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She looked after the boat, and then to where she knew Vivacia rocked at anchor.

It was too dark even to see her profile.

A last night aboard her ship before she bid her farewell?

Perhaps she should have. She suddenly had a strange echo of memory as if she had made this decision before.

The day Vivacia had first awakened, she had quarrelled with Kyle and stormed off the ship, to spend the evening getting drunk with Brashen.

She had had no last words with her ship then.

She had regretted it ever since. If she had spent that first night with her, would all that followed have turned out differently?

She looked back at Brashen, sitting with the oars suspended above the water.

Would she go back and change that, if it meant she would not end up here with him?

That was the past, however. Vivacia was not her ship any more. They had both recognized that. What was left to tell her, save goodbye?

She cast off from the Motley , then clambered through the boat to sit down beside Brashen. ‘Give me an oar.’

He silently surrendered one to her, and together they pulled for the Paragon.

Sorcor had been right to warn them. The current was tricky, and it took every bit of Althea’s remaining energy to keep the small boat on course.

Brashen evidently felt similarly taxed for he did not speak a single word all the way back.

A sleepy Clef caught their line, and Semoy welcomed them gruffly aboard.

Brashen passed on Sorcor’s warning about the current at tide change and told him to put two men on anchor watch and get some sleep.

‘We’re going north,’ Paragon asserted immediately.

‘Most likely,’ Brashen agreed wearily. ‘Escorting sea serpents. The last thing I ever expected to be doing. But then, little of late has turned out as I expected it to.’

Paragon burst out, ‘Are you going to say nothing of the dragon? Your first close look at a dragon and you say nothing of her?’

A slow smile spread on Brashen’s face. As he often did, Althea realized, he gripped the railing when he spoke to the ship. He spoke fervently, ‘Ship, she is beyond words. As a liveship is beyond words, and for much the same reason.’

Pride swelled Althea’s heart. Tired as Brashen was, he had the wisdom to acknowledge the link between the dragon and the liveship, but carefully said nothing that would make Paragon feel more sharply the loss of his true form.

‘And you, Althea?’

Not Kennit. Not Kennit. Paragon. Paragon who she had played upon as a child, Paragon who had brought her so far and endured so much for the sake of her mad quest. She found words for that Paragon.

‘She is incredibly beautiful – her scales are like rippling jewels, her eyes like the full moon reflected in the sea. Yet, in all honesty, her arrogance was intolerable. Her calm assumption that our lives are hers to order is hard to take.’

Paragon laughed. ‘You are wise to school your tongue to flattery, for queens such as Tintaglia feed upon praise more than they do meat. As for her arrogance, it is time humans recalled what it is like to receive such commands as well as give them.’

Brashen almost laughed. ‘That’s fair, ship. That’s fair. Keep an eye to your anchor tonight, will you?’

‘Of course. Sleep well.’

Was there a touch of irony to that wish?

Althea glanced back at him. He watched her with his pale blue eyes.

He tipped her a wink. It was like Paragon to do and say such a thing, she told herself.

He was not Kennit. She raised her eyebrows at finding all her gear heaped in a corner in Brashen’s cabin.

‘I had to put Mother in yours,’ he almost apologized.

There was a moment of awkwardness. Then she saw the captain’s bed with its more generous mattress and thick covering of blankets and all she could think of was sleeping until someone forced her to wake up.

With the arrival of the dragon, it seemed decisions were out of her hands.

She might as well sleep until someone told her what would happen next.

She sat down on the bunk with a sigh and pulled off her boots. Sweat had dried on her skin and the muck on the beach had penetrated her clothes. She felt sticky. She didn’t care. ‘I’m not washing,’ she warned him. ‘I’m too tired.’

‘That’s understandable.’ His voice had gone very deep.

He sat next to her. With gentle hands, he took down the hair she had knotted out of her way.

She sat still under his touch, until she realized she was clenching her teeth.

She drew a breath. She could get past this.

With time. She reached up to gently catch his hands.

‘I’m so tired. Can I just sleep beside you tonight?’

For a moment, he looked stricken. Then he pulled his hands from hers. ‘If that’s what you want.’ He stood up suddenly. ‘Or if you prefer, you can have the bed to yourself.’

His abrupt withdrawal and brusque tone hurt her. ‘No,’ she snapped. ‘That’s not what I prefer. That’s stupid.’ She heard herself and tried to mend things. ‘As stupid as starting a quarrel when we are both too tired to think.’ She moved over on the bed. ‘Brashen. Please. I’m so tired.’

For a moment, he just stared at her wordlessly.

Then his shoulders sagged in defeat. He came back to the bed and sat on the edge of it.

Outside, the rain returned in a sudden downpour.

It rattled against the wall and came through the broken window.

They’d need to fix that tomorrow. Maybe everything could be fixed tomorrow.

Bury a pirate. Bid a liveship farewell. Leave it all behind.

As Brashen kicked off his boots, he observed sullenly, ‘Maybe I’ve no pride left. If the most you’ll offer me this last night is to sleep beside me, I’ll take it.’ He began unbuttoning his shirt. He would not look at her.

‘You’re not making any sense,’ she complained. He had to be at least as weary as she was. ‘Let’s just go to sleep. Too much has happened to us today for either of us to deal with it well. Tomorrow will be better, and tomorrow night better still.’ She hoped.

He gave her a look that was completely wounded.

His dark eyes had never looked so vulnerable.

His hands had frozen on his shirt. ‘Brashen. Please.’ She nudged his hands aside and undid the last three buttons herself.

Then she moved over on the bed, taking the side by the wall although she hated being confined.

She tugged at his shoulder, pulling him back to lie beside her.

He tried to turn away from her, but she pushed him onto his back and pillowed her head on his shoulder to hold him down. ‘Now go to sleep,’ she growled at him.

He was silent. She could feel him staring at the darkened ceiling.

She closed her eyes. He smelled good. Suddenly everything was safe and familiar, and it was good to be there.

His strong body rested between her and all the rest of the world.

She could relax. She sighed deeply and rested a hand on his chest.

Then he rolled towards her and put his arm around her.

All her apprehensions stirred again. This was stupid.

This was Brashen. She forced herself to kiss him, saying to herself, ‘This is mine, this is Brashen.’ He drew her closer and kissed her more deeply.

But the weight of his arm upon her and the sound of his breathing was suddenly too much.

He was bigger than she was, and stronger.

If he wanted to, he could force her, he could hold her down.

She’d be trapped again. She set her hand to his chest and pushed a little away from him.

‘I’m so tired, my love.’

He was very still. Then, ‘My love,’ he said quietly. Slowly he turned onto his back. She moved a little apart from him. He was still, and she stared into the darkness.

She closed her eyes, but sleep would not come.

She could feel the damage her secret was doing.

With every passing moment, the misunderstanding loomed larger.

One night, she told herself. One night is all I need.

Tomorrow will be better. I’ll watch Kennit slip over the side, and I’ll know he’s gone forever.

One night, she excused it, was not too much to ask him.

It didn’t work. She could feel Brashen’s hurt radiating from him like warmth. With a sigh, she turned slightly away from him. Tomorrow, she would repair things between them. She could get past this, she knew she could.

The woman was peculiar. She was not even pretty, though Etta would admit she was fascinating in a mysterious way.

Serpent scald had marred her face and left her hair hanging in uneven hanks.

A faint sheen of fuzz on her skull foretold that eventually it would grow back, but for now, she was certainly no beauty.

Yet Wintrow had given her sidelong looks all evening.

In the midst of the most important decisions of his life, she had still had the power to distract him.

No one had said who she was, or why she was included in the talks.

Etta had lain down on Kennit’s bed, pillowed her head on cushions that smelled of his lavender, burrowed into his blankets.

She could not sleep. The more she immersed herself in his things, the more isolated she felt.

It was almost a relief to ponder Amber. Not that it mattered to her, but yes, it did.

How could Wintrow be giving his attention to a woman at a time like this?

Did not he realize the gravity of the tasks Kennit had left him?

Even more unsettling than the way Wintrow looked at Amber had been her whole-hearted fascination with him.

The woman had studied him with her peculiar eyes.

It was not honest lust, such as the blonde barbarian displayed all evening.

Amber had observed Wintrow as a cat watches a bird. Or as a mother watches her child.