Kennit did not envy him his errand, but he could scarcely let the ship see him like this, let alone have a common seaman see him dash to obey the ship’s summons. He lifted a hand to smooth his moustache. “Slow. Calm. Steady. Take control of it again,” he counseled himself.

But a tiny voice spoke from his wrist in mocking counterpoint. “Swiftly. Messily. It all falls to pieces. In the end, dear sir, you will not even have control of yourself. No more than Igrot did when he met his fate at your hands. For when you became the beast, little Kennit, you doomed yourself to share the beast’s end.”

“ETTA. ETTA, PLEASE,” WINTROW BEGGED HER, HELPLESSLY TORN. HE SHOULD be seeing to Althea. She had appeared both sick and deranged, but how could he leave Etta like this? She paid no attention. She wept on, sobbing into the pillows as if she could not stop. He had never seen anyone weep this way. There was a terrible violence to her gasping sobs, as if her body sought to purge herself of sorrow, but the misery went too deep for tears to assuage.

“Etta, please, Etta,” he tried again. She did not even seem to hear him. Timidly, he patted her on the back. He had dim memories of his mother patting his little sister so, when Malta was so immersed in a tantrum that she could not calm herself. “There, there,” he said comfortingly. “It’s all over now. It’s all over.” He moved his hand in a small, comforting circle.

She took a deep breath. “It’s all over,” she confirmed, and broke into fresh mourning. It was so unlike Etta that it was like trying to comfort a stranger. Her behavior was as incomprehensible as Althea’s.

The scene with Althea had been horrible; something was deeply wrong with his aunt, and he had to speak with her, regardless of what Kennit commanded. Her wild accusations of rape and strange talk of a buried ship stirred deep fears for her sanity. He should never have let Kennit prevent him from seeing her. The isolation had not rested her, but had left her alone with her grief. How could he have been so stupid?

But Etta wept on, and he could not leave her. Why had Althea’s crazed words affected Etta like this? Then the answer came to him: she was pregnant. Women always behaved strangely when they were pregnant. He felt almost giddy with relief. He put his arm around her and spoke by her ear.

“It’s all right, Etta. Just cry it out. These emotional storms are to be expected, in your condition.”

She sat up on the bed abruptly, her face mottled red and white, her cheeks shining with smeared tears. Then she swung. He saw her clenched fist coming, and almost managed to evade the punch. It clipped the point of his chin, clacking his teeth together and jolting stars into his eyes. He recoiled, his hand going to his jaw as he stood. “What was that for?” he demanded, shocked.

“For being stupid. For being blind, as they say only women are blind. You are an idiot, Wintrow Vestrit! I don’t know why I ever wasted my time on you. You know so much, but you learn nothing at all. Nothing!” Her face suddenly crumpled again. She dropped her face to her knees and rocked back and forth like a disconsolate child. “How could I have ever been so stupid?” she moaned. Sitting up, she reached for him.

Hesitantly, he sat down on the bed beside her. When he tried to pat her on the shoulder, she came into his arms instead. She put her face against his shoulder and sobbed, her shoulders shaking. He held her, gingerly at first, and then more firmly. He had never held a woman in his arms before. “Etta,” he said softly. “Etta, my dear.” He dared to stroke her shining hair.

The door opened. Wintrow startled, but did not release her. He had nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to be guilty about. “Etta is not herself,” he told Kennit hastily.

“Indeed. That may be a relief, if whoever she is can behave better than the real Etta,” he returned churlishly. “Brawling in the corridor like a common guttersnipe.” When Etta did not lift her head from Wintrow’s shoulder, he went on sarcastically, “I do hope I’m not interrupting you two. A small matter like my face bleeding or my clothes being filthy should not distress either of you.”

To Wintrow’s amazement, Etta slowly lifted her head. She looked at Kennit as if she had never seen him before. Something passed between them in that look, something Wintrow was not privy to. It seemed to break the woman, but she wept no more. “I’m finished,” she said brokenly. “I’ll get up and find…”

“Don’t bother,” Kennit snarled as she stood. “I can see to my own needs. Go to Jola instead. Tell him to signal Captain Sorcor to send a boat for you. I think it will be better if you stay aboard the Marietta for a time.”