She spoke her treachery aloud to him. Here, at the pinnacle of his need for her, she would leave him, to return to her Bingtown family. He cursed himself silently for not heeding Bolt. He never should have brought Althea on board. He gripped his crutch and forced calmness on himself. The terrible plummet from dawning triumph to imminent disaster choked him.

“I see,” he managed to say. Behind him, the mood on the deck was jubilant. Unaware of her betrayal, his crew exchanged rough jests as they eagerly awaited the encounter. The ostentatious Captain Red had spread wide the news of Kennit’s negotiations. All expected him to succeed. To fail now, so publicly, was unthinkable.

“Help me as you can today,” he suggested. He refused to think he begged. “And tomorrow will have to take care of itself.”

A strange look passed over Vivacia’s face, like anticipated pain. She closed her wide green eyes for an instant. When she opened them, her gaze was distant. “No, Kennit,” she said softly. “Not unless you give me your word that tomorrow we take the serpents north. That is the price for them helping you today.”

“Of course.” He did not think about the lie. She knew him too well. If he paused to consider it, she would know the falsehood. “You have my word, Vivacia. If it is that important to you, it is important to me as well.” Tomorrow, as he had told her, would have to take care of itself. He would deal with the consequences then. He watched the single ship separate itself from the Jamaillian fleet and come toward him. Soon it would be within hailing distance.

“CAN YOU SEE ANYTHING?” JEK ASKED.

Althea, her forehead pressed to the porthole, did not answer. This tiny, expensive window had been a major indulgence from her father. The rest of her room had changed, but she could not touch this without thinking of him. What would her father think of her now? She burned with shame. This was her family’s ship, and here she was, hiding belowdecks while a pirate negotiated from her deck. “What is going on out there?” she wondered aloud. “What is he saying to them?”

The door opened and Wintrow entered, cheeks red from the wind. He began speaking immediately. “The Jamaillians challenged our passage. Kennit called himself King of the Pirate Isles and demanded they give way. They refused. He returned that he had the Satrap aboard and that the Satrapy had recognized him as the legitimate King of the Pirate Isles. They scoffed at him, saying the Satrap was dead. Kennit replied that the Satrap was very much alive, and that he was taking him to Jamaillia to restore him to his throne. They demanded proof. He shouted back that the proof they would get, they would not like. Then they offered to let him leave if he first surrendered the Satrap to them. He replied he was not a fool.

“Now the Jamaillian negotiating ship has pulled back. Kennit has said they may have time to think, but warns them to stand where they are. All wait to see who will make the next move.”

“Waiting. More waiting,” Althea ground out the word. “Surely he won’t sit still and wait while they surround us. The only logical course is to flee.” Then she stared at the Satrap. “This is true, what Kennit says? You have recognized him as king? How could you be so stupid?”

“It’s complicated,” Malta flung back at her while the indignant Satrap glared. “He would have been more stupid to refuse.” In a lower voice, she added, “We took our only chance at survival. But I don’t expect you to understand that.”

“How could I?” Althea retorted. “I still don’t know how you even came to be here, let alone with the Satrap of Jamaillia.” She took a breath. She evened her tone. “As long as we are stuck here and must wait, why don’t you tell me how you came to be here. How did you leave Bingtown at all?”

MALTA DID NOT WANT TO SPEAK FIRST. A TINY MOTION OF HER EYES TOWARD the Satrap cued Wintrow to her reluctance. Althea did not notice it. Her aunt had never been one for subtleties. She scowled at Malta’s reticence, and Malta was relieved when Wintrow interfered. “I was the first to leave Bingtown. Althea knows a bit of what I’ve been through, but Malta knows nothing. Althea is right. As we must wait, let’s use the time wisely. I’ll tell my travels first.” His eyes were both sympathetic and shamed as he added, “I know you are anxious for news of our father. I wish I had more to tell.”

He launched into an honest but brief account of all that had passed. Malta felt incredulous when he spoke of being tattooed as a slave at her father’s command. What had become of the tattoo, then? She bit her tongue to keep from calling him a liar. His tale of their father’s disappearance was as incredible as the story of rescuing a serpent. When he told of how the ship had cured him and erased the scar, she was skeptical but kept silent.