“That interests me not in the least!” the dragon cut in harshly. “Or do you think you still ‘own’ the liveships? Vivacia will go south, to your big city. My Elderlings will go with her, to speak for me, to arrange the shipments of grain and foodstuffs for the workers, to hire engineers as Reyn sees fit, to inform the people in that city of what dragons will henceforth require of it, to arrange-“

“Require?” Wintrow cut in coldly. Outrage had stiffened him.

The dragon rounded on Reyn in exasperation. “Have you told them nothing? You’ve had the whole day!”

“Perhaps you don’t recall that you dropped me in the middle of a sea battle?” Reyn asked irritably. “We have spent most of our day trying to be alive at the end of it.”

“I recall well enough that my serpents had been endangered for purely human ends. Humans are always squabbling and killing one another.” She glared at them all. “It will no longer be tolerated. You will put such things aside until my ends have been served, or risk my wrath.” She threw her head high and half-lifted her wings. “That, too, my Elderlings will establish. No ship is allowed to interfere with a serpent! No petty warfare will be tolerated if it interferes with supplies to the Rain Wilds. You will not-“

Wintrow was incensed. “What manner of creature are you, to seek to order our lives by force? Do our dreams, our plans, our ambitions count for nothing in your greater scheme of things?”

The dragon paused and turned her head, as if considering his questions gravely. Then she leaned her great head close to him, so close that his clothing moved in the rush of her breath. “I am a dragon, human. In the greater scheme of things, your dreams, plans and ambitions count for next to nothing. You simply do not live long enough to matter.” She paused. When she spoke again, Reyn could tell she was trying to make her voice kinder. “Save as you assist dragons, of course. When you have completed this task, my kind will remember your service for generations. Could humans hope for a higher honor?”

“Perhaps we hope to live out our insignificant little lives as we see fit,” Wintrow retorted. He did not move back from the dragon he defied. Reyn recognized the set of his shoulders and the way he held his mouth. Her brother shared Malta’s stubborn streak. The dragon’s chest had started to swell.

Malta hastened to stand between her brother and the dragon. She looked fearlessly from one to the other. “We are all weary, too weary to bargain well tonight.”

“Bargain!” the dragon snorted contemptuously. “Oh, not again! Humans and their bargaining.”

“Far simpler to kill anyone who disagrees with you?” Wintrow suggested tartly.

Malta set a restraining hand to her brother’s arm. “All of us must sleep,” she suggested firmly. “Even you, Tintaglia, are in need of rest. By morning, we will be rested, and each can state what he needs. It is the only way this can be resolved.”

THE DRAGON, ALTHEA REFLECTED, WAS THE ONLY ONE TO GET ANY SLEEP. THE humans gathered once more, aboard the Motley this time, for Captain Red had bragged that he had coffee as well as a slightly larger chart room. She was beginning to have a grudging admiration for Malta’s ability to negotiate. Her niece had inherited some of Ronica’s trading skills but much rested in Malta’s inherent charm. Her first achievement was in insisting that the Jamaillian nobles be seated at the table with them. Althea heard a few words of her whispered argument with the offended Satrap. “…bind them to your service with their own interests. If you break them too low, they will ever after be as a treacherous cur at your heels. This will assure that they will not later disclaim the treaty,” she had insisted heatedly.

For a wonder, the Satrap acceded to her demands. Her second stroke of genius was in arranging food for all before they convened. When they finally gathered around Captain Red’s table, tempers were calmed. Malta and Reyn had privately conferred as well, for she rose and announced that they could not proceed until she had informed everyone more fully of events in Bingtown. Despite her own interest in Malta’s tale, Althea found herself watching the faces of the others. The Jamaillian nobles looked stricken as they finally recognized the fullness of the Chalcedean betrayal. Etta listened quietly but attentively. Amber stared obsessively at Wintrow, a look of near-tragic speculation on her face. Brashen beside her was unnaturally silent, but his hand under the table was warm in hers. The only time he spoke was when Reyn began to discuss the quake damage to Trehaug. Brashen leaned forward to claim attention with a light slap on the table. His words were only for Reyn as he asked, “Is Rain Wild Trader business so openly discussed before outsiders?”