It was clear that despite her bravado, Tyranny's experience with the Citadel had had a strong effect upon her. And Tristan was by now quite sure she was a woman who was not easily frightened. Fascinated, he leaned forward in his chair.

"Could you lead another fleet there if you had to?" he asked eagerly. "Do you really know the way?"

"Of course," she answered. "I know this ocean as well as anyone alive. But hear me well: Going there is blatant suicide."

Tristan looked at her for a long moment, absorbing all that he had just heard. The breeze from the open windows wafted through the room, gently moving her scruffy dark hair, and her blue eyes continued to regard him with confidence. A slight smile came to his lips. "So you're really a pirate?" he asked.

Tyranny smiled. "We prefer to think of ourselves as privateers, doing the work that the vanquished monarchy no longer can. We would, of course, prefer to do so under authenticated letters of marque, but the king and the wizards who might have granted them to us are now all dead."

"Letters of marque?" Tristan repeated quizzically.

"For the crown prince of Eutracia, you don't seem to know much about your own history," she quipped. "Letters of marque were papers granted by the wizards to privateers during the Sorceresses' War. These documents gave official sanction to the raiding of the Coven's vessels and the killing of their servants. They also allowed the privateer to legally keep a portion of any of the booty recovered. It was a very nice arrangement, actually. The wizards didn't have to dirty their hands, and a brave, enterprising privateer could do very well. It was almost impossible to take a ship that had a sorceress aboard, of course. But if one could be found manned only by blood stalkers or unendowed humans who had been pressed into the Coven's service, it could be a great prize indeed, for the sorceresses' ships often carried treasure. But those days are long gone, I'm afraid."

"How do you know all of this?" Tristan asked.

"Some of the original privateers of the Sorceresses' War were my forebears," she answered, then inhaled more of the smoke. Leaning back, she arched her back like a cat and adjusted her slim frame slightly in the chair. "When the war ended, their continuing love for the ocean turned them into fishermen. Not as exciting, but infinitely safer. You also might enjoy knowing that the Resolve, the vessel the lead wizard supposedly used to banish the Coven to the Sea of Whispers, was owned by the last of my privateering grandfathers and was loaned to the newly formed Directorate for just that purpose. Her ship's wheel was taken from her and handed down through the generations. It means a great deal to me, and is now the same one that guides this ship."

Tristan smiled and shook his head. "And you run my battle flag," he mused. "The lion and the broadsword. Where did you get it?"

"That was simple," she replied. "Unfortunately, since the destruction caused by the Coven, your flag can often be found needful of a place to fly. Besides, what other banner should we run in our fight against the demonslavers? I love my country."

Leaning forward, Tristan placed his glass on the desk. He wasn't sure he could trust her, but he had no other choice. He looked meaningfully into Tyranny's wide, blue eyes.

"How would you like to make more kisa than you've ever seen in your entire life?" he asked quietly.

"Just now you're in no position to pay such a sum," she answered. "And you're in no position to ask for any favors, either." Another puff of bluish smoke poured out her nose.

"But my wizards are," he answered. "And all you would have to do is take me to the Cavalon Delta and release me. From there, you and I could easily make our way to Tammerland, where you would be paid. No harm would befall you, and my wizards would be most appreciative, I assure you. With a word from me, they could conjure enough kisa to sink this ship; certainly more than enough to allow you to continue to look for your brother, and to do so for as long as you need to. We might even be able to help you find him."

Tyranny removed her long legs from the desk and sat upright in her chair. She ran a quick hand through her short hair, tousling it even further. "The wizards are all dead; everybody knows that," she answered skeptically, shaking her head. "This is just a trick to secure your release."

"The reported deaths of the wizards were not entirely true," Tristan countered. "Wigg, the lead wizard, still lives. As does another named Faegan. In fact, I believe they would be happy to hear about what you have been doing. I might even be able to convince them to give you your letters of marque and recognize you officially, if it means that much to you."

Then he sat back, desperately hoping his offer was enough. He simply had to get back to Tammerland and give the wizards the scrap of parchment hidden in his boot.

He could see that Tyranny was sorely tempted.

"If I were to do this thing, my price would be the one hundred thousand kisa that were supposedly offered by the warrant," she said craftily. "And I would also require some form of collateral against the possibility that you're lying. In that regard, I think the medallion hanging around your neck would do nicely. The quality of its gold appears to be particularly high. Melted down, it would go a long way toward convincing me."

Tristan looked down at the medallion. He saw that he had little other choice. He looked back up at Tyranny with determined eyes.

"I agree," he said quietly. "But I have conditions."

"Conditions?" Tyranny asked. "I could just have Scars come in and take the medallion from you, you know, then set sail for any place I choose."

"Yes," he answered. "But I don't think you will. Something about honor among thieves."

Silence reigned for a moment, their eyes locked together in a battle of wills.

"What are your conditions?" she asked finally, leaning her arms on the desk.

"No detours-we sail directly to the Cavalon Delta," he answered. "If other slave ships are sighted on the way, you do not engage them. You are also to return my weapons to me, and keep my real identity a secret on this ship. In addition, when we reach the palace you will draw a chart for my wizards, showing them the exact location of the Citadel. And there is one other thing," he added.

Tyranny's blue eyes narrowed. It was clear she wasn't used to demands. "And that is?"

"You allow me to wear my medallion until our business is concluded, either one way or another."

Tyranny leaned back in her chair. "You demand a great deal," she said.

"One hundred thousand kisa is a great deal of money," he answered. He purposely let his words hang in the air for a moment. "From our current position, how long before we could reach the delta?"

She looked down at one of her charts. "If the winds hold, six days."

Silence engulfed the room. Tristan held his breath, wondering what her answer would be.

Finally she stood. Raising her right hand, she spat into her palm and held it out. "Done," she said. Standing up as well, Tristan looked at her quizzically.

"It's the way a privateer's bargain was sealed in the old days," Tyranny said with a wry smile. "And it remains the best." She held her hand out a bit farther.

Smiling, Tristan spat into his right hand, and took hers into it. "And done," he answered back. For the first time since entering the room, he thought he might be able to trust her. But only time would tell.

Tyranny pulled a small piece of parchment toward her, took up a quill, and began to write out their agreement. She handed it over to Tristan, and he read it. Like its author, it came straight to the point. Picking up the quill, Tristan signed it with a false name, then handed it back to her.