“GOOD FOR YOU,” BRASHEN GROWLED AT HER. HE TURNED HIS BACK ON HER. HE went to his clothing chest and began to rummage through it. She’d be getting her ship back today. No wonder she was alert with anticipation. He was glad for her. Truly, he was. He could remember what it was like to step up to command. He found a shirt and dragged it on. She’d do well. He was proud of her. She’d been happy for him when he took over Paragon. He was happy for her now. Honestly. He turned back to her. She crouched on the floor by her duffel bag surrounded by scattered garments. The look she gave him was one of misery. She looked so worn, Brashen felt a rush of remorse. “I’m sorry I’m so abrupt,” he said gruffly. “I’m just very tired.”

“We both are. No need to apologize.” Then she smiled and offered him, “You could go back to bed. There’s no real reason we both have to be up this early.”

Was that supposed to make him feel better? That she was willing to just walk away, leave him sleeping in his bunk? This reminded him too much of the harsh way they’d parted in Candletown. Maybe this was just how Althea Vestrit said goodbye to her men. “You must have slept through that part last night. Wintrow warned us that we’d all have to be up early to catch this tide to get clear of here. Semoy’s a good hand, but I want to bring Paragon out of this maze myself.”

“I think I can steer a tricky passage as well as you can.” She rocked slightly back on her heels to give him an offended look.

“I know you can,” he barked back. “But it won’t do Paragon much good when you’re at Vivacia’s wheel,” he retorted.

She looked at him blankly. Then her face changed. Understanding dawned. “Oh, Brashen.” She came to her feet. “You thought I was going away today. On Vivacia.”

“Aren’t you?” He hated the slight hoarseness in his voice. He looked at her sullenly, refusing to hope.

She shook her head slowly. He saw an echo of loss in her eyes. “There’s no place there for me, Brashen. I saw that yesterday. I will always love her. But she is Wintrow’s ship. To take her away from him would be… identical to what Kyle did to me. Wrong.”

He fitted the words together. “Then you’re staying on with Paragon?”

“Yes.”

“And with me?”

“So I assumed.” She cocked her head at him. “I thought we both wanted this. To be together.” She looked down. “I know it’s what I want. Even though I’m losing my liveship, I know I want to be with you.”

“Althea, I’m so sorry.” He tried to get his face under control. “Really, I am. I know what the Vivacia meant to you, what she still means to you.”

Both amusement and irritation glinted in her eyes. “You’d look more sincere, if you’d stop grinning.”

“I would if I could,” he assured her sincerely. She took three steps. Then she was in his arms. He held her. She was staying with him. She wanted to stay with him. It was going to be fine. For a time he just held her. A long moment later, he asked, “And you’re going to marry me? In Bingtown, at the Traders’ Concourse?”

“That was the plan,” she agreed.

“Oh.”

SHE LOOKED UP INTO HIS FACE. HIS EYES AND HIS HEART WERE SO OPEN TO HER now. She saw all the uncertainty and pain she’d caused him, without intention. She had never meant to do that. He smiled at her and she managed to smile back. His hold on her tightened and she resisted the urge to gently free herself. She had to get past this. This was Brashen. She loved him.

She took a breath. She had never imagined that she’d have to force herself to endure his touch. But just this time, just this once, she would, for both of them. She could relax and tolerate it. He needed this reassurance of her love. And she needed to prove to herself that Kennit had not destroyed her. Just this once, she could pretend desire. For Brashen’s sake. She turned her mouth up to his and let him kiss her.

SPRING

Liveship Traders 3 - Ship of Destiny

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT - Jamaillia City

HER CHAMBERS WERE BEYOND ANYTHING MALTA HAD IMAGINED. NO MATTER where she turned her eyes, she saw opulence. The frescoes of forests on the wall merged into a pale blue ceiling of birds and butterflies in flight. The deep carpets underfoot were green as moss, while the permanently flowing bath of steaming water bubbled through an immense tub framed by marble water-birds and screened by a wall of potted reeds and cattails. And this was merely her dressing chamber.

The mirror beside her dressing table was larger than she was. She had no idea what half the little pots of cosmetics and unguents held. She did not need to. That was the business of the three maids who applied them artfully to her skin.