“You want me to go. Why?” he asked quietly.

A flashing glance of her swirling gold eyes. “Why do you ask?” she asked tartly. “Isn’t it what you have dreamed of, since you were forced aboard the ship? Did not you constantly fling that at Vivacia? ‘But for you, my father would not have taken me from my priesthood.’ Why do you not simply take what you want and leave?”

He thought for a time. “Perhaps what I truly want does not involve me leaving.” He considered her carefully. “I think that you make it too attractive to me. So I ask myself, what do you gain by my departure? The only thing I can think of is that it would somehow weaken Vivacia within you. Perhaps if I were not here, she would surrender and become quiescent in you. Sa knows, something in me cries out for her. Perhaps she longs for me as well. While I live and I am here, some part of Vivacia lives. Do you fear that my presence will call her up again? You struggled hard to defeat her. She nearly dragged you into death. You did not conquer her by much.”

Certainty grew in him. “You once said yourself that we three are closely intertwined; the death of any one of us would threaten the other two. Vivacia still lives within you, and all that lives is of Sa. My duty to my god is here, as is my duty to Vivacia. I shall not give her up so easily. If being healed by you means surrendering Vivacia, then I refuse the healing. I will stay scarred. I say this to you and I know that she hears it also. I shall not give her up at all.”

“Stupid boy.” The figurehead made a show of casually scratching the back of her neck. “How dramatic you are! How stirring! If there was anything to be stirred, that is. Wear your scars then, as a pathetic tribute to someone who never was. Let them be the last trace of her existence. Do I wish you to go? Yes, and the reason is that I prefer Kennit. He is a better mate for my ambitions. I wish Kennit to partner me.”

“You do, do you?” Etta’s voice was cool and low.

Wintrow startled, but the figurehead appeared only amused.

“As do you, I am sure,” the ship murmured. She let her eyes walk over Etta. An approving smile curved her mouth. She dismissed Wintrow from her attention to focus on Etta. “Come closer, my dear. Is that silk from Verania? My, he does spoil you. Or perhaps he spoils himself, in how he displays his treasure to all. In that color, you gleam like a rich gem in an exotic setting.”

Etta’s hand rose, almost self-consciously, to finger the deep blue silk of her shirt. A moment of uncertainty passed over her face. “I don’t know where the fabric originated. But it came to me from Kennit.”

“I am almost certain we are looking at Veranian silk here. The finest that there is, but doubtless he would offer you no less than that. When I was in my proper shape, I had no need for fabrics, of course. My own sweet skin flashed and shone more beautifully than anything human hands could make. Still, I know something of silk. Only in Verania could they make that shade of dragon blue.” She cocked her head at Etta. “It quite becomes you. Your coloring favors bright hues. Kennit is right to deck you in silver rather than gold. Silver sparkles against you, where gold would merely be warm.”

Etta touched the bangles at her wrist. A deeper blush touched her cheeks. She ventured a step or two closer to the railing. Her eyes met the dragon’s and for a time they seemed entranced with one another. Wintrow felt excluded. To his surprise, a shiver of jealousy passed over him. He did not know if it was Vivacia he did not wish to share with Etta, or Etta he wished to keep from the dragon.

Etta gave a small shake of her head, as if to break a glamour. It set her sleek black hair swinging. She looked at Wintrow and a slight frown creased her forehead. “You should not be out in the sun and the wind. It peels the skin from flesh that is trying to heal still. You should stay in your cabin for at least another day.”

Wintrow looked at her closely. Something was awry here. Such solicitude was not her usual manner with him. He would more expect her to tell him that he ought to be toughening himself rather than convalescing. He tried to read her eyes, but she looked past him, not meeting his stare.

The dragon was blunter. “She would like to speak to me privately. Leave, Wintrow.”

He ignored the dragon’s command and spoke to Etta. “I would not trust much of what she says. We have not yet heard the truth about Vivacia. Legends are rife with the dangers of conversing with dragons. She will tell you what she knows you want to…”

She was suddenly there again, inside him. This time he felt her presence as a physical discomfort. His heart skipped a beat, then surged on unevenly. A sweat broke out on his forehead. He could not draw a full breath.