A scant year ago, Malta had turned her wiles on Brashen. In her words, he heard her girlish cunning matured into genuine diplomacy. Some of the nobles exchanged looks, impressed with her words. Even the Satrap seemed pleased with her, nodding to her words as if she but spoke aloud his own thoughts.

MALTA CLAPPED HER HANDS TO HER EARS BEFORE REYN HEARD THE SOUND. When it broke into his hearing range, he flinched with her. The others looked about wildly, while one Jamaillian lord wailed, “The serpents return!”

“No. It’s Tintaglia,” Reyn replied. Anxiety clutched him. The dragon cried for help as she came. He moved toward the door, and everyone else at the table rose and followed him. Malta seized his hand as they emerged onto the deck. Together, they stared up into the downpour. Tintaglia swept over them, a pale gleaming of silver and blue against the overcast night sky. Her wings beat heavily. She swung in a wide circle, then gave cry again. To Reyn’s amazement, her call was answered. The ship’s deck hummed with the force of Vivacia’s reply. A deeper call from Paragon echoed hers.

Malta was frozen, looking up in awe. An instant after the sound died, she met Reyn’s eyes with a question. “She asks for help?”

Reyn snorted. “No. She demands our help. Tintaglia seldom ‘asks’ for anything.” His heart sank despite his callous words. They had grown too close for her to conceal her fear from him. He felt both her weariness and the deep grief in her soul.

“I did not understand all of it.” Malta added, “I am shocked that I understood any of it.”

Reyn replied in a low voice, “The longer you are around her, the more clear it comes to your mind. I think our ears have little to do with it.” The dragon’s vocalizations shook the skies again. All around them, sailors either craned to look at the beast or cowered under shelter. Reyn stared up, heedless of the rain that pelted his face. He spoke loud to be heard through the answering cries of the ships.

“The dragon is exhausted. She flies too swiftly for the serpents to keep up with her. She has had to constantly circle to match her pace to theirs. She has not hunted or fed, for she has feared to leave her serpents. When they encountered a Chalcedean ship, it attacked her. She was not injured badly but the serpents rose against the ship.” He took a breath. “They knew how to kill serpents. Archers killed six of the tangle before they sank the ship.” The outrage and sorrow of the liveship rose through them. “The tangle rests for the night, but she has returned to ask our aid.” He turned beseechingly to the captains. “Darkness caught her on the wing. She needs a sandy beach to land on-or any beach, with a fire to guide her in.”

Sorcor spoke suddenly. “Would muck do? It’s slippery, but softer than rock.”

“Stink Island,” Etta confirmed.

“It’s not far,” Red added. “She probably flies over it each time she circles. Bad place for a ship, though. Shallow water.”

“But you can run a boat up on it.” Etta dismissed this problem. “And there’s lots of driftwood there for a fire.”

“We need to get there. Now.” Reyn glanced up anxiously at the sky. “If we do not hurry, the ocean will claim her. She is at the end of her strength.”

Liveship Traders 3 - Ship of Destiny

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN - A Dragon’s Will

THE WET DRIFTWOOD WOULD NOT KINDLE. WHILE REYN STRUGGLED WITH tinder that the wind kept claiming, Malta took off her cloak and stuffed it into the tangle of wood. He looked up to the sudden crash as she smashed their lantern onto the pile. A moment later, flames licked up the edges of her cloak. He feared the fire would die there, but after a few moments, he heard the welcome crackling of wood igniting. By then, Malta had come to the shelter of his cloak. When her brother gave them an odd look, she lifted her chin and stared him down defiantly. She pressed her wet and shivering body firmly against Reyn’s. In the sheltering darkness, he held her, smelling the fragrance of her hair. Boldly he kissed the top of her head. The fine scaling of her crest rasped his cheek, and Malta gave an involuntary shiver. He felt her body flush suddenly with warmth. She looked up at him, surprise intensifying the pale gleam of her Rain Wild eyes.

“Reyn,” she gasped, caught between delight and scandal. “You should not do that,” she chided primly.

“Are you sure?” he asked by her ear.

“Not when my brother is watching,” she amended breathlessly.

The bonfire was burning well now. Reyn lifted anxious eyes to the sky. He had not heard Tintaglia pass overhead for some time, but her anxiety hung strong and infected him. She was still up there, somewhere. He glanced around at the people who had come to the beach with them. Stink Island lived up to its name. All were muck to the knee, and Red, much to his disgust, had fallen in the stuff and was probably regretting his desire to see a dragon up close.