Althea found her voice. “Do you believe you'll find any decent sailors willing to sign aboard the Paragon? I think you are forgetting his reputation as a killer. Unless you are willing to pay above top wages, why should a good hand ship out on such a vessel?”

Keffria could hear that Althea was trying to keep her voice civil. She suspected that her sister's interest was roused despite her disparagement of the idea.

“It would be a problem,” Brashen conceded easily. He pulled out the kerchief again and wiped his face. His hands trembled very slightly as he carefully refolded it. “There might be a few who would sign on simply for the daring of it. There are always some sailors with more guts than brains. I'd start with the Vivacia's old hands first, asking those of your father's crew that Kyle discharged. Some of them might go for the sake of the ship herself, or your father's memory. For the rest-” He shrugged. “We would end up with the dregs and the troublemakers. A great deal would depend on whom we could get as first mate. A good mate can make a working crew out of near anything, if he's given a free hand.”

“What's to keep them from turning on you when-”

“Numbers!” Malta broke in irritably. “There is no sense in worrying about 'what ifs' until we know if it is financially possible.” She went to her grandfather's old desk. “If I give you paper and ink, can you write up for us what you think it would cost?”

“I'm not an expert,” Brashen began. “Some things would have to be done by professionals and-”

“Assuming you'd find any shipwrights willing to work on the Paragon,” Althea chimed in sarcastically. “His reputation is bad. And assuming the Ludlucks give permission and-”

Malta's hands clenched into fists on the paper she had taken from the drawer. Keffria thought she would ball it up and throw it to the ground. Instead, the girl closed her eyes for a moment and drew a deep breath. “Assuming all that, then. How much money? And can we possibly get it? Until we answer those questions, there is no point in asking others!”

“We may just as easily be defeated by these other factors as by a lack of money!” Althea snorted in exasperation.

“All I am saying,” Malta said in a tightly controlled voice, “is that we should consider those factors in the order in which they may defeat us. If we have no money to hire hands, then we don't have to worry about who will or will not sail for us.”

Althea stared at the girl. Keffria felt her muscles tighten. Althea could be sharp-tongued. If she mocked Malta now, when the girl was trying so hard to be pragmatic, Keffria would not even try to control her temper.

“You're right,” Althea said suddenly. She looked suddenly at their mother. “Do we have any reserves left at all? Anything not entailed, anything we can sell off?”

“There are a few things,” Ronica said quietly. She absently twisted the ring on her finger. “What we must recall is that whether or not we have possession of the liveship, a payment comes due soon. The Khuprus family will expect . . .”

“Don't consider that,” Malta said quietly. “I will accept Reyn's suit. I will set a date for our wedding, on condition that my father is home to attend it. I think that will win us a reprieve from that debt, and perhaps some financial help to launch the Paragon.”

A profound silence filled the room. To Keffria, it seemed that the room filled with stillness as a bucket brims with clear water. It was not just the quiet. It was a moment of cognizance. She looked at her daughter and suddenly saw her as someone else. The spoiled and stubborn girl who would stop at nothing to get her own way was suddenly a young woman who would sacrifice anything, even herself, to rescue her father. This unswerving act of will was rattling. Keffria bit her tongue to keep from telling her that Kyle wasn't worth it. He would never understand that what his daughter had been ready to sacrifice was not a moment's brave word but her whole life. No one, she thought, can be worth another's entire life spent in subservience. She glanced at the slave-boy, so silently watching them all, but found herself considering her marriage. A bitter smile bent her mouth. One woman had already made that sacrifice for Kyle Haven.

“Malta. Please do not make such a decision under these circumstances.” The power in her own voice surprised her. “I do not dispute that it is your decision to make. Proof enough of your womanhood is that you are willing to make it. I simply ask that you delay such a course until all others have been explored.”

“What other courses?” Malta asked hopelessly. “Through all our troubles, no one has come to our aid. Who do we think will help us now?”