. It would behoove Cosgo to think of who that might be. It would please me to present him to Kennit with a list of names to be invited to bid for this prize.”

Kennit. The name of the man who had taken her father and his ship. What could this mean? Could she herself eventually stand before the man and somehow negotiate her father’s release? The Satrap Cosgo suddenly took on new value in her eyes. She took a breath and found a smile.

“I shall persuade him to draw up such a list of names,” Malta assured the captain. Her eyes followed the mate; he was the last of the company to leave the room. “If you will excuse me, I will see if I cannot begin tonight.” The door shut firmly behind the man. She cursed the increased beat of her heart, for she knew that the blood rose betrayingly to her face as well. She smiled as she edged toward the door.

“Are you in such a hurry to leave me?” Captain Red asked with mock sorrow. He stood and walked around the table toward her.

“I hasten to do your bidding,” Malta replied. She smiled and let a glint of flirtation come into her eyes. She walked a difficult line with this man. He thought very well of himself, and that was to her advantage. It pleased him to suppose that she desired him, and he enjoyed his pursuit and the dramatic opportunities it afforded him. He flaunted his courtship of her to his own crew. Nor did her scar daunt him. Perhaps, she thought, once a man’s own face had been marked against his will, he made less of the marks on others’ faces.

“Could not you stay here and do my bidding as well?” he asked her with a warm smile. He was a very handsome man, with handsome ways. A cold, hard part of herself speculated that if she made herself mistress of this man, she could use him against Kennit. But no. It was not the sudden memory of Reyn’s wide shoulders or her hand resting in his strong one as they danced. Not at all. She had set all thoughts of the Rain Wilder aside as a future she would never see. She was ruined forever for marriage to such a man. But it was just possible, if she was ruthless enough, that she still could save her father. Despite all that had befallen her, he would love her still, with a father’s true love.

She had been too distracted. Captain Red captured her hands and stood looking down on her with amusement. “I really must go,” she murmured, feigning reluctance. “I’ve taken the Satrap no dinner yet. If I am late, it will put him in a foul temper, and getting those names for you may prove-“

“Let him starve,” Captain Red suggested brusquely, his glance roving over her face. “I’ll wager it’s a tactic no one has ever tried on him before: it might be exactly what he needs to make him more reasonable.”