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His heart lurched with relief. She was home, safe.

The girl was still tugging at the door he gripped.

He decided the time for tact was past. ‘I won’t leave.

I can’t. I bring important news. I won’t be put off by a serving girl’s tantrum.

Let me in, right now, or both your mistresses will be greatly displeased with you. ’

The little maid fell back a step, gasping in shock.

Brashen took the opportunity to step into the entryway.

He glanced about himself, frowning at what he saw.

This entryway had always been the captain’s pride.

It was still clean and bright, but the woodwork and brass no longer gleamed.

He missed the warm scents of beeswax and oil.

He even saw wisps of a high cobweb in a corner.

He had no time to see more. The housemaid stamped her small foot at him indignantly.

‘I am not a servant, you misbegotten bit of wharf-trash. I am Malta Haven, daughter of this household. I’ll thank you to take your stench out of my home. ’

‘Not until I’ve seen Althea. I’ll wait as long as I need to.

Put me anywhere, I’ll sit still and mind my manners.

’ He peered at the girl more closely. ‘It is Malta! Beg pardon, I didn’t recognize you.

The last time I saw you, you were in a little girl’s frock.

’ He attempted to make amends for his earlier slight.

He smiled down on her. ‘My, don’t you look grand today?

Are you and your friends playing a tea-party, then? ’

His attempt at disarming friendliness was a disaster. The girl’s eyes went wide, and her upper lip sneered back from her teeth in disdain. ‘Who are you, sailor, to dare speak to me so familiarly, in my father’s house?’

‘Brashen Trell,’ he said. ‘Former first mate for Captain Vestrit. Beg pardon for not saying so sooner. I bring news of the liveship Vivacia. I need to see your aunt or grandmother immediately. Or your mother. Is she at home?’

‘She is not. She and Grandmother have gone into town, to discuss spring planting arrangements. They will not be back until later. Althea is off doing whatever it is that currently amuses her. Sa knows when she will wander in. However, you can tell your news to me. Why has the ship been so long delayed? Will they be much longer?’

Brashen cursed his own dull wits. The prospect of seeing Althea had displaced some of the gravity of his news in his mind.

He looked at the girl before him. He was bringing tidings that her family ship had been seized by pirates.

He would not be able to tell her if her father were still alive.

That was not news he was going to deliver to a child at home by herself.

He ardently wished that she had allowed one of the servants to open the door to him.

He wished even more that he had had the sense to hold his tongue until an adult was present.

He chewed his lip, then winced as it tugged at the cindin sores.

‘I think you had best send a boy down to the town, to ask your grandmother to come home right away. This is news she should receive first.’

‘Why? Is something wrong?’

For the first time, the girl spoke in her own voice, not a parody of an adult’s.

Oddly, it made her seem more mature. The sudden fear in her voice and eyes went to Brashen’s heart.

He stood tongue-tied. He didn’t want to lie to her.

He didn’t want to burden her with the truth without her mother or aunt to help her absorb the blow.

He turned his hat in his hands. ‘I think we had best wait for an adult to be here,’ he suggested firmly.

‘Do you think you could send a lad to find your mother or grandmother or aunt?’

Her mouth twisted, and he almost saw her fears turn to anger. Her eyes glinted with anger as she crisply replied, ‘I shall send Rache. Wait here.’

With that command, she marched away and left him standing in the entry-hall.

He wondered why she had not simply summoned a servant to carry the message.

She had answered the door herself too. He ventured a few steps further into the once-familiar room and peered down the hall.

His quick eyes picked up minor signs of neglect there as well.

He cast his mind back to his walk here; the carriageway had been littered with broken branches and unraked leaves.

The steps had been unswept. Had the Vestrit family come on hard times or was this just Kyle being tight-fisted?

He waited restlessly. The evil tidings he was bearing might be much graver than he had first imagined.

The capture of their family vessel might spell their ruin.

Althea! he thought fiercely as if he could summon her by will alone.

The Springeve was anchored in Bingtown harbour.

They had arrived in port today. As soon as the ship was secured, Finney had sent Brashen ashore.

Finney supposed he was arranging for a buyer for the best of their loot.

Brashen had come straight to the Vestrit’s home instead.

The portrait of the Vivacia was aboard the Springeve, mute evidence that what he said was true.

He doubted they would demand to see it, though Althea would definitely want to reclaim it.

Brashen was not sure what Althea’s feelings for him were right now, but she would know he was not a liar.

He tried to push thoughts of Althea away, but once turned to that topic, his mind refused to give it up.

What did she think of him? Why did it matter so much to him?

Because it did. Because he wanted her to think well of him.

They had not parted well, and he had regretted that ever since.

He didn’t believe she would hold his rough jest against him when they met again.

She wasn’t like that; she wasn’t some prissy female to take grave offence at an awkward joke.

He closed his eyes a moment and almost prayed he was right.

He thought more than well of her. He thrust his hands in his pockets and paced a turn around the entry-hall.

Althea stood in Amber’s shop, idly running her hands through a basket of beads.

She fished one out at random and looked at it.

An apple. The next was a pear, and the next a cat, its tail curled around its body.

At the door, Amber bid her customer farewell, promising that she would have his selections strung into a necklace by this time tomorrow.

As the door shut behind him, Amber rattled a handful of beads into a small basket, and then began to restore the rejected wares to their shelves.

As Althea came to help her, Amber picked up their earlier conversation.

‘So. Naria Tenira will confront the Bingtown Council about slavery? Is that what you came to tell me?’

‘I thought you’d want to know how persuasive she’d found you.’

Amber smiled, pleased. ‘I already knew, of course. Naria told me. I scandalized her by saying I wished I could be there.’

‘The meetings are for Trader folk only,’ Althea protested.

‘She said the same,’ replied Amber affably. ‘Is that what brought you here so swiftly?’

Althea shrugged. ‘I hadn’t seen you in a while. And I couldn’t face going home to the accounts or to Malta. Someday, Amber, I’m going to shake that girl until her teeth rattle. She is so infuriating.’

‘Actually, she sounds as if she’s a lot like you.’ At Althea’s outraged glare, Amber amended, ‘As you would have been if your father had not taken you to sea.’

‘Sometimes I wonder if what he did was kind,’ Althea observed reluctantly.

It was Amber’s turn to be surprised. ‘Would you have it otherwise?’ she asked quietly.

‘I don’t know.’ Althea ran her hands through her hair distractedly. Amber watched in amusement.

‘You’re not playing the role of a boy any more. You’d best smooth out that mess you just made.’

Althea groaned, and patted at her hair. ‘No. Now I’m playing the role of a Bingtown woman. It’s equally false to me. There. Does it look all right now?’

Amber reached across the counter to push a lock of Althea’s hair back into place. ‘There. That’s better. False, how?’

Althea bit her lip for a moment. Then she shook her head.

‘False in every way. I feel trapped in these clothes; I must walk a certain way, sit a certain way. I can scarcely lift my hand over my head without the sleeves binding me. The pins in my hair give me a headache. I must speak to people according to proper protocol. Even to stand here, speaking intimately with you in your shop, is potentially scandalous. But worst of all, I must pretend to want things I don’t really want.

’ She paused briefly. ‘Sometimes I almost convince myself I do want them,’ she added confusedly.

‘If I could want them, life would be easier.’

The bead-maker made no immediate reply. Amber picked up the small baskets of beads and Althea followed her as she walked to an alcove at the back of the store.

Amber let down a rattling curtain of hand-carved beads to shield them from casual eyes.

She sat down on a tall stool by a worktable.

Althea took a chair. The arms of it bore the marks of Amber’s idle whittling.

‘What don’t you want?’ Amber asked kindly as she began to set the beads out on the table before her.