The compact was a thing seldom spoken of. It was not discussed, in the same way that neither breathing nor death are topics for conversation. Such things are ever-present and inevitable. In a similar way, Caolwn did not speak to Ronica of the way grief had lined her face and silvered her hair, nor how the years had drawn down the flesh from her high cheekbones and tissued the soft flesh of her throat. Ronica forbore to stare at the scaly growths that threatened Caolwn's eyesight, nor at the lumpy flesh that was visible even in the parting of her thick bronze hair. The kindness of the dimmed candles could soften but not obscure these scars. Like the pact, these were the visible wounds they bore simply by virtue of who they were.

They shared the steaming cups of tea and the savory foods. The heavy silver implements ticked against the fine china whilst outside the summer's night breeze stirred Ronica's wind chimes to a silvery counterpoint to their conversation. For the space of the meal, they were neighbors sharing a genteel evening of fine food and intelligent conversation. For this, too, was a part of the pact. Despite the miles and differences that separated the two groups of settlers, both Bingtown Traders and Rain Wild Traders would remember that they had come to the Cursed Shore together, partners and friends and kin. And so they would remain.

So it was not until the food was finished and the women were sharing the last cup of cooled tea in the pot, not until the social conversation had died to a natural silence that the time came to discuss the final purpose of Caolwn's visit. Caolwn took a deep breath and began the formality of the discussion. Long ago the Bingtown Traders had discovered that this was one way to separate business from pleasure. The change in language did not negate the friendship the women shared, but it recognized that in manners of business, different rules applied and must be observed by all. It was a safeguard for a small society in which friends and relatives were also one's business contacts. “The liveship Vivacia has quickened. Is she all that was promised?”

Despite her recent grief, Ronica felt a genuine smile rise onto her face. “She is all that was promised, and freely do we acknowledge that.”

“Then we are pleased to accept that which was promised for her.”

“As we are pleased to tender it.” Ronica took a breath and abruptly wished she had brought up the short measure earlier. But it would not have been correct nor fair to make that a part of their friendship. Hard as it was for her to speak it, this was the correct time. She groped for words for this unusual situation. “We acknowledge also that we owe you more at this time than we have been able to gather.” Ronica forced herself to sit straight and meet the surprise in Caolwn's lavender eyes. “We are a full two measures short. We would ask that this additional amount be carried until our next meeting, at which time I assure you we shall pay all that we owe then, and the two additional measures, plus one-quarter measure of additional interest.”

A long silence followed as Caolwn pondered. They both knew the full weight of Bingtown law gave her much leeway in what she could demand as interest for Ronica's failed payment. Ronica was prepared to hear her demand as much as a full additional two measures. She hoped they would settle at one-half to one measure. Even to come up with that much was going to tax her ingenuity to its limits. But when Caolwn did speak, the soft words chilled Ronica's blood. “Blood or gold, the debt is owed,” Caolwn invoked.

Ronica's heart skipped in her chest. Who could she mean? None of the answers that came to her pleased her. She tried to keep the quaver out of her voice, she sternly reminded herself that a bargain was a bargain, but one could always try to better the terms. She took the least likely stance. “I am but newly widowed,” she pointed out. “And even if I had had the time to complete my mourning, I am scarcely suitable to the pledge. I am too old to bear healthy children to anyone, Caolwn. It has been years since I even hoped I would bear another son to Ephron.”

“You have daughters,” Caolwn pointed out carefully.

“One wed, one missing,” Ronica quickly agreed. “How can I promise you that which I do not have the possession of?”

“Althea is missing?”

Ronica nodded, feeling again that stab of pain. Not knowing. The greatest dread that any sea-going family had for its members. That someday one would simply disappear, and those at home would never know what became of him . . .

“I must ask this,” Caolwn almost apologized. “It is required of me, in duty to my family. Althea would not . . . hide herself, or flee, to avoid the terms of our bargain?”

“You have to ask that, and so I take no offense.” Nonetheless, Ronica was hard put to keep the chill from her voice. “Althea is Bingtown to the bone. She would die rather than betray her family's word on this. Wherever she is, if she still lives, she is bound, and knows she is bound. If you choose to call in our debt, and she knows of it, she will come to answer for it.”