He wiped his hands again down his hull. So no one was supposed to talk to him now. He didn’t care. He didn’t have to talk. He could go years without talking or even moving. He’d done it before. He doubted that Lavoy would obey that order anyway. He listened to the barefoot thundering of footsteps on his deck as men raced to one of Lavoy’s orders. He let the other part of himself grow stronger. Did they really think they could punish him and still expect him to sail blithely to Divvytown for them? They’d see. He crossed his arms on his chest and sailed blindly on.

Liveship Traders 3 - Ship of Destiny

CHAPTER TEN - Truces

AUTUMN RAIN WAS PATTERING AGAINST THE WINDOWS OF RONICA’S BEDROOM. She lay still for a time, listening to it. The fire had burned low during the night. The chill in the room contrasted almost pleasantly with how warm she was beneath the blankets. She didn’t want to get up, not just yet. Lying in a soft bed, between clean linens and under a warm quilt, she could pretend. She could go back to an earlier time, and fantasize that any day now the Vivacia would dock. She would meet Ephron as he came striding down the wharf. His dark eyes would widen at the sight of her. The strength of his first hug had always surprised her. Her captain would catch her up in his arms and hold her tight as if he would never let go of her again.

Never again.

Despair washed through her. By an effort of will, she let it pass. She had survived this grief; from time to time, it still ambushed her with its pain, but when it did, she reminded herself that she had survived it. Nevertheless, she found herself irretrievably awake. It was very early, the clouded dawn barely touching her windows.

What had wakened her?

She had fleeting memories of horseshoes clattering on the drive, and the sound of a door flung open. Had a messenger come? It was the only reason for such sounds so early in the morning. She rose, dressed hastily without disturbing Rache, slipped out into the dim hallways of the quiet house and padded softly down the stairs.

She found herself smiling grimly. Malta would be proud of her. She had learned that the edges of the stairs were less likely to creak, and how to stand perfectly motionless in the shadows while others passed unnoticing. Sometimes she would sit in the study and pretend to doze, to encourage the servants to gossip where she might overhear them. She had found a pleasant spot under the study window where she could feign absorption in her needlework, until the worsening autumn weather had put an end to that ruse.

She reached the ground floor and stole quietly through the hall until she was outside Davad’s study. The door was shut but not quite latched. Stepping close, she put her ear to the crack. She could just discern a man’s voice. Roed Caern? Certainly, he and the Companion had been keeping very close company of late. Scarcely a day went by when he was not closeted with her. Initially, Ronica had blamed that on his involvement in Davad’s death. However, everyone else seemed to regard that as resolved now. What else had brought him to Serilla’s door at such an hour and in such haste?

The Bingtown Council’s consideration of Davad’s death was concluded. Serilla had proclaimed that by the Satrap’s authority, she found Davad’s death due to misadventure and that no one was responsible. The Satrapy, she announced, had decided there was not enough evidence to prove Davad a traitor to Jamaillia. For this reason, his niece would inherit his estate, but Companion Serilla would continue to occupy Restart Hall. His niece would, of course, be suitably compensated for her continued hospitality, in a timely fashion, after all civil unrest had been resolved. Serilla had made a great performance of this pronouncement. She had summoned the heads of the Council to Davad’s study, fed them well on delicacies and wine from Davad’s cellar, and then read her conclusion aloud from a scroll. Ronica had been present, as had Davad’s niece, a quiet, self-possessed young woman who had listened without comment. At the close of the proceedings, the niece had told the Council that she was satisfied. She had glanced at Roed as she spoke. Davad’s niece had had little reason to be fond of her uncle, but Ronica still wondered if the woman’s response had been purchased or coerced by Roed. The Council had then declared that if the heir was satisfied, they were content also.

No one except Ronica seemed to recall that it left the blemishes on her family’s reputation intact. No one else had frowned at the idea that Davad’s supposed treason had been to Jamaillia rather than to Bingtown. It left Ronica feeling oddly isolated, as if the rules of the world had shifted subtly and left her behind. Ronica had expected Serilla to turn her out of the house as soon as the Council agreed to her findings. Instead, the woman had emphatically encouraged Ronica to stay. She had been overly gracious and condescending as she said she was sure Ronica could help her in her efforts to reunite Bingtown. Ronica doubted her sincerity. The real reason for Serilla’s continued hospitality was what Ronica hoped to discover. So far, that secret had eluded her.