For a moment, Kennit stood in the center of a great stillness. In all directions, it led to disaster. Had his luck finally deserted him? Had he finally made the one error that was not correctable? He took a breath. “Are you so swift to believe such evil of me?”

Vivacia glared at him. “How can you ask me something like that?”

She was not absolutely certain. He read it in her response. Once, she had cared for him, in a gentler way than Bolt had. Could he rouse that in her again? He ran his hand soothingly along the railing. “Because you see, not with your eyes, but with your heart. Althea believes she experienced something horrible. And so you believe her.” He paused dramatically. He let his voice drop. “Ship, you know me. You have been inside my mind. You know me as no one else can.” He took a chance. “Can you believe that I am capable of such a thing?”

She did not answer him directly. “It is the greatest wrong that can be done to a female, human or dragon. It affronts and disgusts me on all levels. If you have done this, Kennit, it is irreparable. Not even your death could atone for it.” There was more than human fury repressed in her voice: there was a cold reptilian implacability. It went beyond revenge and retaliation to annihilation. It sent a chill up his spine. He gripped her railing to steady himself. His voice was tight with self-justification when he spoke.

“I assure you, I intend no harm at all to Althea Vestrit. Hurting her, offending her would run counter to all my hopes for her.” He took a great breath and confided in the ship, “Truth be told, in the few days since she came aboard, I have conceived a great fondness for her. My feelings for her bewilder and confuse me. I am not sure how to deal with them.” Those words, at least, rang with honesty.

A long silence followed his words. Then she asked quietly, “And what of Etta?”

Who was stronger in the ship, Bolt or Vivacia? Bolt had seemed to like Etta: Vivacia had never disguised her jealousy of her. “I am torn,” Kennit admitted. “Etta has been at my side a long time. I have seen her grow far beyond the common whore I rescued from Bettel’s bagnio. She has bettered herself in many ways, but she must suffer in comparison to Althea.” He paused, and sighed lightly. “Althea is altogether a different sort of woman. Her birth and her breeding show in every movement she makes. Yet there is a competency to her that I find very attractive. She is more like… you. And I confess, part of the attraction is that she is so much a part of you. The same family that shaped you created her. To be with her is, in a sense, to be with you.” He hoped she would find that flattering. He held his breath, waiting.

Around them the night deepened. The serpents became disembodied sounds, their odd singing mingled with the random splashes of their passage. As the darkness became complete, the brief flashes of their gleaming, scaled bodies lit the waters around the ship.

“You killed Paragon,” she said quietly. “I know that. Bolt saw it. I have her memories.”

He shook his head. “I helped Paragon die. It was what he wanted. It was what he had tried to do for himself so many times. I only made it easier for him.”

“Brashen was dear to me.” The ship’s voice was choked.

“I am sorry. I did not realize that. In any case, the man was a true captain to the end. He would not leave his ship.” There was regretful admiration in his voice. He went on more quietly, “You have Bolt’s memories. Then you will remember she wanted Althea dead. I refused that. What does she remember of Althea’s ‘rape’?” His lips scarce touched the word.

“Nothing,” the ship admitted. “She refused to touch minds with Althea. But I know what Althea recalls.”

Relief fueled his voice with kindness. “And Althea recalls a nightmare, a poppy dream, not a reality. Such dreams are especially vivid. I do not blame her, or you, for believing her nightmare was real. I blame myself. I should not have given her poppy syrup. I meant no harm, only to help her rest and give her time to absorb the tragedy that had changed her life.”

“Kennit, Kennit,” the ship burst out in an anguished voice. “You have become precious to me. It gives me pain even to try to believe such things of you. For me to admit such a horrendous act by you means I must admit I have been duped and deceived as to all you are. If it is true, it will make lies of all truths there have ever been between us.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Please, please, tell me she is mistaken. Tell me you could not have done such an odious thing.”

What one wants to believe badly enough becomes real. “I will show you my proof. I will have Althea and Jek brought to you. You will see for yourself that they have taken no harm while in my care. Althea may have a few bruises, but,” he chuckled deprecatingly, “probably fewer than she gave me. She is not a large woman, but she is spirited.”