“Did you?”

Althea grinned sheepishly. “I was curious. I climbed up on its chest one night. Reller had told the truth. Its forelegs were clutching at an arrow sticking out of its chest.”

“Then it wasn't just an accidental formation of stone? It truly had forelegs?”

Althea pursed her lips. “Or maybe some sailors with a bit of time on their hands had 'enhanced' it a bit. That was my opinion. Reller's claim was that that thing had been sprawled there for ages and ages. But the arrow shaft didn't look weathered or splintered. It was as nice a piece of wizardwood as I've ever seen. The only surprising thing to me was that no one had ever taken it. But sailors are a superstitious lot, and wizardwood has a dangerous reputation.”

Amber sat as if transfixed.

“The serpent-” Althea began, but “Hush!” Amber ordered her. “I need to think a moment. A wizardwood arrow. Is that what all this has been about? A wizardwood arrow? Shot by whom, and when? Why?”

Althea had no answers to any of that. She lifted her mug and took a long drink. When she set it down, Amber was smiling at her. “Go back to your tale, and finish it for me. Put in the serpent when you come to him, and tell me as much about him as you can. I promise to be a good listener.” Amber tipped a small measure of golden brandy into her own glass and leaned back expectantly.

Jek was right. The beer pitcher had been emptied twice and Amber's bottle of brandy was seriously lightened before the tale was told. Amber went over Althea's account of the serpent attacking the ship several times. She seemed interested in how its spittle had eaten through cloth and flesh, and nodded to herself at Brashen's assertion that it was not a mere predatory attack, but a thinking creature bound on vengeance. Nevertheless, Althea sensed that nothing in that part of her tale rang Amber's interest as the wizardwood arrow had. At last, even Amber's questions seemed to run out. The flames in the grate had burned low. Althea returned from a trip to the back-house to find Amber spilling the last of the brandy into two small glasses. Carved wooden holders, obviously the work of Amber's hands, twined ivy leaves around the glasses.

“Let us drink,” Amber proposed. “To all that is right with the world. To friendship, and good brandy.”

Althea lifted her glass but could not think of anything to add to the toast.

“The Vivacia?” Amber suggested.

“I wish her well, but until her decks are under my feet again, she is tangled with all that is most wrong in my world.”

“To Grag Tenira?” Amber proposed facetiously.

“That is also too complicated.”

Amber grinned broadly. “To Brashen Trell!”

Althea groaned and shook her head, but Amber raised her glass anyway. “Here's to irresponsible men who give in to their passions.” She drained off her brandy. “So women can claim it was none of their doing.”

This last she uttered just as Althea had given in and was tossing her brandy down. She choked and sputtered. “Amber, that's not fair. He took advantage of me.”

“Did he?”

“I told you,” Althea replied stubbornly. Actually, she had told Amber very little, other than to admit with a shrug that it had happened. At the time, Amber had let it pass with but a raised eyebrow. Now she met Althea's glare with a steady gaze and a small knowing smile. Althea took a breath. “I had been drinking, and drugged beer at that, and I'd taken a good blow to the head. Then he gave me some of his cindin. And I was cold and wet and exhausted.”

“All of that was true of Brashen as well. I'm not finding fault, Althea. I don't think either of you needs to make excuses for what happened. I think you shared what you each needed most. Warmth. Friendship. Release. Acknowledgment.”

“Acknowledgment ?”

“Ah, so you agree to the first three without question?”

Althea didn't answer the question. “Talking to you is a balancing act,” she complained. Then, “Acknowledgment of what?” she demanded.

“Of who you are. What you are.” Amber's voice was soft, almost gentle.

“So you think I'm a slut, too.” The effort at putting humor in her voice fell flat.

Amber considered her for a moment. She tipped back on her chair, balancing it on two legs. “I think you know what you are. You don't need my opinion. All you have to do is look at your daydreams. Have you ever fancied yourself settled down, a wife and mother? Ever wondered what it will be like to carry a babe within you? Do you dream of taking care of your wee ones while awaiting your husband's return from sea?”