Outside the hall, a nasty little breeze cut at her. Other families were clambering into carriages and wagons or walking home in groups, carrying lanterns and armed with walking sticks. She had not thought to bring either. Chiding herself for thoughtlessness, she started down the steps. At the bottom, a figure stepped from the shadows and touched her on the arm. She gasped in startlement.

“Beg pardon,” Grag Tenira spoke immediately. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I merely wanted to be certain you had a safe way home.”

Ronica laughed shakily. “I thank you for your concern, Grag. I no longer even have a safe home to go to. Nor a way there, other than my own two feet. I have been staying at Davad’s house, since my own was vandalized. While I am there, I have been attempting to trace Davad’s transactions with the New Traders. I am convinced that if the Companion would but pay heed to me, she would see that Davad was no traitor. Nor am I.”

The words spilled from her. Belatedly she got her tongue under control. However, Grag stood gravely listening and nodding to her words. When she fell silent, he offered, “If the Companion will not heed what you find, I and several others would find it of interest. Although I doubted Davad Restart’s loyalty, I never questioned the Vestrit family’s allegiance to Bingtown, even if you have dabbled in the slave trade.”

Ronica had to bow her head and bite her tongue to that, for it was true. It might not be any of her own doing, but her family ship had gone as a slaver. And been lost because of it. She took a breath. “I would be happy to show you and any others who would be interested. I have heard that Mingsley of the New Traders has been making truce offers. In terms of his long dealings with Davad, I wonder if he was not seeking to buy Old Traders to his way of thinking.”

“I should be pleased to see the records. But, for tonight, I would be more pleased to see you safely to wherever you are staying. I have no carriage, but my horse can carry two, if you would not object to riding pillion.”

“I would be grateful. But why?”

“Why?” Grag looked startled at the question.

“Why?” Ronica took up all the bravery of an old woman who no longer cares for the niceties of courtesy. “Why do you extend yourself on my behalf? My daughter Althea has refused your suit. My reputation right now in Bingtown is unsavory. Why chance your own, associating with me? Why press for the matter of Davad’s death to be investigated? What motivates you, Grag Tenira?”

He bowed his head for an instant. Then, when he lifted his face, a nearby torch caught his dark eyes and limned his profile. As he smiled ruefully, Ronica wondered how Althea could ever have held her heart back from this young man. “You ask a blunt question and I will give you truth in return. I myself feel some responsibility for Davad’s death and your disaster that night. Not for what I did, but for what I failed to do. And as for Althea-” He grinned suddenly. “Perhaps I don’t give up that easily. And perhaps the way to her heart is through courtesy to her mother.” He gave a sudden laugh. “Sa knows I have tried everything else. Perhaps a good word from you would turn the key for me. Come. My horse is this way.”

Liveship Traders 3 - Ship of Destiny

CHAPTER SEVEN - Dragon Ship

ONE MOMENT HE WAS CURLED IN OBLIVION, RESTING IN WOMBLIKE ISOLATION. Wintrow was aware of nothing save his physical body. He worked on it as he had once worked stained glass. The difference was that it was a restoration rather than a creation. He found placid pleasure in his work; dimly it echoed memories of stacking blocks when he was a very small child. The tasks that faced him were simple and obvious, the work repetitive; he was only directing his body to do more swiftly what it would have eventually done on its own. The willing focus of his mind speeded the labor of his body. The rest of his life had dimmed to an absolute stillness. He considered nothing except repairing the animal he inhabited. It was rather like being in a small cozy room while a great storm raged outside.

Enough, growled the dragon.

Wintrow curled himself smaller before her irritation. “I am not finished,” he begged.

No. The rest will take care of itself, if you nourish your body and encourage it from time to time. I have delayed for you too long. You are strong enough now for all of us to confront what we are. And confront it we shall.

It was like being seized and flung into the air. Like a panicky cat, he flailed and clawed in all directions, seeking something, anything to attach himself to. He found Vivacia.

Wintrow!

Her exclamation was not a verbal cry of joy, but a sudden pulse of connection as she discovered him again. They were reunited, and in that joining they were once more whole. She could sense him; she could feel his emotions, smell with his nose, taste with his mouth, and feel with his skin. She knew his pain, and agonized for him. She knew his thoughts and-