As Wintrow rose to fetch fresh candles for the table, he reflected that soon they would not need them. The talks had consumed the night: a late winter dawn was breaking over the water. He stood beside Malta as he fitted the candles into the heavy silver holders and wished he could reach her as he did the ship, with no more than a focused thought. He wished she knew that although he sat with those who opposed her, he was proud of her. She had bargained like a true Trader. If Kennit’s offer of restoring their father had weighed on her mind, she had refused to show it. Small hope that Kennit would honor that offer. How Malta had come to be in the Satrap’s company was still a mystery, but the rigors of that journey showed on her face. If the negotiations went successfully, what then? Would she leave with the Satrap?

He longed for this to be over, so he could talk with her. His hunger for news from home was more powerful than his need for food and sleep. He lit the last candle and resumed his seat. Kennit surprised him by clapping him genially on the shoulder. “Tired, son? Well, we are nearly at the end of this. All that remains to negotiate now is the actual ransom itself. Some prefer coins, but I am more lenient in these matters. Precious gems, pearls, furs, tapestries, even…”

“This is outrageous!” Despite his weariness, the Satrap lurched to his feet. His mouth had gone white and pinched. His clenched hands trembled with fury. For one horrifying instant, Wintrow feared he would burst into angry tears. Malta reached a supportive hand toward him, but stopped short of touching him. She sent Kennit a killing glare. When she spoke, her voice was calm.

“Lord Magnadon Satrap, I see the logic of this. Your nobles will value you less if they have not had to pay anything to recover you. Consider this. It will give you a way to gauge who is truly loyal to you. You will reward those who are willing to contribute to your recovery later. Those who are not will feel your magnificent wrath. King Kennit is, after all, my lord, still a pirate.” She gave Kennit a tight-lipped smile, as if to be sure her barb hit home. “All your nobles would distrust a treaty in which he did not demand some sort of reward for himself, rather than merely benefits for his people.”

It was pathetic. She saw that the Satrap was powerless to refuse Kennit. She sought to save the boy’s pride for him. The Satrap’s mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. He shot Malta a venomous look. Then, in a quiet voice, he hissed, “Certainly this is so. It has nothing to do with you groveling to regain your father, does it?” He swung his look to Kennit. “How much?” he snapped bitterly.

“SAILS!” All heads turned to the lookout’s cry, but Kennit merely looked annoyed. “See to that, would you, Sorcor?” he requested lazily. He turned back to the Satrap and smiled, a great black tomcat toying with a mouse. But before Sorcor could reach the door, Wintrow heard running footsteps outside it. Jola did not knock; he pounded on the wood. Sorcor jerked the door open.

Jola blurted out, “Sir, Jamaillian ships! A whole fleet of them headed our way from the south. Lookout says he sees war machines on their decks.” He drew breath. “We can escape them if we up anchor now.”

Hope kindled in the Satrap’s eyes. “Now we shall see!” he declared.

“Indeed we shall,” Kennit agreed affably. He turned to his mate with a rebuke. “Jola, Jola, why would we flee, when fate has given me every advantage in this confrontation? We are in familiar waters, our serpents surround us and we have the supreme Magnadon Satrap as our… guest. A small demonstration of power is in order.” He turned to the Satrap. “Your fleet may be more prone to honor our agreement if they have first enjoyed the attentions of a few serpents. Then we shall see how well they negotiate for your release.” He gave a thin-lipped smile to the Satrap and thrust the treaty toward him. “I am going to enjoy finalizing this. Your signature, sir. Then I shall affix mine. When they confront us, if they do, we shall see what regard they have for their Satrap’s word. And for his life.” He grinned at Sorcor. “I believe we have several Jamaillian flags among our plunder. As the Lord High Magnadon Satrap of all Jamaillia is our guest, it is only fitting that we fly them in his honor.”

Kennit rose from the table, abruptly a sea captain again. He gave his first mate a disdainful look. “Jola. Calm yourself. See that the Satrap’s flag is added to our own, then have the men prepare themselves for battle. Sorcor, Red, I recommend you return to your ships and do likewise. I must consult with my ship and the serpents. Ah, yes. Our guests. Wintrow, make them comfortable and secure in Althea’s room, will you? She and Jek will join them there until this is over.”