"Now the Jamaillian negotiating ship has pulled back. Kennit has said they may have time to think, but warns them to stand where they are. All wait to see who will make the next move."

"Waiting. More waiting," Althea ground out the word. "Surely he won't sit still and wait while they surround us. The only logical course is to flee." Then she stared at the Satrap. "This is true, what Kennit says? You have recognized him as king? How could you be so stupid?"

"It's complicated," Malta flung back at her while the indignant Satrap glared. "He would have been more stupid to refuse." In a lower voice, she added, "We took our only chance at survival. But I don't expect you to understand that."

"How could I?" Althea retorted. "I still don't know how you even came to be here, let alone with the Satrap of Jamaillia." She took a breath. She evened her tone. "As long as we are stuck here and must wait, why don't you tell me how you came to be here. How did you leave Bingtown at all?"

MALTA DID NOT WANT TO SPEAK FIRST. A TINY MOTION OF HER EYES TOWARD the Satrap cued Wintrow to her reluctance. Althea did not notice it. Her aunt had never been one for subtleties. She scowled at Malta's reticence, and Malta was relieved when Wintrow interfered. "I was the first to leave Bingtown. Althea knows a bit of what I've been through, but Malta knows nothing. Althea is right. As we must wait, let's use the time wisely. I'll tell my travels first." His eyes were both sympathetic and shamed as he added, "I know you are anxious for news of our father. I wish I had more to tell."

He launched into an honest but brief account of all that had passed. Malta felt incredulous when he spoke of being tattooed as a slave at her father's command. What had become of the tattoo, then? She bit her tongue to keep from calling him a liar. His tale of their father's disappearance was as incredible as the story of rescuing a serpent. When he told of how the ship had cured him and erased the scar, she was skeptical but kept silent.

Althea's face betrayed that she had not heard a full accounting of Wintrow's journey. She, at least, looked perfectly willing to believe that Kyle Haven was capable of anything. When Wintrow spoke of his father's disappearance at Kennit's hands, she only shook her head. Jek, the hulking Six Duchies woman, listened attentively, as if she appreciated a good yarn. Meanwhile, beside Malta, the Satrap ate and drank, with no concern for the others. Before Wintrow had finished speaking, the Satrap had claimed the bunk and turned to face the wall.

When Wintrow finally ran out of words, Althea looked at her expectantly. But Malta suggested, "Let us tell our stories in order. You left Bingtown next."

ALTHEA CLEARED HER THROAT. WINTROW'S SIMPLE TELLING HAD MOVED HER more than she was willing to show. Decisions she had faulted him for were now made clear. Truly, she should have allowed him to speak of this before. She owed him an apology. Later. Given what he had gone through with Kennit, it was no wonder he had sided with the man. It was understandable, if not forgivable. She realized she was staring silently at him. His face had reddened. She looked aside and sought order for her own thoughts. There was so much she did not wish to share with these youngsters. Did she owe Malta the truth about her relationship with Brashen? She would give them, she decided, the facts, not her feelings. Those belonged only to her.

"Malta will remember the day we left Bingtown on Paragon. The ship handled well, and the sailing was good for the first few days, but-"

"Wait," Wintrow dared interrupt his aunt. "Go back to the last time I saw you, and tell me from there. I wish to hear it all."

"VERY WELL," ALTHEA CONCEDED GRUFFLY. FOR A TIME, SHE LOOKED AT THE sky outside the porthole. Wintrow could see her deciding how much to share with him. When she spoke, she told things in a bare, bald way, her voice becoming dispassionate as she approached more recent events. Perhaps it was the only way she could speak of them. She did not look at Wintrow, but spoke directly to Malta of the sinking of Paragon with all hands, including Brashen Trell. In a cold flat voice, she spoke of her rape. Wintrow lowered his eyes, shocked by the flare of both understanding and hatred in Malta's eyes. He did not interrupt her. He kept his peace until she said, "Of course, no one aboard believes me. Kennit has impressed them all with his gentlemanly ways. Even my own ship doubts me."

Wintrow's throat and mouth were dry. "Althea. I don't doubt you." They were among the most painful words he had ever spoken.

The look she gave him near broke his heart. "You never spoke out for me," she accused him.

"It would have done no good." The words sounded cowardly, even to himself. He lowered his eyes and said honestly, "I believe you because Etta told me she believed you. That was why she left the ship. Because she could not live as witness to what he had done. Sa help me, I remained, but kept silent."

"Why?" The flat, one-word question came not from his aunt but his sister. He forced himself to meet Malta's eyes.

"I know Kennit," he found himself saying. The truth he acknowledged now cut him. "He has done good things, even great things. But one reason he could do them was because he does not bind himself by rules." His eyes went from Malta's doubting face to Althea's frozen one. "He accomplished much good," he said softly. "I wanted to be part of that. So I followed him. And I looked aside from the evil things he did. I became very good at ignoring that which I could not countenance. Until finally, when the evil was directed at one of my own blood, it was still easier not to avow it aloud." His voice had become a whisper. "Even now, to admit it makes me… part of it. That is the most difficult part. I wanted to share in the glory he gained for the good he did. But if I claim that, then-"

"You can't play in shit and not get some on you," Jek observed succinctly from her corner. She reached up to set a large hand on Althea's knee. "I'm sorry," she said simply.

Shame burned in him. "I am sorry, too, Althea. So sorry. Not only that he did this to you, but that you suffered my silence."

"We have to kill him," Jek continued when neither Althea nor Malta spoke. "I see no alternative."

For an icy moment, Wintrow supposed she spoke of him. Althea shook her head slowly. Tears stood in her eyes but did not spill. "I've thought about that. At first, I thought about little else. I would do it in an instant, if I could do it without injuring the ship. Before I take that step, she must see him for what he is. Wintrow. Are you willing to help me with that? To make Vivacia see him as he truly is?"

Wintrow lifted his chin. "I must. Not for you, not for the ship. For myself. I owe myself that honesty."

"But what of Father?" Malta demanded in a low agonized voice. "Althea, I beg you, consider that. If not for his children, for Keffria, your sister. Whatever you think of Kyle, please do not endanger my father's return to us. Hold back your hand from Kennit, for at least that long-"

A LONG LOW SOUND SUDDENLY TRAVELED THROUGH THE SHIP. ALTHEA HEARD IT with her ears, but her bones shook with the sound. A meaning she could almost grasp ran along her skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. She forgot all else, reaching after it.

"It's Vivacia," Wintrow said needlessly.

Malta got a distant look. "She calls the serpents," she said softly.

Althea stared at Malta, as did Wintrow. Her eyes were wide and dark.

In the silence that followed, a long snore sounded from the Satrap's bunk. Malta jerked as if awakening, then gave a small sour laugh. "It sounds as if I may now speak freely, without interruptions, corrections and accusations of treachery." To Althea's surprise, Malta swiped at sudden tears, smearing the paint from her face. She drew a shuddering breath. Then she tugged off her gloves, revealing hands scalded scarlet. She snatched her headwrap off and threw it down. A shocking ridge of bright red scar began high on her brow and stood up well into her hairline. "Get the staring part over with," she ordered them in a harsh hopeless voice. "And then I will speak…" Her voice broke suddenly. "There is so much. What happened to me is the least of it. Bingtown is destroyed; when last I saw it, fires smoldered and fighting was widespread."