Reyn knew his mother's deepest fear. She believed this latest disaster might destroy the Rain Wild folk. Their population had dwindled in the last two generations. Rain Wild children were often stillborn, or died in the first few months. Even those who lived did not have as long a life span as ordinary folk. Reyn himself did not expect to live much beyond his thirtieth year. It was one reason the Rain Wild Traders often sought their mates among their Bingtown kin. Such matches were more likely to be fecund, and the resulting children stronger. But Bingtown folk, kin or no, had become less willing in the last two generations to come to the Rain Wilds. Gifts for the family of a prospective spouse had risen in size, value and number. Witness his own family's willingness to forgive the debt on a liveship simply to assure Reyn a bride. With Malta lost, Jani knew Reyn would never wed nor produce children for the Khuprus family. The bride-gifts would have been in vain. With the beggaring of Trehaug, other Rain Wild families would be sore pressed to feed the children they had, let alone negotiate for mates for them. The Rain Wild folk might disappear altogether.

So Jani would come to Bingtown, to explain the loss of the Satrap and beg for aid. The combination of the two errands was a deep affront to her pride. Reyn felt sorry for his mother, but distanced by his own grief. The loss of the Satrap could trigger a war that might mean the complete destruction of Bingtown. The ancient Elderling city he loved was destroyed. But these tragedies were now merely the backdrop to his agony at losing Malta.

He had caused her death. By bringing her to his city, he had put her on the path to her death. The only creature he blamed more was Tintaglia, the dragon. He despised himself for the way he had romanticized the dragon. He had believed her capable of nobility and wisdom, had lionized her as the last of her glorious kind. In reality, she was an ungrateful, selfish and egotistical beast. Surely, she could have saved Malta if she had only put her mind to the task.

For his mother's sake, he tried to say something positive. "It looks as if some of the folk have begun rebuilding," he pointed out.

"Yes. Barricades," she observed as the ship approached the dock. She was right. With a sinking heart, Reyn noted that the men on the dock were well-armed. They were Traders, for he recognized several among them, and the captain of the Kendry was already roaring a greeting to them.

Someone cleared her throat. He started and turned to find a shawled Keffria Vestrit at his shoulder. Her eyes moved from his mother to him. "I don't know what I will find at home," she said quietly. "But the hospitality of the Vestrit home is open to you." She smiled wryly. "Providing that it still stands at all."

"We could not impose," Jani assured her gently. "Do not be troubled for us. Somewhere in Bingtown, an inn must still stand."

"It would scarcely be an imposition," Keffria insisted. "I am sure Selden and I would welcome the company."

Reyn suddenly understood that there might be more to this invitation than a simple return of hospitality. He voiced it. "It might not be safe for you to return to your home alone. Please. Let my mother and me arrange our business, and then we will accompany you there, to see you resettled."

"Actually, I would be most grateful for that," Keffria admitted humbly.

After a moment of silence, Reyn's mother sighed. "My mind has been busy with my own troubles. I had not stopped to think of all this homecoming might mean to you. Sorrow I knew there must be, but I had not considered danger. I have been thoughtless."

"You have your own burdens," Keffria told her.

"Nevertheless," Jani said solemnly. "Honesty must replace all polite words for a time. And not just between you and me. All Traders must be frank if any of us are to survive this. Ah, Sa, look at the Great Market. Half of it is gone!"

As the crew worked the ship into the dock, Reyn's eyes roved over the men gathering to meet the ship, and spotted Grag Tenira. He had not seen him since the night of the Summer Ball. The strength of the mixed feelings that surged up in him took him by surprise. Grag was a friend, yet now Reyn connected him with Malta's death. Would her death edge every day of his life with pain? It seemed it must be so.

The ship was secured to the dock and a gangplank run up to it. The moment there was any access to the ship, the crowd surged forward and folk began to cry out questions to the captain and the crew. Reyn pushed his way through the oncoming folk. His mother, Keffria and Selden followed in his wake. The second his foot touched the wharf, Grag stepped in front of him. "Reyn?" he asked in a low voice.

"Yes," he confirmed for him. He extended a gloved hand to Grag and Grag took it, but used it to pull Reyn closer.

Head close to Reyn's, Grag asked anxiously, "Has the Satrap been found?"

Reyn managed to shake his head. Grag frowned, and spoke hastily. "Come with me. All of you. I've a wagon waiting. I've had a boy watching for the Kendry from the headland for the past three days. Quickly, now. There have been some wild rumors in Bingtown of late. This is not a good place for any of you." From beneath his own cloak, Grag produced a ragged workman's cloak. "Cover your Rain Wild garb."

For an instant, Reyn was shocked into silence. Then he shook out the cloak and flung it over his mother's before handing her off to Grag. He seized Keffria's arm without ceremony. "Come along quickly and quietly," he whispered to her. He saw Keffria grip Selden's hand more tightly. The boy sensed that all was not right. His eyes widened, and then he hurried along with them. All their bags were left behind on the ship. It could not be helped.

Grag's wagon was an open cart more suited to hauling freight than passengers. There was a definite smell of fish to it. Two well-muscled young men lounged in the back. They wore the smocks of Three Ships fishermen. Reyn helped the women in as Grag jumped to the seat and took up the reins. "There's some sailcloth back there. If you spread it over you, it will keep some of the rain off."

"And hide us as well," Jani observed sourly, but she helped Reyn to unfold the canvas and stretch it out. They huddled together under it. Their escorts sat on the tail of the wagon, feet swinging as Grag stirred the ancient horse.

"Why is the harbor so empty?" Reyn asked one of the fishermen. "Where are the ships of Bingtown?"

"On the bottom, or off chasing Chalcedeans. They made a poke at us yesterday. Two ships approached the harbor with three others hanging offshore. Ophelia took out after them, and our other ships followed. Sa, how they ran! But I don't doubt our ships caught up to them. We're still waiting for our ships to return."

That didn't seem right to Reyn, but he couldn't put his finger on why it disturbed him. As the horse pulled the cart through Bingtown, he saw the city in glimpses from beneath the flapping canvas. Some commerce was taking place, but the city had an uneasy air. Folk hurried by on their errands or suspiciously watched the cart pass. The wind brought the clinging stink of low tide and burned houses. It seemed to Reyn that they took a roundabout route to the Tenira estate. At the gate, armed men waved Grag in and closed the gates behind the cart. As Grag pulled the horse to a halt, the door opened wide. Naria Tenira and two of Grag's sisters were among those who spilled out. Their faces were anxious.

"Did you find them? Are they safe?" Grag's mother demanded as Reyn threw back the canvas that had covered them.

Then Selden was scrabbling out of the cart, crying, "Grandma, Grandma!"

On the doorstep of the Tenira manor, Ronica Vestrit opened her arms wide to her grandchild.

SATRAP COSGO, HEIR TO THE PEARL THRONE AND THE MANTLE OF RIGHTEOUSness, picked at his chest, pulling off a long papery sheet of peeling skin. Malta looked aside to keep from grimacing. "This is intolerable," the Satrap complained yet again. "My skin is ruined. Such an unsightly pink shows beneath! My complexion will never again be as fair as it was." He looked at her accusingly. "The poet Mahnke once compared the skin of my brow to the opalescence of a pearl. Now, I am disfigured!"