She took a breath and knocked.

“Enter.” Grag's voice was muffled.

She found him sitting up on his bunk, his face swathed in bandaging. There was a strong scent of cloves in the air. At the sight of her, a welcoming glint came into his blue eyes. As she shut the door behind her, he pulled the wrappings off his jaw and let them drop gratefully. The pretense of the bandages had left his hair tousled like a boy's. She grinned at him. “So. How's the toothache?”

“Convenient.” He stretched, rolling his wide shoulders, then made a show of flinging himself back on his bunk. “I can't remember when I last had this much time to myself.” He swung his legs up onto his bunk and crossed them at the ankle.

“You're not getting bored?”

“No. For any sailor, idle time is too much of a novelty. We always find a way to fill it.” He fished around at the edge of his bunk and came up with a handful of ropework. He unrolled it on his lap to reveal a fancifully knotted mat. The intricate pattern had created a lacy effect from the stout twine he had used to create it. It was hard to believe such a delicate design came from his work-scarred fingers.

Althea touched the edge of it. “Beautiful.” Her fingers traced the pattern of knotted twine. “My father could take an empty wine bottle, and some twine, and create this wonderful pattern of knots over the glass. It looked like flowers, or snowflakes. ... He always promised he'd teach me how to do it, but we never found the time.” The gaping sense of loss that she had believed she had mastered overwhelmed her again. She turned away from him abruptly and stared at the wall.

Grag was silent for a moment. Then he offered quietly, “I could teach you, if you wanted.”

“Thanks, but it wouldn't be the same.” She was surprised by the brusqueness in her own voice. She shook her head, embarrassed by the sudden tears that brimmed her eyes. She hoped he had not seen them. They made her vulnerable. Grag and his father had already done so much for her. She did not want them to see her as weak and needy, but as a strong person who would make the best of her opportunities. She drew in a long breath and squared her shoulders. “I'm all right now,” she said in answer to his unspoken question. “Sometimes I miss him so badly. There's a part of me that can't accept that he's dead, that I'll never see him again.”

“Althea ... I know that perhaps this is a cruel question, but I've wondered. Why?”

“Why did he take the ship I'd worked on for so many years and will it to my sister instead?” She glanced over at Grag to see his quick nod. She shrugged. “He never told me. The closest he came to a reason was to say something about providing for my sister and her children. On good days, I tell myself that that meant he knew I could provide for myself and he was not afraid for me. On bad days, I wonder if he thought that I was selfish, if he feared that I would take Vivacia and care nothing for their welfare.” She lifted her shoulders again.

She caught a glimpse of herself in Grag's shaving mirror. For an eerie instant, her father looked out at her. She had his wiry black hair and dark eyes, but not his size. She was small, like her mother. Nevertheless, the resemblance to her father was still strong, in the set of her jaw and the way her brows drew together when she was troubled. “My mother said that it was her idea and she talked him into it. She felt the estate had to be kept intact, the liveship inherited with the land holdings, so that the income from the one would go on supporting the other until all the debts were paid.”

She rubbed at her brow. “I suppose that makes sense. When father decided that we would no longer trade up the Rain Wild River, he doomed us to a much lower income. The goods he brought back from the southlands were exotic, but nothing like the magic goods from the Rain Wilds. Our land holdings yielded well, but we could not compete with Chalced's slave-tended grain and fruit. Consequently, our debt for the ship is still substantial. Moreover, it is secured with our land holdings. If we fail to keep our promise to repay it, we could lose both ship and family land.”

“And you are hostage for that debt as well.” Grag pointed the fact out quietly. As a member of a Bingtown Trader family that owned a liveship, he was well aware of the standard terms for such a bargain. Liveships were rare and costly. Just as it took three generations for a liveship to quicken and come to cognizance, so it also took generations to pay for one. Only the Rain Wild Traders knew the source of the wizardwood lumber that made up the liveship hulls and figureheads. Only in a ship constructed of wizardwood could one safely negotiate the Rain Wild River and participate in the trade of their near-magical goods. Their value was such that families pledged their fortunes for them. “In blood or gold, the debt is owed,” Grag added quietly. If the Vestrit family could not pay for the ship with coin, then a daughter or son of the family could be claimed.