“You promised him,” Kyle pointed out. “Not I. Here. Let me up.” He disentangled himself from her arms and bedding to rise. His body was like carved ivory in the moonlight. He groped at the foot of the bed for his night robe and then dragged it on over his head.

“Where are you going?” she asked quietly. She knew her comment had displeased him, but he had never quitted her bed to sleep elsewhere before.

He knew her so well. As if sensing her worry, he reached down to smooth her hair back from her face. “I'll be back. I'm just going to go check Althea's room, and see if she's in yet.” He shook his head. “I can't believe her foolishness. I hope she doesn't make a spectacle of herself in Bingtown tonight. When she has a few drinks, she's capable of saying almost anything. Scandal is the last thing we need right now. The family must be seen as stable and united until we get these financial problems under control. Any wild talk from Althea, and we could find our creditors panicking, thinking they should get what they can out of us while we've got it. Ah, well. We've had enough worries and grief for tonight. Try to go to sleep. I'll be back in a few moments either way.”

For a long moment, Brashen feared she was going to refuse his offer of escort. Althea wove slightly on her feet as she blearily appraised him. He returned her gaze evenly. Sa, she was a sight! Her hair had come loose and sprawled across her brow and shoulders. Her face was smeared with the day's dust and her own tears. Only her dress marked her as a woman of quality, and its disheveled condition made it look like someone else's cast off. Right now, he thought sourly, she looked more like a doxie looking for a tumble than the proud daughter of a Bingtown Trader family. If she attempted to walk home alone, anything might befall her in the wildness of the night market.

But in another moment she sighed loudly. “Aye,” she said, and with another heavy sigh she took his offered arm. She leaned on him heavily, and he was glad he had jettisoned his sea-bag earlier in the day. The tavern-keeper holding it for him knew him well, and he had parted with several small coins to ensure its safety. He did not like to think of how much more coin he had spent following her from tavern to tavern. More than he had meant to, true, but not as much as he would have ordinarily spent on a night out on the town. He was still almost sober, he reflected. This had been the most depressing first night back in home port that he had ever spent. Well, it was nearly over. All he had to do was get her safely home, and then the few hours between the stars and dawn would be his to spend as he wished.

He looked up and down the street. It was ill lit with widely spaced torches and all but deserted at this hour. Those who were still capable of drinking were within the taverns, and everyone else in this quarter would be passed out somewhere. Nevertheless, there would be a few rogues who'd lurk down this way, hoping for a drunken sailor's last coin. He'd be wise to go carefully, especially with Althea in tow.

“This way,” he told her and attempted to lead her at a brisk pace, but she almost immediately stumbled. “Are you that drunk?” he asked her in annoyance before he could curb his tongue.

“Yes,” she admitted with a small belch. She stooped so abruptly that he thought she was going to fold up on the boardwalk. Instead she tore off first one and then another heeled - and - ribboned shoe. “And these damn things don't help a bit.” She stood and flung them both out into the dark street. Straightening, she turned back to him and took his arm firmly. “Now let's go.”

She made her way much better barefoot, he had to admit. He grinned at himself in the darkness. Even after all the years of doing for himself, there was still some of the strait-laced Trell in him. He'd felt a shudder of horror at the impropriety of a Trader's daughter going barefoot through the town. Well, given the rest of her condition, he doubted it would be the first thing anyone noticed. Not that he intended to troll her through the market as she was; he'd keep to the lesser-traveled streets and hope they met no one who could recognize them in the darkness. That much he owed to the memory of Ephron Vestrit.

But as they came to an intersection, she tugged at his arm and tried to turn toward the bright streets of the night market. “I'm hungry,” she announced, and she sounded both surprised and annoyed, as if it were his fault.

“Too bad. I'm broke,” he lied succinctly and tried to draw her away.

She stared at him suspiciously. “You drank all your pay that fast? Sa's ass, man, I knew you were a sot in port, but I didn't think even you could go through coin that fast.”