Caern’s boot heels tapped briskly across the floor. Ronica imagined that he had returned to stand before the Companion. “You are obviously unused to being on your own. You need a protector here in Bingtown. We marry. In return for my protection, my name and my home, you share power with me. What could be simpler?”

The Companion’s voice was low and incredulous. “You presume too much, Trader’s son!”

Roed laughed. “Do I? I doubt you will get a better offer. By Bingtown standards, you are nearly an old maid. Look ahead, Serilla, more than a week or a month. Eventually these troubles will pass. Then what will become of you? You cannot return to Jamaillia. A man would have to be blind and deaf to imagine that you cherished your role as Companion to Satrap Cosgo. So. What will you do? Remain here in Bingtown, to live in social isolation among a people who would never completely accept you? Eventually you would become an elderly woman, alone and childless. Trader Restart’s home and pantry will not always be at your disposal. Where will you live, and how?”

“As you have suggested, I will have the Satrap’s voice here in Bingtown. I will use my authority to create my own living circumstances.” Ronica almost smiled to hear the Companion stand up to Roed Caern.

“Ah. I see.” The amusement was undisguised. “You imagine you will be a woman living independently in Bingtown.”

“And why not? I see other women managing their own affairs and exercising their own authority. Consider Ronica Vestrit, for instance.”

“Yes. Let us consider Ronica Vestrit.” Roed’s voice cut impatiently across hers. “We should keep our minds to the matters at hand. Soon enough, you will realize that I have made you a handsome offer. Until then, our minds should focus on the Satrap. We have had reason before this to suspect the Vestrits. Consider the antics Davad Restart went through to put Malta Vestrit before the Satrap’s eyes at the ball. If Malta Vestrit whisked the Satrap away from the Rain Wilders, it is part of the conspiracy’s plan. Perhaps they will bring him back to Bingtown to side with the New Traders. Perhaps he flees from the river to the sea, to bring his Chalcedean allies down on us with flame and war machines.”

Silence fell. Ronica opened her lips and drew a long silent breath. Malta? What was this talk of her taking the Satrap? It made no sense. It could not be true. Malta could not be mixed up in this. Yet she felt with a sinking certainty that she was.

“We still have a weapon.” Roed’s voice broke into Ronica’s speculations. “If this is a conspiracy, we have a hostage.” His next words confirmed Ronica’s worst fears. “We hold the girl’s grandmother. Her life is forfeit to the girl’s cooperation with us. Even if she cares nothing for her own family, there is her fortune to consider. We can confiscate her family home, threaten to destroy it. The Vestrit girl has friends within the Bingtown Traders. She is not immune to ‘persuasion.’ “

A silence followed his words. When the Companion spoke again, her voice was lifted in outrage. “How can you consider such a thing? What would you do? Seize her right here, under my own roof?”

“These are harsh times!” Roed’s voice rang with conviction. “Gentleness will not restore Bingtown. We must be willing to take harsh actions for the sake of our homeland. I am not alone in this idea. Traders’ sons can often see what their dim-eyed fathers cannot. In the end, when the rightful folk of Bingtown once more rule here, all will know we did right. We have begun to make the oldsters on the Council see our strength. It does not go well for those who act against us. But let us set that aside.”

“The rightful folk of Bingtown?”

Ronica had no chance to hear who Roed considered the rightful folk of Bingtown. The creak of a distant door warned her just in time. Someone was coining this way. Light-footed as a child, she sprang away from her eavesdropping, raced down the hall and whisked herself into a guest parlor. She halted there, standing in the shuttered dimness, her heart thundering in her ears. For moments, all she could hear was the sound of her body’s panic. Then, as her heart calmed and her breathing steadied, other noises came to her ears, the small sounds of the great house awakening. Her ear to the cracked door of the parlor, she heard a servant deliver breakfast to Davad’s study. She waited, aching with impatience, until she heard the woman dismissed. Ronica gave her time to return to the kitchen, then hastened from her hiding place back to her rooms.

Rache opened befuddled eyes as Ronica gently closed the door behind her. “Wake up,” Ronica told her softly. “We must gather our things and flee immediately.”