“No. On the foredeck.”

“Near the figurehead? What is he thinking?”

Jek had no answer; Althea hadn’t really expected one. Instead, she hurried forward to see for herself. As she drew near, she was displeased to see Brashen, Amber and Lavoy already gathered with the prisoner. She felt slighted. Had Brashen sent for the others before her? She tried to push her anger and jealousy away, but they seemed to have taken root. She spoke not a word as she mounted to the foredeck.

The sole remaining prisoner was a young man. He had been pummeled and throttled when he was taken, but other than bruises and swelling, he did not seem much harmed. Several slave tattoos crawled over his cheek. He had a thick thatch of wild brown hair that his red kerchief could not tame. His hazel eyes looked both frightened and defiant. He sat on the deck, his wrists bound behind him, his ankles chained together. Brashen stood over him, Lavoy at his shoulder. Amber, her lips pinched tight, stood back from the group. She did not hide her disapproval. A handful of crewmen loitered on the main deck to watch the interrogation. Clef was among them. Althea glared at him but the boy’s wide eyes were fixed on the prisoner. Only two of the tattooed crewmen were there. Their faces were stoic, their eyes cold.

“Tell us about Kennit.” Brashen’s voice was even, but his tone was that of a man who was repeating himself.

The pirate seated on the deck stared ahead stolidly. He didn’t speak a word.

“Let me have a go, Captain,” Lavoy begged, and Brashen did not forbid it. The brawny first mate crouched down beside the man, seized the hair on top of his head and forced him to meet his gaze.

“It’s this way, bonny boy,” Lavoy growled. His grin was worse than a snarl. “You can be useful and talk to us. Or you can go over the side. Which is it?”

The pirate took a short breath. “Whether I talk or not, I go over the side.” There was half a sob to his words, and he suddenly looked younger to Althea.

But his response roused cruelty rather than pity in Lavoy. “Talk, then. No one will know you did, and maybe I’ll knock you over the head before I let you sink. Where’s this Kennit? That’s all we want to know. That’s his emblem you’re wearing. You got to know where he docks.”

Althea shot Brashen an incredulous look. There was substantially more that she wanted to know. Had any of Vivacia’s crew survived? How fared Vivacia? Were there any hopes of ransoming her? But Brashen spoke not a word. The bound man shook his head. Lavoy slapped him, not hard, but the open-handed cuff was enough to knock the prisoner over. Before he could right himself, Lavoy seized him by the hair and dragged him back to a sitting position. “I didn’t hear you,” he sneered at him.

“Are you going to-” Amber began furiously, but Brashen cut her off with an abrupt “Enough!” Brashen advanced to stand over the prisoner. “Talk to us,” he suggested. “Tell us what we need to know, and maybe you don’t have to die.”

The pirate took a ragged breath. “I’d rather die than betray Kennit,” he said defiantly. A sudden shake of his head ripped it from Lavoy’s grip.

“If he’d rather die,” Paragon suddenly offered, “I can assist him with that.” His voice boomed suddenly louder. The malice in it raised the hair on the back of Althea’s neck. “Throw him to me, Lavoy. He’ll talk before I give him to the sea.”

“Enough!” Althea heard herself echo Brashen’s word.

She advanced to the prisoner and crouched down to be on eye level with him. “I’m not asking you to be disloyal to Kennit.” She spoke softly.

“What do you think you’re do-” Lavoy began in disgust, but Brashen cut him off.

“Step back, Lavoy. This is Althea’s right.”

“Her right?” The first mate was both incredulous and furious.

“Shut up or leave the foredeck.” Brashen’s voice was flat.

Lavoy subsided, but his color remained high.

Althea didn’t spare either of them a glance. She stared at the prisoner until he lifted his eyes to meet hers. “Tell me about the liveship Kennit took. Vivacia.”

For a time, the man just looked at her. Then his nostrils narrowed and the skin around his mouth pinched white. “I know who you are.” He spat out the words. “You’ve the look of the priest-boy. You could be his twin.” He turned his head and spat on the deck. “You’re a damn Haven. I tell you nothing.”

“I’m a Vestrit, not a damn Haven,” Althea replied indignantly. “And the Vivacia is our family ship. You spoke of Wintrow, my nephew. He lives, then?”