“I suppose that wouldn't be so bad,” Althea conceded. Her knit brows said she did not entirely believe it. “Why can't people love one another and still remain free?” she demanded suddenly.

Amber paused to rub her eyes, then tug thoughtfully at her earring. “One can love that way,” she conceded regretfully. “But the price on that kind of love may be the highest of all.” She strung her words together as carefully as she strung her beads. “To love another person like that, you have to admit that his life is as important as yours. Harder still, you have to admit to yourself that perhaps he has needs you cannot fill, and that you have tasks that will take you far away from him. It costs loneliness and longing and doubt and-”

“Why must love cost anything? Why does need have to be mixed up with love? Why can't people be like butterflies, coming together in bright sunshine and parting while the day is still bright?”

“Because they are people, not butterflies. To pretend that people can come together, love and then part with no pain or consequences is more false a role than pretending to be a proper Trader's daughter.” She set her beads down and met Althea's gaze. She spoke bluntly. “Don't, please, convince yourself that you can bed Grag Tenira and walk away from it without diminishing both of you. A moment ago you spoke of love without need. To sate your need without love is theft. If you must have that, hire it done. But don't steal that from Grag under the pretense that it is free. I know Grag Tenira now. He cannot give you that, not that way.”

Althea crossed her arms on her chest. “I wasn't thinking of doing that.”

“Yes, you were,” Amber asserted, her eyes back on her beads. “We all think about doing that. That doesn't make it right.” She turned her work and began a new pattern of knots. In the silence she added, “When you bed someone, there is always a commitment. Sometimes that commitment is only that you will both pretend it doesn't matter.” Her strangely colored eyes held Althea's for a moment. “Sometimes that commitment is made only to yourself. The other party never knows it or agrees to it.”

Brashen. Althea shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Why did he always come to mind at such inopportune moments? Whenever she thought she had weeded him from her memory, the leaves of that interlude unfurled again. It made her angry all over again, but she was no longer sure it was Brashen she was angry with. She pushed such thoughts away. It was over and done with, a part of her life she was finished with. She could put it behind her. She could cover it up with other things.

“Love isn't just about feeling sure of the other person, knowing what he would give up for you. It's knowing with certainty what you are willing to surrender for his sake. Make no mistake; each partner gives up something. Individual dreams are surrendered for a shared one. In some marriages, one partner gives up almost everything she once thought she wanted. But it's not always the woman who does so. Such sacrifice is not shameful. It's love. If you think the man is worth it, it works.”

She sat still for a time, pondering. Then Althea leaned forward suddenly, to ask Amber, “Do you think that if I married Grag, I'd change my mind?”

“Well. Someone would certainly have to,” Amber replied philosophically.

BRASHEN VENTURED A PEEK DOWN THE HALLWAY AGAIN. WHERE WAS THE girl? Was she going to leave him standing here until the runner returned with her mother? Waiting was always hard for him. He grinned to himself, the prospect of seeing Althea lightening his heart despite the gravity of the tidings he bore. He wished he had just the tiniest end of a cindin stick to sustain him, but he had resolutely left them behind on the Springeve. He knew Althea disapproved of his small vice. He didn't want her to think he was the sort of man who had to carry it with him always. She already considered it enough of a fault. Well, he already knew all Althea's faults. Proximity had forced him to tolerate them for years. They didn't matter. He had come to care for her, and it was more than a single night of bedding together. That night had only made him admit what he already felt. For years, he'd seen her nearly every day. They'd shared a drink or a meal in many ports, gamed together, mended sail together. She didn't treat him like the disgraced son of a Bingtown Trader. She treated him like a valuable ship's officer, respected him for his knowledge and his ability to command men. She was a woman, but he could talk to her, beyond complimenting her gown or comparing her eyes to stars. How rare was that?

He wandered back to a window, looked out down the drive. A light footfall behind him turned him around. It was Malta again. A bit spoiled, if Althea's tales of her were true. Her eyes met his, and she smiled gravely. Her demeanor had changed yet again. “I've sent off a runner, as you suggested. If you'd like to follow me, I can offer you a cup of coffee and some morning cake.” Her genteelly modulated voice was that of a well-bred young lady welcoming him to her home.