A little shiver walked up Althea's spine. How did Amber come to know such things, and why had she troubled to find them out?

“You speak as if you were knowledgeable about such things,” Captain Tenira pointed out gravely.

“Oh, I have known my share of intrigues and plotting. I find it all distasteful. And necessary. Just as pain is occasionally necessary.” She set the block to Ophelia's palm. “Hold steady,” she warned her in a low voice. “I'm going to take off the worst of the damage.”

There was a tiny silence followed by a dreadful scraping noise. Charred wood powdered away. The smell reminded Althea of scorched hair. Ophelia made a tiny noise then lifted her eyes to stare out over the water. Her jaw was set.

Captain Tenira's face was almost expressionless as he watched Amber work. As if inquiring about the weather, he asked Althea, “Did you deliver my message to your mother?”

“I did.” Althea pushed aside an emotion that was close to shame. “I'm sorry. I do not bring much that is of great comfort. My mother said she would speak to my sister Keffria. She is legally the Trader of the family now. Mother will urge her to attend the next Council meeting, and to vote in support of your actions.”

“I see,” Tenira replied. His voice was carefully empty.

“I wish my father were still alive,” Althea added miserably.

“I could wish that you were Trader for the Vestrits. Truly, you should have inherited your family's ship.”

Althea revealed her deepest wound. “I do not know if Keffria can stand beside you at all.” A stunned silence followed her words. She kept her voice even as she added, “I do not know how she can side with you, and still support her husband. The increased tariffs are based on the Satrap protecting trade from pirates, but we all know it is the slave trade he cares most about. He never bothered about the pirates until they began attacking slavers. So, if the issue comes down to slavery, and she must take a stance . . . She . . . Kyle is trading in slaves. Using Vivacia as a slave ship. I do not think she would oppose her husband in this. Even if she does not agree with him, she has never had the will to set herself against him in anything.”

Then, “No-o-o,” Ophelia gasped. “Oh, how could they do such a thing! Vivacia is so young. How will she withstand all that? What was your mother thinking to allow this to happen? How could they have done that to their own family's ship?”

Grag and Captain Tenira were both silent. A stony look of condemnation settled over the captain's face while Grag looked stricken. The question hung in the air, an accusation.

“I don't know,” Althea replied miserably. “I don't know.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN - Judgment

“WHERE COULD SHE BE? WHAT COULD SHE BE DOING?” KEFFRIA WORRIED.

“I don't know.” Her mother replied testily.

Keffria looked down into the cup of tea she held. She forced her tongue to be still. She had nearly asked her mother if she was certain she had really seen Althea earlier. The last week had been so exhausting, she could have forgiven her mother for imagining the whole thing. That would be easier to forgive than her younger sister turning up and then abruptly vanishing again. It didn't help her temper that her mother seemed simply to accept Althea's outrageous behavior.

Her mother relented and added, “She told me she would be back before morning. The sun has scarcely gone down.”

“Does it not seem odd to you that a young, unmarried woman of a good family should be out and about on her own at night, let alone on her first night home after she has been missing for nearly a year?”

“No doubt that is so. It seems very like Althea to me, however. I've come to accept that I can't change her.”

“No such leeway is allowed to me!” Malta interjected pointedly. “I am scarcely allowed to walk around Bingtown by myself by day.”

“That's true,” Ronica Vestrit replied affably. Her needles ticked rhythmically against each other as she worked. She ignored Malta's noisy exhalation of frustration.

They had dined early and were now sitting together in the study. No one had said that they kept vigil for Althea's return. No one needed to. Her mother knit as if she were in some sort of race. Keffria had no such concentration. She stubbornly poked her needle through her embroidery and dragged another stitch into place. She would not let her sister upset her; she would not let the small peace she had found be stolen from her.

Malta did not even pretend to be constructively occupied. She had poked at their simple meal discontentedly and commented that she already missed Davad's servants. Now she strolled about the room, trailing her fingers on the desk-top, picking up the smaller mementos of her grandfather's sailing years, handling them and then putting them down. Her restlessness was an irritant to Keffria's raw nerves. Keffria was glad Selden was abed, exhausted after the long week of company. Malta had thrived on it. Ever since the last carriage had pulled away down the drive, the girl had had a desolate look to her. She reminded Keffria of some sea-creature stranded by a retreating tide.