“There is one other problem we haven't addressed at all tonight,” Amber interjected. They all looked at her. “We can't assume the Paragon will enter into this willingly. He has many fears of his own. In some ways, he's a frightened boy. The dangerous side of the coin is that he is an angry man, just as often. If we are going to do this, I think it is essential that he do it willingly. For if we try to force him to do it, there is no possibility of success.”

“Do you think it will be hard to persuade him?” Ronica asked.

Amber shrugged. “I don't know. Paragon is completely unpredictable. Even if he is agreeable at first, he may change his mind a day or a week later. It is something we must take into account on this venture.”

“We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. First, we must get Davad Restart to get the Ludlucks to agree to our plan.”

“I think I can prevail there,” Ronica said in a voice that had a cool steel edge to it. Keffria felt a moment of sympathy for Davad. “I think I shall have the answer to that before noon tomorrow. I see no point in delaying this.”

Brashen sighed heavily. “We are in agreement, then. I will return tomorrow afternoon. Good night, Ronica and Keffria. Goodnight, Althea.” There was a very subtle change to his tone as he bid her sister goodnight.

“Goodnight, Brashen,” Althea returned his farewell in a similar tone.

Amber, too, bid them farewell. As Althea prepared to walk them to the door, the slave-boy also stood. Keffria knew a moment of exasperation with her sister's impulsive behavior. “Don't forget, you have to find a place for the boy to sleep,” she told Althea.

The boy shook his head. “Not here, 'm gone wiff him.” He tossed his head at Brashen.

“No.” Brashen made the single word final.

“Freed, am't I?” the boy protested stubbornly. He cocked his head and stared at Brashen. “Ken't stop me.”

“Don't bet on that,” Brashen told him ominously. In a kinder voice he added, “Boy, I can't take care of you. I've got no home to go to; I'm on my own.”

“Me, too,” the boy insisted calmly.

“I think you should let him go with you, Brashen,” Amber suggested. She had a strangely speculative look on her face. With a wry twist to her mouth, she added, “It might not be the best of luck to turn away your first willing crewman.”

“S'right,” the boy asserted cockily. “El ken't respect a man who don't dare. Dare tek me. Y'on't regret it.”

Brashen squinted his eyes shut tightly and shook his head. But as he left the room the boy followed him, and he made no motion to discourage him. Amber followed with a small smile on her face.

“Do you think they can bring Papa home?” Malta asked in a small voice after they had left the room.

While Keffria was trying to decide how to answer that, her mother spoke. “Our finances are foundering, my dear. There is no point to refusing this risk. If it succeeds, it may save the family fortunes. If they fail, we will sink a bit faster. That is all.”

Keffria thought it a cruel thing to say to a child, but to her surprise, Malta nodded slowly. “I was thinking the same thing myself,” she observed.

It was the first time in the last year that she had spoken in a completely civil tone to her grandmother.

CHAPTER TWENTY - Piracy

WITH THE PREY IN SIGHT, ALL HER DOUBTS EVAPORATED LIKE THE MORNING mists on a sunny day. Wintrow's shared soul searching, all his anxieties and structured morality, fell away from her like paint peeling off quickened wizardwood. She heard the lookout's shout as the sail came into view and something ancient stirred in her: time to hunt. When the pirates on her deck took up the lookout's fierce cry, she herself gave voice, like the shrill ki-ii of a stooping hawk. First the sail and then the ship came into sight, fleeing madly from the Marietta. Sorcor's smaller vessel hounded the prey as Vivacia, concealed behind a headland, swooped out to join the chase.

Her crew drove her on as she had never been driven, piling on canvas until her masts and spars strained to hold the wind's breath. The canvas billowing wide, the whistle of the wind past her cheeks stirred in her memories that were not born in human lives. She lifted her hands and, fingers crooked like talons, reached after the fleeing ship. A wild thundering filled her heartless, bloodless body, quickening her to frenzy. She leaned forward, sleeking her planked body to a fleetness that made her crew whoop with excitement. White spume flew as she cut the waves.

“You see?” Kennit cried out in triumph as he clung to her forward rail. “It is in your blood, my lady! I knew it! This is what you were made for, not some sedate toting of cargo like a village woman with a bucket of water. After them! Ah, they see you; they see you, look how they scramble! But it will avail them nothing.”