Malta crossed her arms on her chest, and actually took a step back. She shook her head. “You sound like a fortune-teller,” she said. The laugh that came from her lips cracked in the summer air. “How you have made my heart beat!” She tried to laugh again, to dismiss the moment as a foreigner's social gaffe.

“Sometimes I do,” Amber admitted. It was her turn to look away from Malta. The woman looked uncomfortable. “Sometimes I am. But a fortune-teller is not a fortune-maker. We all make our own fortunes.”

“And how is that?” Malta felt as if she had somehow taken the upper hand in the conversation. When Amber turned back to meet her eyes, that feeling vanished.

“You earn your future, Malta Vestrit.” The bead-maker cocked her head at her. “What does tomorrow owe you?”

“Tomorrow owes me?” Malta repeated in confusion.

“Tomorrow owes you the sum of your yesterdays. No more than that.” Amber looked out to sea again. “And no less. Sometimes folk wish tomorrow did not pay them off so completely.”

Malta suddenly felt she must change the subject. She advanced to the railing and leaned on it to peer down at Paragon. “Our ship looks very handsome today!” she complimented him recklessly. “You absolutely gleam, Paragon. How excited you must be!”

As sudden as a snake striking, the ship twisted his head to look up at her. That was the chilling part. The wrecked space between his brow and nose froze her with its shattered glance. The coloring of the rest of his face was so natural, but the chopped place was silvered and splintered wood. Her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth. She gripped the railing to keep from falling. Paragon's mouth parted in a wide, white smile. It was the rictus of madness.

“Too late for her,” he whispered. Malta did not know if he spoke to her or about her. “Too late for her. Wide wings hang above her. She crouches like a mouse in the owl's falling shadow. Her little heart beats to bursting. See how she trembles. But it is too late. Too late. She sees her. Knows me as well!” He threw back his head. The laughter roared from him. “I was a king!” He was incredulous in his triumph. “I was lord of the three dominions. But you have made me this. A shell, a toy, a slave!”

Perhaps lightning struck her from the still blue sky. She fell into a roaring black gulf. She tumbled, soundless, through endless black space. Then from nowhere, a flash of gold appeared. It was too large a shape for her to see it all. In an instant, it loomed too close to her to be seen. Great talons seized her, wrapping around her chest and waist. They squeezed the air from her. She clawed at them, but they were armored in scales like metal. She could not pry them loose to let herself breathe. Nor did she want to fall to her death if they let go of her. Choose a death, a dragon whispered. That's all you have left, pretty little one.. The choice of your death.

No! She is mine, mine! Let her go!

Prey belongs to he who seizes it first!

You are dead. I have still a chance at life. I will not see it snatched from me!

Iridescent silver clashed suddenly with gold. Mountains collided and fought for possession of her. The talons clenched, cutting her in two. I shall kill her before I let you take her!

Malta had no breath to cry out. There was almost nothing left of her at all. These two were so immense; there was no room for her to exist in their world. She was going to blink out like a dying spark.

Someone spoke for her. “Malta is real. Malta exists. Malta is here.” As if she were being wound up like a ball of yarn, the layers of herself were gradually restored to her. Someone held her against the maelstrom of forces that tried to shred her apart. It was like being cupped in warm hands. She curled tighter into herself, holding on. Finally, she spoke for herself.

“I am Malta.”

OF COURSE YOU ARE, KEFFRIA SPOKE THE WORDS COMFORTINGLY, TRYING to stay calm despite her panic. Her daughter was pale as death. The slits of her eyes showed only white. When they had heard the commotion on deck and hastened back up, she had never suspected it would be Malta. She had collapsed, and lay half in the bead-woman's arms, her head supported by one of the woman's hands. The entire ship had been rocking. The figurehead was doing it, his head bent into his hands as he wept. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” he sniveled over and over. “Be quiet,” Keffria heard Amber tell him irritably. “You did nothing. Just be quiet.” Then, as they had burst through the circle of staring sailors, Keffria saw Amber look up and speak directly to Althea.

“Help me get her off the ship. Right now.”

Something in the foreigner's voice brooked no argument. Althea stooped and actually lifted her niece bodily, but then Brashen was there, taking her into his own arms. Keffria had a glimpse of Amber's disfigured hands before the woman gloved them hastily. She glanced up to meet Keffria's stare. The look in the bead woman's eyes chilled her to the bone.