Kyle Haven had emerged from hiding. In the midst of the chaos, he danced a madman's jig on the main deck. "Die here, die here!" he chanted shrilly. "Die as you all deserve, every one of you! Serves you right! You brought his body on board! We'll take it to the bottom with us."

Etta had been closeted with Mother. Now she appeared and made a determined rush down the deck. As she ran, a small ship swept past, the same one that had harried Vivacia earlier. "Get down!" Althea cried as the row of archers let fly.

Etta heeded her. Kyle did not.

He fell, jerking, with two arrows through his body. Etta did not give him a glance. She picked herself up and ran. When she reached the foredeck, she screamed her words with the force of a sudden cold wind. "Faithless ship! Bear us away! Or Kennit's child will die unborn, a child he bid me name 'Paragon'."

The figurehead twisted back to look at her. His wide blue eyes shone with madness. He stared at her and a sudden silence fell. In one hand, he gripped a timber from the shattered ship. He lifted it high over his head, then flung it into the rigging of an approaching Jamaillian ship. He thrust his axe back into his harness. At last, he seized the battered hulk in both hands and pushed savagely free of it. The impetus aimed them toward the closing gap and thrust the wreckage into the path of two other ships. Suddenly unimpeded, his full sails sent him shooting forward. Swift as only a liveship was swift, he cut past the bow of a Jamaillian ship and into clear water.

Like a blessing from Sa, there was suddenly open ocean before them. Paragon poured himself into it. The wind sped them as they fled after Vivacia. On the deck, Kyle Haven's blood pooled in standing puddles.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX — Secrets

THEIR ESCAPE HAD FORCED THEM NORTH, THE WRONG DIRECTION FOR FLEEING to Divvytown.

The day was fading as Paragon caught up with the others. Vivacia moved swiftly and surely to the fore of their little group of vessels. Wintrow had clearly taken over command of the small pirate force. Althea was proud of him. It was a shame his father had never seen his son as Kennit had, she thought.

No one who had ever loved Kyle Haven would have to look at what had been done to him. Amber had silently helped her slide his body into the sea. Althea herself had wiped from Paragon's deck the blood his wizardwood refused to absorb. She still did not know what she would tell Malta or Keffria. She knew what she would not tell them. She felt sick and bloated with ugly secrets.

Althea lifted her eyes and studied the ships critically. Vivacia led the way, sailing as only a liveship could. The Marietta, Sorcor's trim little vessel, strove to keep pace with her. The battered Motley trailed them substantially. Last came Paragon. Althea could feel that he still mourned the serpent. Kennit was part of the ship now, and yet she could not deny her bond with him. A shiver, half shudder, ran up her.

Althea made her way aft to the wheel looking for Brashen. She was not ready to be near the figurehead yet. She excused herself that Etta stood on the foredeck, and undoubtedly wished to be alone. As she walked the deck, Amber emerged from the hatch, carrying a pannikin of stew. The smell of it sickened Althea. She could not recall when she had last eaten.

Semoy was on the wheel. He greeted her with a grin and a wink. "Knew we'd get you back," he claimed. She clapped him on the shoulder in passing, surprised that his welcome should move her so. Wordlessly, Amber handed him the food. He gave the wheel to her and came to stand beside Althea. Between shoveled mouthfuls, he nodded aft. "They still aren't giving up, are they?"

Behind them the Jamaillian ships had sorted themselves out from Paragon's rampage. Some were giving chase. "I don't think they dare," Althea replied. "As long as we have the Satrap and he's alive, they can't give up. If he isn't dead, all the rest of their plan falls to pieces. They lose everything." She watched the enemy ships critically. "We're right to flee. Some of those ships won't last the night. I've seen the effects of serpent-spittle. What looks like sound canvas will soon split and shred. If we run, we can leave at least some of them behind. Then, when we must fight, we'll face a smaller force."

"An even better hope is that we may lose them in the night." Brashen spoke behind them. "Even if we don't, Wintrow has hostages now." A shadow came over his face. "I don't think he'll hesitate to use them."

"Hostages?" Althea asked as Brashen came to join them at the aft railing. His face was gray; he looked as if he had aged a year in a day. Still, he put his arm around Althea and pulled her close. She hooked an arm around his waist.

From his tone, she could not tell if Brashen approved or was horrified. "At the last possible moment, Wintrow pulled a dozen or so men off the Jamaillian ship. Nobles, by their clothing. They should be worth something as hostages. But we're right to flee until we're in a position to bargain. There are many places to hide in the Isles, and we follow three ships that know these waters well. We may escape death today."

Semoy had finished his food. He thanked Amber and traded her the dish for the wheel. It seemed strange that such an ordinary exchange could occur on such a day. Peace seemed foreign to Althea now.

Brashen spoke suddenly, addressing Amber. "Ornamental?" he asked accusingly.

She shrugged, and there was wonder in her strange eyes. "I pegged the axe in place. I never dreamed he'd be able to take it out and use it." She shook her head. "The more I know of it, the stranger stuff is wizardwood."

"Lucky for us he could," Semoy observed approvingly. "Didn't the splinters fly?"

No one seemed ready to reply to that observation.

Althea leaned against Brashen and watched the distance widen between them and their pursuers. There was so much to tell him, and absolutely nothing to say that was not said better with this simple touch. Clef appeared suddenly. He stood before Althea and Brashen, and shook his head reprovingly. "In fronter the crew an' all," he disparaged them with a disrespectful grin. Althea assayed a playful swipe at him. To her surprise, Clef caught her flying hand and held it firmly to his cheek. "Good yer back," he blurted. "So good yer ent dead." As swiftly as he had seized her hand, he released it. "How come yer heven't said nought to Paragon yet? He's got a new face, y'know. An' an axe. An' blue eyes like me."

"Blue eyes?" Amber exploded incredulously. "They're supposed to be dark brown, nearly black." She suddenly spun about and hastened forward.

"Wizardwood is strange stuff," Brashen reminded her smugly.

"Bit late to change 'em," Clef observed cheerily. " 'sides, I like 'em. They're kind. Like Mother's." He hastened after her.

They were nearly alone now, if one did not consider Semoy. The old sailor considerately kept his eyes forward as Brashen kissed her. Only for an instant did her memory of Kennit's assault intrude. Then she seized him and kissed him firmly in defiance, refusing any comparison between this and the pirate's attack on her. She would not let that stand between them.

Yet, when she released him, there was a shadow in Brashen's eyes. He was too perceptive. He looked into her face questioningly. She gave a tiny shrug. Now was not the time to tell him. She wondered if it would ever be the time to tell him all of it.

He probably thought he was changing the subject. "So, why don't we go forward and assure Paragon you're aboard and well?"

"He knows that I am. But for him, I wouldn't be," she replied. The shock of seeing his eyes as he caught her had still not left her. Kennit's eyes. She had nearly shamed herself by screaming as the ship's big hands had closed on her. She knew Paragon had sensed it. He had not paused, but had set her swiftly into Brashen's reach. To Brashen's puzzled silence now, she replied, "I will see him and speak with him in a quiet moment, Brashen. Not just yet." She made the beginning of an attempt. "Kennit is part of him now. Isn't he?"