"I've thought about it," she had admitted. "But I can't. I'd always thought that Vivacia would be our major ally in reclaiming her from Kennit. I'd counted on the ship defying him to turn battle in our favor. Now that we know that Wintrow is alive and well aboard her, and that they both seem content with Kennit, I don't know what to think. But I can't just walk away from her, Brash. They're my family. Vivacia is my ship, in a way she can never belong to anyone else. To give her up to Kennit would be like giving up a child to him. She may be satisfied with Kennit now, but in the end, she'll want to come home to Bingtown. So will Wintrow. Then where will they be? Outcasts and pirates. Their lives will be ruined."

"How can you know that?" Brashen had protested. A smile curved his lips and he raised his brows as he asked her, "Would Keffria say this was where you belonged? Wouldn't she say the same things, that eventually you will want to come home and that I'm ruining you? Would you welcome her trying to rescue you from me?"

She had kissed the corner of his mouth. "Perhaps I'm the one ruining you. I don't intend to let you go, even when we do go back home. But we are both adults, aware of what this decision may cost us." In a lower voice she added, "We are both prepared to pay that cost, and count it still a good bargain. But Wintrow is scarcely more than a boy, and the ship had barely wakened to life when she left Bingtown. I can't let them go. I have to at least see them, speak to them, know how they are."

"Yes, I'm sure Captain Kennit would find time for us to visit them," Brashen had replied dryly. "Perhaps we should return to Divvytown and leave calling cards, asking when he is at home."

"I know it sounds ridiculous."

"What if we did return to Bingtown?" Brashen had asked, suddenly serious. "We have Paragon, and he's a fine ship. The Vestrits would still have a liveship, one that is paid for. You and I would stand shoulder to shoulder and refuse to be parted. We'd be married, with a proper wedding, in the Traders' Concourse. And if the Traders wouldn't allow that, well, to the bottom with them, and we'd sail up to the Six Duchies and make our promises to one of their black rocks."

She had to smile. He kissed her and went on, "We'd sail Paragon together, everywhere, up the Rain Wild River and down past Jamaillia to the islands your father knew so well, and trade where he did. We'd trade well, make lots of money and pay off your family's debt to the Rain Wilds. Malta wouldn't have to marry anyone she didn't want to. Kyle's dead, we know that, so we can't rescue him. Wintrow and Vivacia don't seem to want to be rescued. Don't you see, Althea? You and I could just take our lives and live them. We don't need much, and we already have it. A good ship and a good crew. You beside me. That's all I'm asking of life. Fate has handed it all to me, and damn it, I want to keep it." His arms suddenly closed around her. "Just say yes to me," he had urged her sweetly, his soft breath warm on her ear and neck. "Just say yes and I'll never let you go."

Broken glass in her heart. "No," she had said quietly. "I have to try, Brashen. I have to."

"I knew you'd say that." he had groaned. He loosened his arms and fell back from her. He gave her a weary smile. "So, my love, what do you propose we do? Approach Kennit under a truce flag? Creep up on him by night? Challenge him on the open sea? Or just sail back into Divvytown and wait for him there?"

"I don't know," she had admitted. "All of those sound suicidal." She paused. "All save the truce flag. No, don't stare at me like that. I'm not crazy. Listen. Brashen, think of all we heard in Divvytown. The folk there don't speak of him as a tyrant they fear. He is a beloved ruler, who has put the best interests of his people first. He frees slaves that he could just as easily sell. He is openhanded in sharing the booty he takes. He sounds like an intelligent, rational man. If we went to him under a truce flag, he'd know the most sensible course was to hear us out. What could he gain by attacking us before he'd talked to us? We could offer him ransom money, but more than that, we could offer him the goodwill of at least one Bingtown Trader family. If he genuinely wants to make a kingdom of the Pirate Isles, eventually he will have to seek legitimate trade. Why not with Bingtown? Why not with the Vestrits?"

Brashen had leaned back on his pillow. "To make it convincing, you'd have to have it all written out. Not some verbal agreement, but a binding contract. What little ransom we offer him now would be just the opening. The trade agreements would be the real bait." He rolled his head on the pillow to meet her eyes. "You know that some folk in Bingtown will call you a traitor. Can you bind your family to an agreement with outlaws like these?"

She had been silent for a time. "I'm trying to think as my father would," she said quietly at last. "He said the mark of a good trader was the ability to see ahead. To lay the groundwork for the trading of tomorrow with the deals one struck today. It was shortsighted, he said, to squeeze the last bit of profit out of a trade. A wise trader never let the other man walk away feeling sour. I think this Kennit is going to succeed. And when he does, the Pirate Isles will either become a barrier between Bingtown and all the trade to the south, or they will become one more trading stop. I think Bingtown and Jamaillia are close to parting ways. Kennit could be a powerful ally for Bingtown, as well as a valuable trading partner."

She sighed, not with sadness but finality. "I think I'd like to chance it. I'll make an overture, but I'll be clear that I'm not speaking for all of Bingtown. However, I'll let him know that where one Trader comes, others soon follow. I'm going to tell him I speak for the Vestrit family. I need to decide exactly what I can honestly offer him. I can make this work, Brashen. I know I can." She gave a short, rueful laugh. "Mother and Keffria are going to be furious when I tell them. At first. But I have to do what I think best."

Brashen's fingers had traced a lazy circle around one of her breasts, his weathered hand dark against her pale skin. He bent his head to kiss her and then asked gravely, "Mind if I stay busy while you're thinking?"

"Brashen, I'm serious," she had protested.

"So am I," he had assured her. His hands had moved purposefully down her body. "Very serious."

"What are you smiling about?" Amber broke into her reverie. She grinned at Althea mischievously.

Althea started guiltily. "Nothing."

"Nothing," Jek agreed sourly from her bunk. Her arm had been flung across her face and Althea had assumed she was sleeping. Now she straightened. "Nothing except a bit more than the rest of us are getting."

Amber's face had gone grave. Althea bit her tongue to hold it silent. Best to let this discussion die right here. She met Jek's gaze squarely.

Jek didn't agree. "Well, at least you don't deny it," she observed bitterly, sitting up. "Of course, it would be rather hard to do so, when you come in here late, purring like a kitten that's been into the cream, or sit smiling to yourself, your cheeks as pink as a new bride's." She looked at Althea and cocked her head. "You should make him shave, so his whiskers don't rash the side of your neck like that."

Althea lifted a guilty hand before she could stop herself. She let it drop to her side and considered Jek's flat gaze. There would be no avoiding this. "What's it to you?" she asked quietly.

"Other than that it's completely unfair?" Jek asked her. "Other than that you're stepping up to the mate's position at the same time you're falling into the captain's bed?" Jek rose from her bunk to stand before Althea. She looked down at her. "Some people might think you don't deserve either."

The tall woman's mouth was a flat line. Althea took a deep breath and readied herself. Jek was Six Duchies. On a Six Duchies boat, fists out on deck were how a dispute over a promotion would be settled. Did Jek expect that here? That if she could beat Althea on the deck, she could step up to the mate's position?