She was almost there when Cerwin stepped in front of her. She had to stop to keep from bumping into him. "Perhaps we can dance now?" he asked gently.

She hesitated. It would anger Reyn or perhaps fill him with jealousy. But she no longer wished to play such games. This was complicated enough without that. As if Cerwin sensed her reservations, he nodded somberly to the dance floor. "It did not take him so long to decide on a new partner."

In disbelief, she turned to see what he indicated. Her heart stood still in her chest. Reyn moved gracefully through the languid dance steps with one of the Satrap's Companions in his arms. It was not even the beautiful one. It was the unadorned woman in the cream gown that he held close and listened to so attentively.

"No," Cerwin whispered. "Don't stare. Put your head up and look at me. Smile. And off we go."

With a frozen little smile, she set her hand in his. He gathered her in and they moved out onto the dance floor with all the grace of two dogs circling one another. His dance stride was short after matching herself to Reyn. She felt like she lurched about in his arms. He seemed blissfully unaware of this awkwardness. Instead, he smiled down at her. "At last, I find you in my arms," he said softly. "I thought my dreams would never come true. Yet here you are, presented as a woman! And that Rain Wild fool has cast you aside for someone he can never hope to possess. Ah, my Malta. Your hair gleams so that it dazzles me. The fragrance of your hair intoxicates me. I could never dream to possess a more precious treasure than your tiny hand in mine."

The compliments rained down on her. She set her teeth in a smile and endured them. She tried not to watch Reyn dance with the other woman. His veil made it hard to tell, but it seemed that she had captured his attention completely. Not once did his head turn in her direction.

She had lost him. That simply, that quickly. One tart word too many, and the man was gone. She actually felt as if her heart had been tugged out of her chest, leaving only an empty space. Foolishness. She had not even decided whether or not she loved him. So that could not be it. No. It was that he had claimed to love her, and she had foolishly believed him. Obviously, he had lied to her. It was only injured pride that she felt, she was sure of it. It was only that she felt angry because he had made a fool of her. Why should she care at all? She was right now dancing in the arms of another man, a very handsome man who obviously doted on her. She didn't need Reyn. She had never even seen his face; how could she love him?

She felt suddenly dizzy as she glimpsed Reyn bending his head, to speak to the Companion more privately. The woman answered earnestly and at length. Malta nearly stumbled, and Cerwin tightened his grip on her. He was uttering some nonsense about how pink her lips were. What in Sa's name did he expect her to reply to such inanity? Should she compliment his teeth, or the cut of his shirt? She actually heard herself say, "You look very handsome tonight, Cerwin. Your family must be proud of you."

He smiled as if she had praised him to the stars. "Such words from your lips mean so much to me," he assured her.

The music ended. He reluctantly released her and she stepped back from him. Her traitorous eyes sought out Reyn. He bowed low over the Companion's hand, and then gestured toward the doors that led out into the lantern-lit garden and walks of the Traders' Concourse. She tried to find some hardness or resolve to cling to, but all she felt was the desolation of her soul.

"May I bring you some wine?" Cerwin asked her.

"Please. I should like to sit down for a while."

"Of course." He offered his arm to escort her.

WHEN GRAG GRIPPED REYN's ARM, REYN HAD SPUN TO FACE HIM AND nearly struck him. "Not now! Let me go!" he protested. Malta was walking away from him. That milky-skinned Trell boy was cutting hastily through the crowd to reach her. This was no time for a friendly word on the dance floor.

But Grag gripped his arm more tightly and spoke in a low, urgent voice. "One of the Satrap's Companions just danced with me."

"That's wonderful. I hope it was the pretty one. Now let go." He craned his neck trying to follow her progress through the crowd.

"No. You should ask her for the next dance. I want you to hear for yourself what she told me. Afterwards, come and find me in the gardens, near the pin oak on the east walk. We need to decide who else to tell, and what actions to take."

Crag's voice was taut with tension. Reyn didn't want this now. He attempted levity. "I need to speak to Malta first. Then we'll discuss burning warehouses."

Grag didn't release him. "It's not a jest, Reyn. It won't wait. I fear we may be too late already. There's a conspiracy against the Satrap."

"Go join it," Reyn advised him in annoyance. How could he think about politics just now? Malta was hurt. He could almost feel her pain himself, it was so intense. He had hurt her and now she was wandering through the crowd like a lost kitten. He needed to speak to her. She was so vulnerable.

"The Chalcedeans and some of his own nobles plan to kill him. Bingtown will take the blame for it. They'll raze us to the ground, with the blessings of all Jamaillia. Please, Reyn. It has to be now. Go and ask her to dance. I have to find my mother and sisters and ask them to start arranging for some of the other Traders to meet us outside. Go ask her. She's in the plain cream-colored gown, over by the high dais. Please."

Malta had vanished. Reyn shot Grag a look that he seemed to feel even through his veil. The Trader's son let go of Reyn's arm. He shrugged his shoulders then gave an angry shake of his head. Grag hastened away.

Slowly, his heart sinking inside him, Reyn turned and made his way toward the Satrap's Companion. She was watching for him. As he approached, she made some witty remark to the woman she was conversing with, nodded and began to move away. He intercepted her and gave her a short bow. "Would you honor me with a dance, Companion?"

"Certainly. It would give me great pleasure," she replied formally. She lifted her hand and he took it in his gloved one. The first strains of the music began. It was a slow melody, traditionally a lovers' dance. It would give couples both old and young an excuse to hold one another as they moved slowly to the dreamlike music. He could be taking Malta in his arms right now, soothing her hurt and his own. Instead, he found himself matched with a Jamaillian woman nearly as tall as himself. She made an excellent dance partner for him, graceful and light-footed. Somehow that only made it worse. He waited for her to speak.

"Did your cousin pass on my warning to you?" she finally asked.

Her directness shocked him. He strove to be contained. "Not really. He merely said you had told him something interesting, something he wished me to hear for myself." He put quizzical concern in his voice, nothing more.

She gave an impatient snort. "I fear we have no time for tiptoeing about like this. It occurred to me on the way here tonight that this would be the perfect time for them to put their plot in motion. Here you are, all gathered together, Bingtown Traders and Rain Wild Traders, with the Satrap in your midst. All know how strong the feelings run against the New Traders and the Satrap's Bingtown policies. What better time to set off a riot? In the confusion, the Satrap and his Companions will be killed. Then the Chalcedeans can move with just anger to punish you all."

"A nasty little scene. But who does it profit? Why?" His voice said he found it improbable.

"It profits those who banded together to plan it. The Jamaillian nobles are tired of a self-indulgent boy who knows nothing of ruling except how to spend the treasury on himself. Chalced gains Bingtown for its own province, to plunder as it pleases. They have long claimed that this territory of the Cursed Shores was rightfully theirs."