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Althea saw Reyn’s curtailed charge. She thought he would get up, but before he could scrabble to his feet, an unlikely saviour sprang to the Satrap’s rescue.

With a wild cry of fury, Kennit sprang from between Etta and Wintrow and into the fray.

‘Don’t let them take him!’ he roared angrily.

He had a short blade in one hand and his crutch gripped under his other arm.

She did not expect him to get more than a few steps, but he swung his way across the deck, loping from foot to crutch with a grace that amazed her.

‘To me!’ Kennit roared as he ran. Loyal pirates closed in behind him.

Etta and Wintrow sprang after him, but others had filled the gap.

They were cut off from him. When Kennit came to the ship’s railing, he didn’t pause.

His peg hit the deck, his foot the railing and he flung himself out.

With a leap that would not have shamed a tiger, he sprang after the departing ship.

Althea expected him to fall between the vessels but he hit the other deck and rolled.

A bare handful of his men followed him. One fell short, yelling as he plummeted into the water.

She could not see what became of Kennit after that.

Too many men converged on the outnumbered pirate king and his men.

Etta screamed in rage and gathered herself.

Wintrow tackled her to keep her from flinging herself after Kennit.

The gap between the ships had widened to an impossible leap.

Jeering laughter and triumphant calls rose stingingly from the other ship as it pulled steadily away from the Vivacia.

Two men held the pale Satrap aloft and shook him mockingly at Vivacia’s crew.

Etta pushed savagely free of Wintrow. In her despair and anger, she turned on him. ‘You fool! We cannot let them have him. They’ll kill him. You know that.’

‘I don’t intend to let them keep him. But your drowning just now would not save him,’ he retorted angrily. His voice deepened in command. ‘Jola! They’ve taken Kennit! Vivacia! After them, they’ve taken Kennit, we must pursue!’

Vivacia took up the cry. ‘Up anchor! Put on sail! We must go after them, they’ve taken Kennit.’

‘No!’ Althea groaned, low. ‘Let him go, let them have him.’ But she knew the ship would not.

She could feel Vivacia’s anxiety, pulsing up through her wood.

The ship loved him and she would have him back, no matter the cost. Althea looked across the water at the Jamaillian fleet spread before them.

If Vivacia challenged them, she had no chance, even if the Marietta and the Motley backed her.

It would not be swift, it would be bloody with more men dying on Vivacia’s decks and in the end, her ship would be in Jamaillian hands.

It was a lost cause already, but she knew that the ship would pursue it.

She would be borne along with her to face a savage end.

Then a voice reached her, booming across the water and setting the hair on the back of her neck on end. ‘Halloo the Vivacia! Who has taken Kennit?’

She turned slowly as a chill raced over her.

It was a voice from the grave. Paragon’s voice reached across the water as no man’s could do.

She looked at him, and then looked again.

It was not Paragon. The battered liveship with its makeshift rigging bore Paragon’s nameplate, but the figurehead was an open-countenanced young man, beardless, with his hair bound back in a warrior’s tail.

Then she had a glimpse of a golden woman standing on the deck just back of the figurehead, waving both her arms in a wild greeting.

For an instant, all other thoughts and fears were suspended as she watched them come on.

She could not see Brashen; there was no way to be sure he was alive, too, but she suddenly felt he must be.

Paragon’s eyes were closed and he sailed with his hands stretched blindly before him.

That wrung her heart. It was as they had feared.

Amber had recarved him, but it had not restored his sight.

A white serpent cut the water before his bow.

‘They’re alive!’ Jek was suddenly beside her, jumping up and down and pounding her on the back with a bloody fist. It was unnerving yet wonderful to be snatched off her feet and whirled around by the larger woman as Jek gave a howl of joy.

‘Ho, Paragon!’ Vivacia cried in despair. ‘There, that ship, he’s on board her. They’ll kill him, Paragon, they’ll kill him!’ She pointed frantically and uselessly across the water. Her own anchor was just rising from the muck.

Her cry carried to the Marietta and the Motley as well. Althea saw them divert in their courses towards Vivacia to pursue the one Jamaillian ship that was fleeing for the shelter of its fleet.

But Paragon was already underway and the will of a liveship propelled him as much as the wind in his sails.

He gathered speed unnaturally. Even the crew of the Vivacia, familiar with the ways of liveships, cried out in wonder as he swept past. Althea had a glimpse of Brashen running down Paragon’s decks with Clef at his heels.

At the sight of him, her heart sprang to life in her chest. Then Paragon had swept by them, showing Vivacia his stern. She stood staring, stunned with joy.

The beleaguered crew of the Vivacia had sprung to at the news that their captain was taken.

Every man who could move sprang to hoist the anchor and raise the sails.

For the time being, they ignored the bodies that littered the deck.

The wounded that could staggered to their feet to help run the ship.

Malta, unharmed but obviously shaken, wandered, stricken, through the tangled dead.

Wintrow had taken command away from the rattled Jola.

Etta seemed to be everywhere, lending a hand and shouting for speed at every task.

‘Althea!’ Jek shouted, breaking her from her trance. ‘Get moving!’ Jek had already joined the men at the anchor.

‘After him!’ Althea joined her shouts to Wintrow’s. ‘Paragon must not face them alone!’

Before the anchor was completely out of the water, Vivacia was gathering momentum.