Keffria crossed her arms on her chest. Had she been maneuvered? “I’m listening,” she said quietly.

“Delegate,” Serilla said quietly. “Pass the task to me, to administer in your name. For years, I studied Bingtown’s relationship to Jamaillia. Obviously, that knowledge encompasses Jamaillia’s relationship to Bingtown. I can fairly represent Jamaillia’s interests in Bingtown.” Her eyes traveled again from Keffria to Ronica and back again. Was she trying to decide where the true power resided? “And at the money he has offered, you can well afford to hire me to do so.”

“Somehow I doubt that such an arrangement would please the Satrap.”

“And as Bingtown Traders, that has been a prime concern for you? Pleasing the Satrap?” Serilla asked acidly.

“In these changing times, maintaining cordial relations will be more important,” Keffria replied thoughtfully. Her thoughts flew. If she refused this opportunity, who else would the Satrap appoint? Was this her opportunity to retain control of the situation? At least with Serilla, they were dealing with someone they knew. And respected, however grudgingly that respect had been won. She could not deny the woman’s expertise. She knew Bingtown’s history better than most of Bingtown did.

“Must he know?” Serilla asked. An edge of desperation had crept into her voice. Then she suddenly stood straighter. “No,” she announced before Keffria or Ronica could speak. “That was a cowardly question. I will not hide from him. He has dismissed me as his Companion, abandoned me just as he did all the other women who loyally served his father as Companions. It is not a shameful distinction. That he has done so speaks of what he is, not what I am.” She took a deep breath and waited.

Keffria looked at her mother. Her mother gave a small shake of her head. “It is not my decision,” she deferred.

“Ten satrapes a month promised is not ten satrapes in hand,” Keffria mused. “I fear that in this I trust the Satrap as little as ever. Yet with or without his funds, I think the Bingtown Council can benefit from Serilla’s continued advice regarding Jamaillia. If the Satrap does not honor this offer he sends because he is displeased with my advisor, that will say to me that he does not fully acknowledge Bingtown’s right to regulate its own affairs. And I will tell him so.

“Then I will advise the Bingtown Council to hire Serilla. To advise us specifically on dealing with Jamaillia.” She gave the former Companion a level look. “Selden’s room is empty. You are welcome to it. I will warn you, however, that there are two conditions demanded for living here.”

“And those are?” Serilla prompted.

Keffria laughed. “A high tolerance for fish. And a disregard for furniture.”

Liveship Traders 3 - Ship of Destiny

CHAPTER FORTY - The Rain Wild River

THE MORNING AIR WAS COOL AND SOOTHING ON HER FACE. PARAGON MOVED easily with the flow of the river. As she looked at the new day, Althea could tell Semoy was on the helm. It was more because he enjoyed it than because his skill was needed. This stretch of river was as placid as Paragon’s deck. Many of the crew had jumped ship in Bingtown. Others had stayed on as far as Trehaug, only to find new jobs there as laborers. When they had left Trehaug with little more than a skeleton crew, neither Brashen nor Althea had seen it as a real loss. It was going to be difficult enough to scrape together wages for those who remained. Their present errand was to return to Bingtown, where a load of stone awaited them. Althea suspected it was salvaged from destroyed New Trader holdings. It would be used to reinforce the bank where the dragons would eventually hatch. The dragon was adept at finding work for the liveships, and less than capable at finding pay for their crews.

Althea shook such dismal worries from her head. Doggedly she seized onto optimism. She could believe all would go well, as long as she didn’t think too hard. She crossed the main deck and bounded up to the foredeck. “Morning!” she announced to the figurehead. She looked around, stretching. “Every day, I think these jungles cannot be greener. Every morning, I awake and find I am wrong.”

Paragon didn’t reply. But Amber spoke from over the side. “Spring,” Amber agreed. “An amazing season.”

Althea stepped up to the railing to look down at her. “You fall in this river, you’re going to be sorry,” she warned her. “No matter how fast we fish you out, it’s going to sting. Everywhere.”

“I won’t fall,” Amber retorted. One of Paragon’s hands cupped her before him. She sat on it, legs swinging, carving tool in hand.