“Kennit beat him to death. Belowdecks. You’ve seen the marks down there. The handprints of a crawling man.” He took a breath. “It was fair, Amber. Only fair.”

She sighed. “Vengeance for both of you. For the times when he had beaten Kennit to death.”

He nodded above her. “Twice he did that. Once the boy died on my deck. But I couldn’t let him go. I could not. He was all I had. Another time, curled up belowdecks in his hidey-hole, he died slowly. He was bleeding inside, growing so cold, so cold. He cried for his mother.” Paragon sighed. “I kept him with me. I pushed life into him, and forced his body to mend itself as best as I could. Then I put him back in his body. Even then, I wondered if there was enough of him left to be a whole being. But I did it. It was selfish. I did not do it for Kennit. I did it for myself. So I would not be left alone again.”

“He truly was as much you as he was himself.”

Paragon almost chuckled. “There was no such line between Kennit and me.”

“And that was why you had to have him back?”

“He couldn’t die without me. Not any more than I could truly live without him. I had to take him back. Until I was whole again, I was vulnerable. I could not seal myself to others. Any blood shed on my deck was a torment to me.”

“Oh.”

For a long time, she seemed content to leave it at that. She leaned back against him. Her breathing became so deep and regular that he thought she slept. Behind him, on the deck, insects battered themselves against her lantern. He heard Semoy do a slow circuit of the deck. He paused by the lantern. “All’s well?” he asked Paragon quietly.

“All’s well,” the ship replied. He had come to like Semoy. The man knew how to mind his own business. His footsteps receded again.

“Do you ever wonder,” Amber asked him quietly, “how much you changed the world? Not just by keeping Kennit alive. By simply existing.”

“By being a ship instead of a dragon?”

“All of it.” A slight wave of her hand encompassed all his lives.

“I lived,” he said simply. “And I’ve stayed alive. I suppose I had as much a right to do that as anyone.”

“Absolutely.” She shifted, then reclined in his arms to look up. He followed her gaze but saw only darkness. The clouds were thick beyond the trees. “All of us have a right to our lives. But what if, for lack of guidance, we take the wrong paths? Take Wintrow for instance. What if he was meant to lead a different life? What if, because of something I failed to do or say, he became King of the Pirate Isles when he was meant to be a man leading a life of scholarly contemplation? A man whose destiny was to experience a cloistered, contemplative life becomes a king instead. His deep spiritual meditations never occur and are never shared with the world.”

Paragon shook his head. “You worry too much.” His eyes tracked a moth. It fluttered earnestly by, intent on battering itself to death against the lantern. “Humans live such short lives. I believe they have little impact on the world. So Wintrow will not be a priest. It is probably no more significant than if a man who was meant to be a king became a philosophical recluse instead.”

He felt a shiver run over her body. “Oh, ship,” she rebuked him softly. “Was that meant to be comforting?”

Carefully, he patted her as a father might soothe an infant. “Take comfort in this, Amber. You are only one small, short-lived creature. You’d have to be a fool to think you could change the course of the whole world.”

She was silent until she broke out in a shaky laugh. “Oh, Paragon, in that you are more right than you know, my friend.”

“Be content with your own life, my friend, and live it well. Let others decide for themselves what path they will follow.”

She frowned up at him. “Even when you see, with absolute clarity, that it is wrong for them? That they hurt themselves?”

“Perhaps people have a right to their pain,” he hazarded. Reluctantly he added, “Perhaps they even need it.”

“Perhaps,” she conceded unhappily. Then, “Up, please. I think I shall go to bed and sleep on what you have told me. Before the rain and the mosquitoes find me.”

ALTHEA SMOTHERED IN NIGHTMARE. IT DID NO GOOD TO KNOW SHE DREAMED. She could not escape it. She could not breathe, and he was on her back, bearing her down and hurting her, hurting her. She wanted to scream, and could not. If only she could scream, she could wake up, but she could not find the sound to give it vent. Her screams were trapped inside her.