At the sound of the dragon's voice, Malta's eyes grew wide. A second wave of wind hit the cottage, rattling the shutters, and she was suddenly in his arms. He held her close and felt her trembling. The top of her head came only to his chin. Her hair was damp under his touch when he stroked it. When she turned her face up to his, he fell into the bottomless gaze of her eyes. "It's only a dream," he assured her. "Nothing here can hurt you. Nothing here is quite real."
"It seems very real," she whispered. Her breath was warm on his face.
"Does it?" he asked in wonder.
"It does," she assured him.
Cautiously he lowered his mouth to hers. She did not avoid his kiss. The thin layer of veil between their lips was an almost pleasant coarseness. Her arms came around him and held him with awkward inexperience.
The sweetness of the kiss clung to him as the power of the dream-box faded and he drifted into ordinary sleep. "Come to me." Her words reached him faintly. "Come to me at the full moon."
"I can't!" he cried out, desperate that his words reach her. "Malta, I can't!"
He awakened saying the words into his pillow. Had she heard him?
He closed his eyes and tried to will himself back into sleep and the shared dream. "Malta? I cannot come to you. I can't."
"Is that what you say to all females?" Somewhere a voice laughed in wicked amusement. Claws twitched feebly against iron-hard wizardwood. "Don't fret, Reyn. You cannot go to her. But I shall."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Marooned
THE MOON STOOD CLEAR IN THE SKY AND THE TIDE WAS HIGH WHEN KENnit decided it was time to keep his promise. It had taken some careful maneuvering, but everything was in place and ready. No sense in wasting time. He swung his leg over the side of the bunk and sat up, scowling when a sleepy Etta lifted her head from the pillows. He wanted no interference from anyone tonight. "Go back to sleep," he commanded her. "If I need you, I'll tell you."
Instead of looking chastened, she gave him a fond and drowsy smile, then closed her eyes again. Her placid acceptance of his independence was almost unnerving.
At least she was coming to accept that he didn't need her damn help with everything. She had been tiresomely helpful in the weeks of his convalescence. Several times, he'd had to roar at her before she would retreat and let him take care of himself.
He reached for the waiting peg and slipped his stump into the cup on the end. The harness of leather that secured it to his body still seemed awkward, but he was becoming accustomed to it. Pulling his trousers on past it was another difficulty. He frowned at it. The woman would have to come up with a better arrangement. He would tell her so in the morning. His belt held only a long sheathed dagger now. A sword was a useless vanity to a man who had to balance on one leg. He dragged on his boot, then took up the crutch that leaned against the bunk. He thudded his way across the room. Teetering precariously, he buttoned on a shirt and then donned a vest. A fine broadcloth coat went over it all. He added a clean kerchief and his usual items to his pocket. He tugged his collar straight and made sure his cuffs were even. Tucking the crutch firmly under his arm, he left his cabin, shutting the door quietly behind him.
All was at peace on the anchored vessel. The ship had been tidier and better run since he had reduced the crew in Divvytown. Most of the rescued slaves had been glad to leave the crowded ship. Some had wished to remain. He had sieved those rigorously. Some had simply not been able sailors. Others were too surly. Not all those with multiple tattoos across their faces were free spirits who would not bow to slavery. Some, quite simply, were men and women too stupid to learn their tasks well and do them willingly. He did not want them any more than their former owners had. A dozen former slaves, victims of Sa'Adar's influence, had insisted on remaining aboard. Kennit had graciously allowed it. It had been his only concession to their claim to own the ship. Doubtless, they still hoped for more. Doubtless they would be disappointed. Three others he had kept aboard for his own reasons. They would serve their purposes tonight.
He found Ankle leaning on the forward railing. Not far from her, Wintrow was sprawled in the deep sleep of exhaustion. Kennit permitted himself a small smile. Brig had taken his request that the boy be kept very busy for a few days literally. The girl turned to the tapping of his peg on the deck. Ankle's wide dark eyes watched him approach with trepidation. She was not as fearful as she had been at first. A few days after he had taken the ship, Etta had put a stop to the freed men and crew using her for sex. The girl herself had not seemed to object, so Kennit had seen no problem with it, but Etta had insisted she was too addled by ill use to know how to resist their advances. Later Wintrow had told him what he knew of the girl. Ankle had gone mad in the hold and crippled herself struggling against her fetters. Wintrow believed she had been normal when she had first been put belowdecks. No one on board seemed to know anything else about her, not even her name or age. A shame, Kennit supposed, that her mind was gone. She would always limp. She was worse than useless aboard the ship, for she ate food and took up space that could have been given to an able man. He would have put her off in Divvytown if both Etta and Wintrow had not interceded for her. When Vivacia, too, had spoken out in her behalf, Kennit had allowed himself to be swayed. Nevertheless, it was time to be done with her. It was the kindest thing to do. A pirate ship was not a nursery for blighted souls.
He made a small gesture to her to come to him. She advanced a single hesitant step.
"What will you do with her?" Vivacia spoke softly from the shadows.
"I mean no harm to her. You know me well enough now to understand that." He glanced toward Wintrow. "But let's not wake the lad." He made his suggestion in a kindly tone.
The figurehead was silent for a time. "I sense you believe you are doing what is right for her. But I cannot see what that is." After a time, she added, "You block me. There are portions of your heart that you have never allowed me to see. You keep secrets from me."
"Yes. Just as you keep secrets from me. You have to trust me in this. Do you?" He made a small test of the question.
She was silent. He walked forward, past Ankle, who cowered slightly as he passed her. He took her place on the forward rail and leaned down to the ship. "Good evening, sweet sea-lady," he greeted the ship, as if they were the first words he had spoken to her. His utterance was little more than a whisper on the evening wind.
"It is more like a good night, gentle sir," she replied in kind.
He extended his hand to her and she twisted to reach up her large fingers to touch his. "I trust you are well. Tell me." He gestured at the surrounding panorama of scattered islands. "What do you think of my islands, now that you have seen a bit of them?"
She made a warm sound in her throat. "There is a unique beauty to them. The warmth of the water, the drifting mists that veil and reveal them… even the birds that flock here are different. More colorful, and more tuneful in their songs than most seabirds. I have not seen such plumage since Captain Vestrit took me on a voyage far to the southlands…" Her voice trailed away.
"You still miss him, don't you? I'm sure he was a fine captain, and showed you many wondrous places. But if you trust me, my lady, you and I shall see places even more exotic, and have adventures even more exciting." There was an almost jealous note in his voice as he asked, "Do you recall him that well? I had thought you were not quickened then."
"I recall him like one recalls a good dream in the morning. Nothing is sharp, but a scent, a horizon, the taste of a current, will seem familiar and a memory comes with it. If Wintrow is with me, it is sharper. I can convey to him far more detail than I can speak."