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When she finally replied to his note, her answer had been reserved.

She included no greeting that mentioned him by name, nor had she signed her name.

The plain square of paper had succinctly acknowledged that she found his offer interesting and inviting.

She had hinted that there were others among her ‘current allies’ who would also be receptive to such negotiations.

Would he care to set a time and a place to meet?

In composing the note, she had forced herself to think coldly.

There was no truth in this sort of politics, and very little ethics.

There were only stances and posturing. The Old Satrap had taught her that.

Now she tried to apply his clarity of vision to this situation.

Mingsley had been involved with the plot to take the Satrap.

His intimate knowledge betrayed him. But the tide had turned against him, and now he wished to change his alliance.

If she could, she would help him. It could only benefit her, especially as she was in the midst of doing the same thing.

She would use Mingsley’s cooperation as her passage to establish credibility with Ronica Vestrit and other like-thinking members of the Bingtown Council.

She wished now that Ronica Vestrit had still been in the house.

Not that she regretted giving her the warning that had allowed her to escape: thwarting Roed had finally given her the small measure of courage she needed to take back some control in her life.

When the time was right, she could make Ronica aware of who had aided her.

Serilla smiled grimly to herself. She could, if she chose, be like Mingsley, reordering all she had done to put herself in a better light.

The Trader woman would have been useful to her right now. The tangled threads of accusations and suspicion were difficult to follow. So much was based on what Mingsley knew or suspected. Ronica had had a gift for sorting out such things.

And a gift for making her think. Ronica’s words kept coming back to her.

She could be shaped by her past without being trapped by it.

At one time, she had considered those words only in light of her rape.

Now she leaned back in her chair and opened her mind to a wider interpretation.

Satrap’s Companion. Must that determine her future?

Or could she set it aside and become a woman of Bingtown, standing independent?

‘I hate to rush you,’ Grag apologized as he entered Reyn’s guest chamber with an armload of clothes.

He kicked the door shut behind him. ‘However, the others are gathered and waiting. Some of them have been here since early morning. The longer they wait, the more impatient they grow. Here are dry clothes. Some of these should fit you. Your clothes fit me well enough when I was a Rain Wilder for the Ball.’ He must have seen Reyn wince, for immediately he added, ‘I’m sorry.

I never got to tell you that. Sorry about what happened with the coach, and sorry that Malta was injured. ’

‘Yes. Well. It makes small difference to her now, I suppose.’ Reyn heard how harsh his words sounded.

‘I’m sorry. I can’t… I can’t talk about it.

’ He tried to interest himself in the clothes.

He picked up a long-sleeved shirt. There were no gloves there; he’d have to use his wet ones.

And the wet veil, too. It didn’t matter, nothing really mattered.

‘I’m afraid you’ll have to talk about it.

’ There was genuine regret in Grag’s voice.

‘Your tie with Malta has brought this down on you. The rumour around town is either that she kidnapped the Satrap from where the Rain Wild Traders were holding him, or that she aided his escape. Roed Caern has been noising it about that she has probably turned him over to the Chalcedeans, because she is Chalcedean herself, and…’

‘Shut up!’ Reyn drew in a deep breath. ‘A moment, please,’ he said thickly. Despite his veil, he turned his back on Grag. He bowed his head and clenched his hands, willing that the tears would not spill, that his throat would not close up and choke him.

‘I’m sorry,’ Grag apologized again.

Reyn sighed. ‘No. I should apologize. You don’t know, you can’t know everything I’ve been through.

I’m surprised that you’ve heard anything at all.

Listen. Malta is dead, the Satrap is dead.

’ A strange laugh bubbled up in him. ‘I should be dead. I feel I am dead. But … no. Listen. Malta went into the buried city for my sake. There was a dragon there. The dragon was … between lives. In a coffin or a cocoon type of thing… I don’t know what to call it.

The dragon had been tormenting me, invading my dreams, twisting my thoughts.

Malta knew. She wanted to make it stop.’

‘A dragon?’ Grag’s voice was questioning of both the word and Reyn’s sanity.

‘I know it’s a wild tale!’ Reyn’s denial of Grag’s interruption was fierce.

‘Don’t ask me questions and don’t look sceptical.

Just listen.’ Swiftly he recounted all that had happened that day.

At the end of his tale, he lifted his veiled eyes to challenge Grag’s incredulous stare.

‘If you don’t believe me, ask the Kendry.

The ship saw the dragon as well. It … changed him.

He has been morose since then, constantly seeking his captain’s approval and closeness. We have been concerned for him.’

In a softer voice, Reyn went on, ‘I never saw Malta again. They’re dead, Grag.

There was no plot to steal the Satrap from Trehaug.

Only a girl, trying to survive an earthquake.

She didn’t succeed. We searched the whole length of the river, twice.

There was no sign of them. The river ate the boat and they perished in the water. It’s a horrible way to drown.’

‘Sa’s breath,’ Grag shuddered. ‘Reyn, you’re right, I didn’t know.

In Bingtown, all we’ve heard are conflicting rumours.

We heard that the Satrap was missing or dead in the quake.

Then a rumour started that the Vestrits had stolen him to sell him to the Chalcedeans or let the New Traders kill him.

Ronica Vestrit has been hiding here with us.

Caern has put it about that she must be captured and held.

At any other time, we would have urged Ronica to go to the Council and demand that they hear her.

But lately, there have been some ugly reprisals against folk that Roed Caern has accused of being traitors.

I don’t know why the Companion trusts him so.

It’s dividing the Bingtown Council, for some say we must listen to her as the Satrap’s representative, while my father and I feel it is time Bingtown kept its own counsel. ’

He took a breath. Gently, as if fearing his words would injure Reyn more, he added, ‘Roed has been saying that the Vestrits plotted with the Chalcedeans. He says that maybe pirates never took their liveship, but hints that Kyle Haven has been part of this “conspiracy”, that maybe he took Vivacia up the Rain Wild River to pick up the Satrap and Malta. Well, too many of us know the lie of that, so he changed his tune, and said it didn’t have to be a liveship, maybe it was a Chalcedean ship. ’

‘Roed’s a fool,’ broke in Reyn. ‘He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

We’ve had ships, Chalcedean and others, try to come up the river.

The river eats them. They try all the tricks we know don’t work: they grease their hulls or tar them.

One ship was even shingled with baked clay.

’ Reyn shook his veiled head. ‘They all perish, some fast, some slow. Besides, there have been liveships on patrol at the mouth of the Rain Wild River since this all started. They’d have been seen. ’

Grag grimaced. ‘You have more faith in our patrols than I do. There has been an onslaught of Chalcedean ships. We chase them out of the harbour, and while we are gone, another wave comes in. I’m surprised you got past them as easily as you did.’

Reyn shrugged. ‘You’re right, I suppose.

When the Kendry came out of the river mouth, there were no other liveships about.

We sighted several Chalcedean vessels on our way here, however.

Most gave us a wide berth; liveships have a reputation now, thanks to your Ophelia.

One Chalcedean ship seemed interested in us last night, but Kendry soon left it behind. ’

A moment of silence fell between them. Reyn turned his back on Grag and peeled off his wet shirt.

As he shrugged into a dry one, Grag said, ‘There is so much happening, I can’t grasp it all.

A dragon? Somehow, it is easier to believe in a dragon than to believe Malta is dead.

When I think of her, I can only see her as she looked that night in your arms on the dance floor. ’

Reyn closed his eyes. A small white upturned face stared at him from a tiny boat shooting down the river. ‘I envy you that,’ he said quietly.

‘You are the Trader for the Vestrits. You decide for the family. If you do not wish to be involved in this, I understand. But as for myself, I remain here.’ Ronica took a breath.

‘I stand here as myself only. But know, Keffria, that if you decide to go to the Bingtown Council, I will stand with you there, also. You would have to be the one to present our view there. The Bingtown Council would not let me speak on the matter of Davad’s death.

They will surely refuse to hear me on this.

Nevertheless, I will stand by you while you speak. And accept the consequences.’

‘And I would say what?’ Keffria demanded wearily. ‘If I tell them that I don’t know what became of Malta, let alone the Satrap, it sounds like a deception.’