“Althea.” Her mother's tone more reminded than rebuked. “I, at least, am interested in what Brashen has to propose. I think we need to consider every possible solution to our situation. If you are that tired, we will, of course, excuse you. But I'd rather that you returned.” Her mother's gaze traveled to the serving woman. She smiled at her apologetically. “Rache, if you don't mind, I think we'll need more cups. And something more substantial than spice cakes for the boy, please.” Ronica's voice was as measured and controlled as if this were an everyday occurrence.

Her mother's courtesy jabbed at Althea's conscience. This was still her father's house. She softened her tone. “If you wish, Mother. If you'll excuse me, I'll only be a few moments.”

KEFFRIA POURED FOR THEIR ODD GUESTS. SHE TRIED TO MAKE POLITE CONversation, but her mother stared at the cold grate while Brashen paced the room. Amber chose to sit cross-legged on the floor not far from where the boy hovered. She ignored Keffria's attempts at small talk. Instead, she lured the slave-boy with bits of cake, as if he were a shy puppy, until he finally snatched a whole cake from her hand. Amber did not seem to think her own behavior odd or outrageous at all. She smiled proudly when the boy stuffed the whole cake into his mouth. “You see,” she said to him quietly. “Folk are kind here. You're safe now.”

Althea was true to her word. Rache had scarcely come back with more tea, cups and a plate of warmed food for the boy before she returned. She must have washed with cold water to be so quick, Keffria thought to herself. She was attired in a simple house-robe. Her wet hair had been braided and pinned up severely. The cold water had rouged her cheeks. She somehow managed to look both tired and freshened. Without any apologies, she helped herself to tea and cakes. She glanced at Amber, then went to join her on the floor. The boy sat on the other side of her, completely engrossed in his food. She addressed her first words to Amber. “Brashen says you have a plan to save the Vivacia. He also told me I wouldn't like it, but that I'd come to see it was the only way. What is it?”

Amber gave Brashen a sidelong glance. “Thank you for preparing her so well,” she said with dry sarcasm. She lifted her shoulders in a shrug followed by a sigh. “It is late. I think I should state it briefly, and then leave you all to think about it.” The woman flowed smoothly to her feet, as if a string attached to her head had lifted her from the floor. She advanced to the center of the room and looked around at all of them to be sure of their attention. She smiled at the boy, who was wolfing down the food on the platter. He was aware of nothing save the next bite. Amber sketched a small bow and began. She put Keffria in mind of an actor on the stage.

“I propose this. To recapture a liveship, let us use a liveship.” Her gaze touched each of them in turn. “The Paragon, to be precise. We buy, lease or steal him, put a crew aboard with Brashen in command and go after the Vivacia.” In the shocked silence that followed, she added, “If you suspect my motive in this, be assured that at least half of it is to save the Paragon from being turned into lumber. I think your good friend Davad Restart could be instrumental in getting the Ludlucks to part with the ship for a reasonable price. He has seemed to have their ear for the outrageous offers the New Traders have been making. Perhaps he might be willing to seize this opportunity to save face with the Old Traders. Perhaps that is even truer after tonight's events. I'm willing to put up everything I own as part payment for the ship. So. What say you?”

“No.” Althea spoke flatly.

“Why not?” Malta demanded. She stepped into the room from the hallway. She wore a wrapper of thick blue wool over her white nightgown. Her cheeks were pink from sleep yet. She glanced about the room. “I had a nightmare. When I woke up, I heard your voices. I came down to see what was going on,” she offered by way of explanation. “I heard you say we might be able to send a ship after Papa. Mama, Grandmother, why should Althea be able to forbid us to do this? It seems a sensible plan to me. Why not go rescue Papa ourselves?”

Althea began to tick the reasons off on her fingers. "Paragon is mad.

He has killed whole crews before; he might again. Paragon is a liveship, who should not be sailed by anyone except his family. He hasn't been sailed in years. He hasn't even been floated. I don't think we have the coin to both buy the Paragon and refit him as he would need. Moreover, if we do this, why should Brashen be captain? Why not me?"

Brashen gave a snort of laughter. His voice broke strangely. “And there you have her real objection!” he observed. He drew out a kerchief and wiped perspiration from his brow.