Then Brashen would move in.

She had reluctantly accepted that he must captain this ship. She did not agree with any of his arguments. Her reasons were more personal. When they recovered Vivacia, she would need to be able to step off Paragon's deck and assume command there. If she were captain of the Paragon, that would prove very unsettling to a ship that was already flighty. Whoever sailed out as Paragon's captain must stay with him for the return journey. It would have to be Brashen.

She still felt a twinge of regret as she closed the door on the chamber. Paragon had been built in the old style. The captain's quarters were by far the finest ones on the ship. Amber had done a great deal to restore the lavishly carved cabinet work and window frames. A bit of carpet covered the ill-conceived hatch she had cut between the cabin and the hold. The stained-glass windows had suffered cracks and portions of the glass were missing, but that was a minor detail. Their money would go first to pay for functional repairs.

She moved on to consider the first mate's cabin. This would be hers. Much smaller than the captain's quarters, it was still palatial in comparison to crew quarters. She had a fixed bunk, a fold-down desk and two cupboards for her possessions. A third chamber, not much bigger than a good-sized closet, was intended for the second mate. Crew quarters were hooks in the forecastle where hammocks could be strung, and little more than that. The older liveships had not taken the crew's comfort into consideration. Cargo space had been their main goal.

When she went on deck, she found Brashen pacing about. He was restless, and yet triumphant. He turned to her immediately. “We're holding steady. There's still water coming in, but no more than a two-man pump crew can keep up with. I think by tomorrow morning, he'll have tightened up. We've a bit of a list, but proper ballast should handle that.” There was a light in his face she had not seen since he had sailed on Vivacia under her father. His step was brisk. “Nothing has cracked, nothing sprung. Our luck on this is almost too good to believe. I knew liveships were tough, but this beats all. Any other ship that had been beached for thirty years would be rot and kindling.”

His exuberance was contagious. She followed as he strode about the ship, pausing to shake a railing to see how much give it had in it, or open and shut a hatch to see if it was still square. There was still a great deal of work to do on the Paragon, but most of it would be refitting rather than rebuilding. “We'll stay with the barge for a while, to let his wood swell. Then we'll move him to the west wall to finish.”

“With the other liveships?” Althea asked uneasily.

Brashen rounded on her in a manner almost challenging. “Where else? He is a liveship.”

She spoke as bluntly. “I fear what they may say to him. That a thoughtless remark may set him off into one of his frenzies.”

“Althea, the sooner we start dealing with that, the better.” He stepped closer to her and for a moment, she thought he would take her arm. Instead, he gestured her to accompany him as he strode forward toward the figurehead. “I think we should plunge him into a normal life. Treat him as we would any liveship, and see how he reacts. The more we tiptoe around him, the more tyrannical he will become.”

“Do you really think it will be that simple? Start treating him normally, and he'll start behaving normally?”

Brashen flung a grin at her. “No. Of course not. But it's where we'll begin and hope for the best.”

She found herself grinning back at him. Something in her responded to him on a level her intellect could not reach. She could not reason with the attraction she felt. She only knew it was a pleasure to see him moving and speaking as he once had. The bitter and cynical rogue that Kyle Haven and Torg had created was gone. This was the man who had been her father's first mate.

She followed him as he sauntered up to the bow railing and leaned over. “Paragon! We've done it, old friend. You're afloat and we're going to make them all sit up and take notice.”

The figurehead ignored him. Brashen gave a small shrug and raised an eyebrow at Althea. Not even this could daunt him, it seemed. Leaning back on the railing, he stared off to the forest of masts that was Bingtown Harbor. A faraway look came over his face. “Do you hate me for this?” he asked suddenly.

For an instant, she thought he addressed the ship. But then he glanced at her quizzically.

“For what?”

He turned to face her and spoke with a bluff honesty she remembered well. “For standing here, as I never believed I would. For standing on my own deck as Captain Brashen Trell of the liveship Paragon. Where I know you'd love to be.” Despite his efforts at gravity, a smile broke over his face. Something in it brought tears to her eyes. She turned hastily to look out over the water lest he see them. How hungry had he been for this moment, and for how long?