She looked down at the still body. Death was working swiftly, sinking her father's features into lines and planes he had never worn in life. “I don't want to leave him here alone.”

“Althea. That's not the Captain, it's just his body. He's gone. But the Vivacia is still here. Come. You know you have to do this; do it well.” He leaned down, putting his face near her ear. “Head up, girl. The crew is watching.”

She rose reluctantly to his last words. She looked down at her father's sagging face and tried to meet his eyes one last time. But he was looking past her now, looking into the infinite. She squared her shoulders and held up her head. Very well, then.

Brashen offered his arm, as if he were escorting her into Bingtown's Presentation Ball. Without thinking, she placed her hand lightly on his forearm as she had been schooled and allowed him to guide her to the bow of the ship. Something about the formality of his walking her there restored her. As she drew near and overheard Kyle's savagely low tones of anger, it touched a spark off in her as if it were flint against steel. He was berating Wintrow.

“It's simple, boy. There's the hole, there's the peg, here's the catch. Push the catch to one side and shove the peg in the hole and release the catch. That's all. I'll hold on to you. You needn't fear that you'll fall into the bay, if that's what's cowing you.”

The boy's voice rose in reply, too high still, but gentle, not weak. “Father. I did not say I could not. I said I would not. I do not feel it is my right, nor proper as a servant of Sa, for me to make this claim.” Only a slight tremor at the end of this speech revealed how difficult it was for the boy to keep his aplomb.

“You'll do as I damn well tell you,” Kyle growled. Althea saw his hand lift in the familiar threat of a blow, and heard Keffria gasp out, “Oh, Kyle, no!”

In two strides, Althea was suddenly between Kyle and the boy. “This is not a fitting way for any of us to behave on the day of my father's death. Nor is it a proper way to treat the Vivacia. Peg or no, she is quickening. Would you have her awaken to quarreling voices and discord?”

And Kyle's answer betrayed his total ignorance of all a liveship was. “I'd have it awaken, in any way it can be managed.”

Althea took breath for an angry retort, but then heard Brashen's whisper of awe. “Oh, look at her!”

All eyes swung to the figurehead. From the foredeck, Althea could not see that much of her face, but she could see the paint flaking away from the wizardwood carving. The locks of hair shone raven under the peeling gilt paint, and the sanded flesh had begun to flush pink. The silken fine grain of the wizardwood still remained, and always would, nor would the wood ever be as soft and yielding as human flesh. Yet it was unmistakable that life now pulsed throught the figurehead, and to Althea's heightened awareness, the entire ship rode differently on the quiet waves of the harbor. She felt as she imagined a mother must feel the first time she beholds the life that has grown within her.

“Give me the peg,” she heard herself say quietly. “I'll quicken the ship.”

“Why?” Kyle asked suspiciously, but Ronica intervened.

“Give her the peg, Kyle,” she commanded him quietly. “She'll do it because she loves the Vivacia,”

Later Althea would recall her mother's words, and they would rouse hate in her to a white-hot heat. Her mother had known all she felt, and still she had taken the ship from her. But at that moment, she only knew that it pained her to see the Vivacia caught between wood and life, suspended so uncomfortably. She could see the distrust on Kyle's face as he grudgingly offered her the peg. What did he think she would do, throw it overboard? She took it from him and bellied out on the bowsprit to reach the figurehead. She was just a trifle short of being able to reach it safely. She hitched herself forward another notch, teetering dangerously in her awkward skirts, and still could not quite reach.

“Brashen,” she said, neither asking nor commanding. She did not even glance back at him, but only stayed as she was until she felt his hands clasp her waist just above her hips. He eased her down to where she could rest one hand on Vivacia's hair. The paint flaked away from the coiling lock at her touch. The feel of the hair against her hand was strange. It gave way to her touch, but the carved locks were all of a piece rather than individual hairs. She knew a moment of unease. Then her awareness of the Vivacia flooded through her, heightened as never before. It was like warmth, yet it was not a sensation of the skin. Nor was it the heat of whiskey in one's gut. This flowed with her blood and breath throughout her body.