Malta bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. It was good that the Satrap did not know Wintrow’s opinion of the “smelly befouling creatures” he had reluctantly welcomed aboard Vivacia. Jola had proposed pigeon pie as variety in their usual menu, but Malta was confident that the birds would live to serve as messengers.

A shadow of petulance crossed his face. “You gained what you desired: independence for Bingtown and the Rain Wilds. I no sooner signed the scrolls than you made plans to leave.”

“Of course, Lord High Magnadon. For did not you also command that the Vestrit family represent Jamaillia’s interests there? It is a duty I take most seriously.”

“No doubt, you will take it most profitably as well,” he pointed out caustically. He inclined his head to inhale his smoke more deeply. “Ah, well, if part we must, then I hope it will lead to good fortune for all of us.” The Satrap leaned back, eyes half-closed. Malta interpreted this, gratefully, as dismissal.

She and Reyn sought their own seats. She looked around the spectacle of the ballroom and realized that she would not miss it. Well, not immediately.

She had finally been surfeited with parties, dancing and elegance. She longed for the simplicity of unscheduled days and privacy. Reyn, for his part, chafed to be at the site of the Elderling city.

Ophelia had recently arrived in Jamaillia City with letters for all of them. The news from Bingtown was both heartening and tantalizing. The flow of foodstuffs through Bingtown and up the river was steady and sufficient. The young priest Wintrow had recommended as an engineer had an almost mystical knack for simple yet elegant solutions. As soon as the temporary locks that permitted the serpents to ladder up the river had been completed, Reyn’s brother had turned his attention to searching for the remains of the city. In this, Selden had been most helpful to Bendir. As yet, they had not discovered any intact chambers, but Reyn was certain that was due only to his absence. The fervor of his ambition to begin the search amazed Malta.

He gave a small sigh in reply to her mood. “I, too, long to be home again,” he confided to her. The music had begun to swell. The first dance would be a set piece for the Companions of the Satrap only. They danced together, in his honor, with him as their absent partner while he watched from the dais. She watched the elaborately dressed women move through the sedate measures. At intervals, the Satrap inclined his head, symbolizing his bows to his Companions. It struck Malta as a singularly foolish custom and a waste of good music. She stilled the tapping of her foot. Reyn leaned closer to be sure she heard him. “I secured two more stonecutters. They will follow us on Ophelia. Wintrow says there are several islands in the Pirate Isles that may furnish stone for us, at a reasonable cost. If we replace the log walls of the locks with stone, the workers who must constantly maintain the wood because the river eats it will be free, and we can create a way for large ships to come to dock there. We could then transfer those workers to the excavation of the city-“

“Before or after our wedding?” she asked him gravely.

“Oh, after,” he replied fervently. He took her hand. His thumb swept the palm of her hand caressingly. “Do you suppose our mothers would let it be any other way? I personally doubt we shall be allowed to eat or sleep until we have endured the wedding.”

“Endured?” she asked him with raised brows.

“Most definitely,” he replied with a sigh. “My sisters have been in paroxysms of delight. They will meet the Queen of the Pirate Isles and your dashing brother Wintrow. Tintaglia has announced she will be there, to ‘receive’ us afterward, I am told. My sisters are insisting I be veiled for the wedding. They say that it matters not how I display myself in Jamaillia; I must be properly modest for the traditional Rain Wild ceremony.”

“Your modesty has nothing to do with the tradition,” Malta retorted. He was not telling her anything she had not already heard. When Ophelia had docked, she had brought thick letters for all of them. Keffria’s letter had been likewise full of wedding plans. “I will be veiled as well. It is our blind acceptance of one another that they celebrate.” A question tugged at her. “You were closeted long with Grag Tenira. My mother wrote that he courts a Three Ships girl. Is that true?”

“He and Sparse Kelter’s daughter are moving in that direction.”

“Oh. A shame. I suppose that means that Aunt Althea has burned her bridges and will have to be content with Brashen Trell.”

“They looked more than content, the last time I saw them.”

“Grag Tenira would have been a more fitting match for her.”