“Why?” Althea demanded.

“I am troubled about other things,” Vivacia replied.

Althea sighed. “Your serpents. Their need to be guided back to their spawning river and escorted up it. It is hard for me, still, to think of you as a dragon.” And harder still for her to accept that Vivacia had a loyalty that superseded all others. But if the serpents were first in her heart, before the Vestrits, perhaps they preceded Kennit as well. Childishly, Althea perceived a possible wedge. “Why do you not simply demand it of Kennit?”

“Do you know anyone who reacts well to a demand?” Vivacia asked rhetorically.

“You fear he would refuse you.”

Vivacia was silent, and that quiet jolted Althea from the rut of her own concerns. It was like being lifted high on a wave and suddenly seeing to a farther horizon. She perceived Vivacia’s confinement, spirit of a dragon encased in a body of wood, dependent on the men who set her sails and the winds that pushed her canvas. There were, she suddenly saw, many ways to be raped. The revelation broke her heart. Yet her next words sounded childish in her ears. “Were you mine again, we would leave today, this minute.”

“You mean those words. I thank you for them.”

Althea had almost forgotten Jek was there until she spoke. “You could force him. Threaten to open up your seams.”

Vivacia smiled bitterly. “I am not mad Paragon, to recklessly menace my entire crew with wild acts of defiance. No.” Althea felt her sigh. “Kennit will not be swayed by threats or demands. Even if I had the will, his pride would make him defy me. For this, I must hark back to your family’s wisdom, Althea. I must bargain, with nothing to offer.”

Althea tried to consider it coldly. “First, what do you want of him? Second, what can we offer him?”

“What do I want? For him to sail me back to the Rain Wild River, as swiftly as possible, and up it to the cocooning grounds. For me to remain there, near the serpents all winter, doing all we could to protect them until they hatched.” She laughed hopelessly. “Even better would be an escort of his vessels, to guard my poor, weary serpents on their long journey. But every bit of that runs counter to Kennit’s best interests.”

Althea felt stupid for not seeing it earlier. “If he helps the serpents, he loses the use of them. They disappear to become dragons. He loses a powerful tool against Jamaillia.”

“Bolt-self was too eager to flaunt her strength to him. She did not foresee this.” She shook her head. “As for your second question, I have nothing to offer him that he does not already possess.”

“The dragons could promise to return and aid him after they hatched,” Jek speculated.

Vivacia shook her head. “They are not mine to bind that way. Even if I could, I would not. It is bad enough that, for as long as wizardwood endures, I must serve humans. I will not indenture the next generation.”

Jek rolled her shoulders restively. “It’s useless. There is nothing he wants that he doesn’t have already.” She smiled mirthlessly. “Save Althea.”

A terrible quiet followed her words.

JUST WHEN ETTA WOULD HAVE BEEN USEFUL, SHE WAS NOT ON BOARD, KENNIT reflected in annoyance. He had to order everything himself, for Wintrow seemed completely addled by the presence of his sister. “Arrange chairs and a table in the chart room. Get some food and drink as well,” he instructed him hastily.

“I’ll help him,” Sorcor volunteered good-naturedly, and lumbered off after Wintrow. As well. Sorcor and his family had suffered much at the hands of the Satrap’s tax collectors and his slave masters. In their early days together, he had often drunkenly held forth on exactly what he would do if he ever got his hands on the Satrap himself. Best not to give him too much opportunity to dwell on that right now.

Kennit followed them at a leisurely pace, to give Wintrow and Sorcor time to prepare the room. He saw the young woman eyeing his stump and peg. Malta Vestrit resembled her father. Kyle Haven’s arrogance was in her carefully held mouth and narrowed eyes. He halted suddenly, and flourished his stump at her. “A serpent bit it off,” he informed her casually. “A hazard of life upon the seas.”

The Satrap recoiled, looking more distressed than his young Companion did. Kennit kept his smile small. Ah. He had forgotten the noble Jamaillian distaste for physical disfigurement. Could he use that? Captain Red had outlined the details of the Satrap’s proposal. A dazzling offer, Kennit reflected gleefully, and only the first offer.

Kennit led them into the chart room. The preparations were adequate. Wintrow had spread a heavy cloth and added silver candlesticks. The silver tray that Wintrow held bore a collection of bottles and several glazed jugs of a Southby Island intoxicant, all recent plunder. Glasses and noggins suitable for the various drinks had been assembled as well. It was a suitable showing of wealth, without being extravagant. Kennit was pleased. He gestured at the table. “Please, please, come in. Wintrow, do the honors with drink, there’s a good fellow.”