The dream changed.

Paragon suddenly stood over her. He was a man, tall, dark-haired and grave. He looked at her with eyes like Kennit’s. She cowered away from him. There was hurt in his voice when he spoke. “Althea. Enough of this. Neither of us can endure it longer. Come to me,” he commanded her. “Silently. Right now.”

“No.” She felt him plucking at her and she resisted. The knowing look in his eyes threatened her. No one should comprehend so fully what she felt. “Yes,” he told her as she resisted. “I know what I’m doing. Come to me.” She could not breathe. She could not move. He was too big and too strong. But still she struggled. If she struggled and fought, how could it be her fault?

“It wasn’t your fault. Come away from that memory; it isn’t now. That is over and done. Let yourself be done with it. Be still, Althea, be still. If you scream, you’ll wake yourself. Worse, you’ll wake the whole crew.”

Then they all would know her shame.

“No, no, no. That isn’t it at all. Just come to me. You have something of mine.”

The hand was gone from her mouth, the weight from her body, but she was still trapped inside herself. Then, abruptly, she floated free. She was somewhere else, somewhere cold and windy and dark. It was a very lonely place. Anyone’s company was better than that isolation. “Where are you?” she called, but it came out as a whisper.

“Here. Open your eyes.”

In a night storm, she stood on the foredeck. Rising wind shook the trees overhead, and little bits of debris fell in a dirty rain. Paragon had twisted to look back at her. She could not see his features, but she heard his voice. “That’s better,” he said reassuringly. “I needed you to come here, to me. I waited, thinking that eventually you would come on your own. But you did not. And this has gone on far too long for all of us. I know now what I must do.” The figurehead paused. His next words came harder from him. “You have something of mine. I want it back.” !

“I have nothing of yours.” Did she speak the words, or only think them?

“Yes, you do. It’s the last piece. Like it or not, I must have it, to make myself whole. To make you whole as well. You think it is yours. But you’re wrong.” He glanced away from her. “By right, that pain is mine.”

Rain had begun to fall, icy cold. She heard it first in the trees above. Then the drops found their way through the canopy. They fell gently at first. Then a rising wind whipped the treetops, and they dropped their cold burden in a deluge. Althea was already numbed to the cold. Paragon spoke on, softly. “Give it back to me, Althea. There is no reason for you to keep it. It was never even his to give you. Do you understand that? He passed it on to you. He tried to get rid of pain by giving it away, but it was not his. It should have stayed with me. I take it back from you now. All you have to do is let it go. I leave you the memory, for that, I fear, is truly yours. But the hurt is an old hurt, passed on from one to another like a pestilence. I have decided to stop it. It comes back to me now, and with me it remains.”

For a time, she resisted, gripping it tightly. “You can’t take it from me. It was that horrible. It was that bad. No one would understand it; no one would believe it. If you take the pain away, you make a lie of what I endured.”

“No. No, my dear, I make it only a memory, instead of something that you live continuously in your mind. Leave it in the past. It cannot hurt you now. I will not let it.”

He reached a wide hand to her. Fearing him, but unable to resist, she set her small hand upon his. He sighed deeply. “Give it back to me,” he said gently.

It was like having a deep splinter pulled. There was the dragging pain of the extraction, and then the clean sting of fresh blood flowing. Something clamped tight inside her suddenly eased. He had been right. She did not have to grip her pain. She could let it go. The memory was still there. It had not vanished, but it had changed. It was a memory, a thing from her past. This wound could close and heal. The injury done to her was over. She did not have to keep it as a part of herself. She could allow herself to heal. Her tears were diluted in the rain that ran down her face.

“ALTHEA!”

She didn’t even flinch. The continued rain was washing the night from the sky, bleaching it to a gray dawn that barely penetrated the tree cover.

Althea stood on the foredeck, hands outstretched to the dimness, as the pouring rain drenched her. It sealed her nightgown to her body. Cursing her and himself for a fool, Brashen dashed across the deck to seize her by the shoulder and shake her. “Are you out of your mind? Come inside.”