“It didn’t turn your mind.”

Jek was silent for a moment. In a quieter voice, she went on, “I’m grieving in my own way. Amber wasn’t some chance-met acquaintance. I’ve cut a lock of hair to mourn her, not that I expect you to understand that. But I lost a friend, not my lover. You lost Brashen. It’s bound to affect you more strongly.”

The sense of Jek’s words settled onto Wintrow and stunned him. He stared at his aunt, unable to imagine such a thing. She glared at his scandalized expression. “Yes, I was sleeping with Trell. I suppose that you share your mother’s opinion of that. Can’t rape a whore, right, Wintrow?”

The injustice of her words stirred his own anger. He stood his ground. Enduring Etta’s temper had taught him some courage at least. “I didn’t condemn you,” he defended himself. “I was just surprised. I’ve a right to be shocked. It’s not what one expects of a Trader’s daughter. But that doesn’t mean I…”

“Fuck you, Wintrow,” she retaliated savagely. “Because you’re exactly what I’d expect of Kyle Haven’s son.”

Those words stung him more than they had a right to. He struggled to keep his voice level. “That wasn’t fair. You want to be angry with everyone, so you’re putting meanings to my words that I don’t intend. You haven’t given me a chance to speak at all. I haven’t said I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t have to say it. Your standing with Kennit proves what you believe. Get out. And take that with you.” She extended a leg to kick the chest disdainfully to the floor.

He walked to the door. “Maybe I’m not standing with Kennit. Maybe I’m standing with my ship.”

“Shut up!” she roared. “I don’t want to hear your excuses. I’ve heard enough.”

“If you carry on like a madwoman, people will treat you like one,” he warned her harshly. He shut the door firmly behind himself. He heard the crash and tinkle of a bottle of scent shattering against it. In the dim companionway, he shut his eyes for a moment. Some of her accusations had been fair, he forced himself to admit. He wouldn’t have believed her. Her story was illogical and implausible. He doubted that anyone on board believed what she said about Kennit. Except for him. And it wasn’t her word that had forced him to believe her. It was Etta’s.

Liveship Traders 3 - Ship of Destiny

CHAPTER THIRTY - Convergence

“IT’S FINISHED. I’LL HAVE TO BORE A HOLE THROUGH YOUR EAR. WILL YOU mind?”

“After everything else you’ve done, I shan’t even notice. May I touch it first?”

Amber put the large earring into Paragon’s open hand. “Here. You know, you could just open your eyes and look. You needn’t do everything by touch anymore.”

“Not yet,” Paragon told her. He wished she would not speak of that. He could not explain to her just why he could not open his eyes yet. He would know when the time was right. He weighed the earring in his hand and smiled, savoring the newness of the facial sensation. “It’s like a net carved of wood links. With a lump trapped in the middle.”

“Your description is so flattering,” Amber observed wryly. “It’s to be a silver net with a blue gemstone caught in it. It matches an earring I wear. I’m on the railing. Hold me so I can reach your earlobe.”

When he offered her his palm as a platform, she climbed on without hesitation. He held her to his ear, and did not wince as she set a drill to his ear-lobe. The reconstruction of his face had not been painful as humans understood pain. Amber leaned against his cheek as she worked, bracing herself against the impacts as he breasted each wave. The bit passing through his earlobe tingled strangely. Wizardwood chips fell in a fine shower that she caught in a canvas apron. He ingested them at the end of each day. None of his memories had been lost.

He no longer hid from his memories. Mother spent part of each day on the foredeck with his logbooks. On wet days, she sheltered herself and her books under a flap of canvas. He could not understand the gabbling of her truncated tongue, but that did not matter. She sat on his deck and leaned against his railing as she read. Through her, the ancient memories came trickling back to him. Recorded in those books were the sparse observations of his captains through the years. It did not matter. The notations were touchstones for memories of his own.

The tool passed completely through his lobe. Amber drew it back, and after a moment of fumbling, hung the earring from his ear. She fastened a catch at the back of his earlobe. Then she stood clear as he accepted the wood back to himself. He gave an experimental tug on the earring, then shook his head to accustom himself to the dangling weight. “I like it. Did I get it right?”