"But why not one of your own, here in Bingtown?" Keffria hesitated.

"Because, just as you and your mother have told me, they need to remain close to their homes in this troubled time. Besides, in many ways, you are now one of our own."

"It would be perfect, Mother," Selden suddenly interjected. "For the dragon will need your voice here as well. You could help to make Bingtown see the necessity of aiding her, beyond any 'agreement' we have signed."

Jani looked at him in surprise. Even in the well-lit room, she could see Selden's eyes literally glowing with his enthusiasm. "But Selden, there may be times when the dragon's interests are different from the Rain Wilds' or Bingtown's," she cautioned him gently.

"Oh, no," he assured her. "I know it is hard for you to believe that I know these things. But what I know goes beyond who I am, and back to another time. I have dreamed the city that Tintaglia spoke of, and it is grand beyond imagination. Compared to Cassarick, Frengong was humble."

"Cassarick? Frengong?" Jani asked in confusion.

"Frengong is the Elderling name for the city buried beneath Trehaug. Cassarick is the city you will excavate for Tintaglia. There, you will find halls built to a dragon's scale of grandeur. In the Star Chamber, you will discover a floor set with what you call flame jewels, in a mirror of the night sky on Springeve. There is a labyrinth with crystal walls, tuned to mirror the dreams of the ones who dare it; to walk its maze is to confront your own soul. Time's Rainbow, they called it amongst themselves, for each person who completed it seemed to do so by a different route. Wonders are buried there and may be brought back to light…" Selden's voice trailed away in rapture. He stood breathing deeply in silence, his eyes looking afar. The adults exchanged looks over his head. Then he spoke again, suddenly. "The wealth the dragons will bring to us all will surpass mere coin. It will be a reawakening of the world. Humanity has become a lonely race, and dangerously arrogant in our solitude. The return of the dragons will restore balance to our intellect and to our ambitions." He laughed aloud suddenly. "Not that they are perfect beings, oh, no. That is our value to one another. Each race presents to the other a mirror of presumption and vanity. In seeing another creature's rash posturing of control and superiority in the world, we will realize how ridiculous our own claims are."

Silence followed his words. The thoughts he had thrown out so casually echoed through Jani's mind. His voice, his words had not the cadence or vocabulary of a child's. Was this the dragons' doing? What had they released back into the world?

"You have doubts now," Selden spoke to her silent qualms. "But you will see. The welfare of the dragon is in the best interests of the Rain Wilds, as well."

"Well," Jani replied at last. "In that, perhaps, we shall have to trust to your mother's judgment, as she represents us."

"This is a weighty responsibility," Keffria wavered.

"We are well aware of that," Jani replied smoothly. "And such a task should not be undertaken without recompense." She hesitated. "At the beginning, we would be hard pressed to pay you in coin. Until trade with the outside world is restored, I fear we must go back to bartering." She glanced about the room. "Household goods we have in plenty. Do you think we could work out a suitable exchange?"

A spark of hope kindled in Ronica's eyes. "I am sure we could," Keffria replied almost immediately. With a rueful laugh she added, "I can think of no household goods that we could not find a use for."

Jani smiled, well-pleased with herself. She had feared it would seem too much as if she were buying Selden from his family. In truth, she felt she had struck that best of all bargains, the one in which each Trader felt she had won the best of the trade. "Let us make a list of what you need most," she suggested. She set a hand on Selden's shoulder, taking care that it did not seem too possessive. "When we reach Trehaug, Selden can help me select what he thinks will suit you best."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE — Refitting

"SO. BACK ON THE BEACH AGAIN," PARAGON OBSERVED.

"Not for long," Amber assured him. She set her gloved hand briefly to his deck. It was a gesture of kindness, but a gesture only. She had slept deeply for a long time and he had looked forward to her awakening, to the sense of connection they had briefly shared. But that was not to be. He could not reach her, and could scarcely feel her. He was as alone as ever.

Brashen no longer trusted him. Paragon had tried to tell him that there was no damage below the waterline, but Brashen had insisted on beaching him. The captain had apologized stiffly, but said he would do the same with any ship as damaged as he was. Then he had run Paragon's scorched body up onto a sandy beach. The tide had retreated, stranding him there with most of his hull bared. At least he was out of reach of the serpent and his endless circling. The creature's nagging him toward revenge was maddening.

Brashen had tersely told what remained of the crew to make repairs. He stalked the deck, commanding with his presence but speaking scarcely a word, and the work proceeded, even if the men moved without spirit. The spare mast had been brought out and stepped. Shackles and fittings had been salvaged, sound bits of line spliced together and spare canvas and other supplies dragged out onto the deck. Ruined food stores were dumped over the side. The broken windows in the captain's quarters were planked over. A crew had been sent ashore to cut timber for spars. The green lumber would be miserable to work with, but they had no alternative. There was no chatter, no chantey, no jesting. Even Clef was withdrawn and silent. No one had attempted to scrub the bloodstains from his deck. They walked around them, or stepped over them. The serpent venom had left pits and indentations in his wizardwood. It had stippled his face and left streaks down his chest. More scars for him to bear.

Amber, clothed in a loose garment made from a sheet, had toiled alongside the others, until Brashen had brusquely ordered her to take some rest. For a time, she had lain silently in her bunk. Then she had arisen, as if she could not bear to be still. Now she sat on the foredeck, laying out tools for her next task. She moved awkwardly, favoring the burned side of her body. He had become accustomed to her verbally sharing all she was doing, but today she was quiet. Paragon felt her preoccupation, but could not fathom it.

Kennit and the Vivacia were gone as if they had never been there. Only one serpent remained of the horde that had attacked him. The mild days since the storm's passing made it all seem like a dream. But it was not. The dragons lurked in him, just below the surface. New blood marked his deck. Some of the crew were angry with him still. Or frightened. Sometimes, with humans, it was hard to tell the difference. It stung most that Amber was distant with him.

"I couldn't help it," he complained again.

"Couldn't you?" Amber asked him unemotionally.

She had been like that all afternoon. Not accusing him, but not accepting anything he said either. His temper snapped. "No. I could not! And since you've pawed through my memories, you should understand that. Kennit is family to me. You know that now. You know everything now. All the secrets I vowed I would keep safe for him, you have stolen."

He fell silent, guilt roiling through him again. He could not be true. If he was true to Kennit, he was disloyal to both Amber and his dragon selves. Kennit was family to him, yet he had once again failed in his promise to him. He was disloyal and wicked. Worse, he was relieved. His feelings spun like a weathervane. He had not truly wanted to die, nor to kill all his people. Amber should know that. She knew everything now. There was shameful comfort in sharing the terrible knowledge, for he was glad that someone else finally knew it all. A childish part of him hoped that now she would tell him what he should do. For too long, he had wrestled with these secrets, not knowing what to do with such frightening and shameful memories. Hiding them for so long should have made them go away, should have made them not matter. Instead they had festered like a boil, and just when he had a new life, the old wound had burst open and poisoned everything. It had nearly killed them all.