Jek laughed aloud. "They all wait for me. They just don't know it yet."

Ophelia's bawdy chuckle echoed hers. Then she noticed Vivacia's silence. "Why so thoughtful, my dear? Do you miss your Wintrow? He'll be back soon enough."

Vivacia stirred from her reverie. "No. Not Wintrow. As you say, he will be back soon enough. Sometimes it is a pleasure to have no thoughts but my own. I was looking at the sky and recalling. The higher you fly, the more stars there are. There are stars up there that I will never see again. They didn't matter to me when the heavens still belonged to me, but now I feel it as a loss."

"You're young. You're going to find a lot of things like that in your life," the old liveship replied complacently. "No sense dwelling on them."

"My life," Vivacia mused. "My life as a liveship." She turned to regard Ophelia with a sigh. "I almost envy you. You recall nothing, so you miss nothing."

"I recall a lot, my dear. Just because my memories have sails instead of wings, don't you discount them." She sniffed. "And my life is nothing for you to disdain, I might add. Nor your own. You could take a lesson from my Grag. Don't go mooning after the stars, when the wide sea is all around you. It's a sky of its own, you know."

"And with just as many stars," Jek observed. She hopped back onto the deck and stretched until her muscles crackled. "Good night, ladies. I'm for my bunk. The day starts early for sailors."

"And for liveships. Sweet dreams, my dear," Ophelia wished her. As Jek padded softly away, the liveship shook her head. "Mark my words. She'll regret it if she doesn't settle down soon."

"Somehow I doubt it," Vivacia replied, smiling. She looked back at the lights of the town. In the Satrap's palace, Wintrow and Etta prepared humans to accept the return of her kind. She knew a sudden surge of pride in them. Astonishingly, she felt the same for herself. She smiled at Ophelia. "Jek is too busy living. She won't waste time on regrets. And neither shall I."

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE — Bingtown

"COMPANION SERILLA is IN THE PARLOR." RONICA WALKED INTO THE CHAMBER and looked around curiously.

"Are you certain?" Keffria heard the foolishness of her question as soon as she uttered it. She climbed down from the stool she had been standing on. She gave one critical look over her shoulder. "Oh dear," she muttered to herself. The old draperies from Selden's room, dyed, turned and pressed, still looked like the old draperies from Selden's room. No matter what she did to her bedchamber, it would still be the room she had shared with Kyle. Jani Khuprus had sent Rain Wild furniture to her but the lovely stuff was airy and pale, like the ghosts of the heavy bedstead and massive chests that had once filled the room. She wondered if she should move into Malta's room and keep this larger chamber for when Reyn and Malta visited.

But perhaps that would be cruel. Would not this room remind Malta of her father as much as it reminded Keffria of her husband? She shook her head at the cruelty of fate. Poor Kyle, to die on the decks of the Paragon, battling Jamaillian sailors. For what? A matter of a day later, those who had killed him had become their allies. Althea had brought her the tidings, and delivered them with uncharacteristic sensitivity when they were alone.

She had been unable to cry. It had been hours before she had shared the news with anyone else. Blessedly, her mother had said nothing, but only bowed her head. It was still hard to grasp that the long suspension of her life was over.

"Companion Serilla does not wait well," Ronica reminded her.

Keffria startled as if from a dream. There was so little time for herself anymore. When she did get involved in tasks for herself or personal thoughts, it was hard to tear herself away. "Whatever could bring her here? And so early in the day?"

"She said she had a message for you."

Now she saw the anxiety in her mother's eyes. Reyn, Malta and Wintrow were in Jamaillia. This was as likely to be bad news as good. Her stomach tightened inside her. "I suppose the only way to hear it is to speak with her."

She hurried through the hall to the parlor, her mother following more slowly. The slow mercy of time had finally brought spring to Bingtown. The season had turned in the last few days. The pounding rains of winter had changed to gentler sprinkling. Brisk breezes replaced cutting winds. Yesterday, she had even glimpsed a child's escaped kite fleeing, red against the bright blue day. Stalls in the market had reopened. People laughed and talked as they traded again.

Spring alone could not solve all Bingtown's problems. But the softer weather had speeded the departure of many disgruntled New Traders. With the Pirate Isles' increased patrols against the Chalcedean ships and the absence of serpents, travel would normalize swiftly. New wharves and piers were nearly completed. Six Duchies ships, anxious to court this new market, were braving the dangers of the Chalcedean coast to bring trade goods south to Bingtown. As trade revived, so did the town.

She glanced out at the atrium as she passed. In the righted pots, salvaged bulbs were beginning to sprout. Vines she had cut back as hopelessly dead were now putting out new leaves. Green nubs on the dry sticks of the clematis promised that the appearance of death was not death itself. Everywhere, life reasserted itself.

Spring had brought a welcome change in diet as well. There were fresh greens from the garden to waken the tongue, and scallions to flavor chowders with something besides fish. The few bedraggled chickens that had survived theft, storm and scanty feed were now scratching for insects and sprouts and laying eggs again. One jealously guarded nest promised chicks to replenish the flock. The year was turning, and the luck of the Vestrit family with it. Perhaps.

Despite Ronica's words, Companion Serilla was sitting patiently in the parlor. She stared at nothing, her back to the brightness of the undraped window. She was sedately dressed, more warmly than the day warranted, as if Bingtown's spring were her autumn. At the sound of Keffria's footsteps, she turned her head slowly. She came to her feet as Keffria entered the room.

"Trader Vestrit," she greeted her in a subdued tone. Without waiting for Keffria's greeting, she extended to her a tiny coil of paper. "I've tidings to share. The bird arrived this morning."

"Companion Serilla, good morning. I have appreciated so much your sharing the services of your messenger-birds. But this is an unprecedented honor, that you bring us the message yourself."

Serilla smiled stiffly but said no more. Keffria took the paper from her hand and crossed to the window where the light was best. Pigeons could not carry heavy burdens in flight. Of necessity, messages were brief and tightly written. Jamaillian scribes excelled at the tiny lettering. A cramped addendum in Grag Tenira's hand was intended for Keffria as scribe of the Bingtown Council. She squinted to pick it out, then passed on the news to Ronica as she deciphered it.

"Ophelia has arrived safely. Letters delivered. All are well. Vivacia to sail soon." She looked up at her mother with a smile. "Just our personal concerns here. How kind of Grag to arrange to let us know."

"The official tidings concern you as well," Serilla informed her. "Please. Read them."

The tiny lettering in the scribe's hand almost defied her eyes. She read it once, then again. She looked up in puzzlement from her mother to Serilla. Then she spoke softly. "Companion Serilla is dismissed from the Satrap's service. He has no further need of her here, since Bingtown has been recognized as an independent city-state. The Satrap also specifically retracts any authority she has claimed for herself. The language is… quite harsh."