Page 543 of The Liveship Traders Trilogy

She had not asked if she might go back to Vivacia with them. She had merely been waiting in the boat. ‘I must speak to Wintrow Vestrit. Privately.’ No apology, no explanation. And Wintrow, for all his obvious exhaustion, had curtly nodded to her request.

So why did it bother her? With one man dead, did she so swiftly seek another?

She had no claim upon Wintrow. She had no claim upon anyone.

But, she realized uneasily, she had been counting on him.

In her half-spun dreams for Kennit’s child, it had always been Wintrow who taught him to read and to write, Wintrow at his side to temper Kennit’s aloofness and her own uncertainties.

Wintrow had named her queen tonight, and none had dared challenge him.

But that did not mean he would remain at her side.

Tonight, a woman had looked at him, and Etta knew that he might simply step aside from her to claim a life of his own.

Etta drew a comb through her dark hair. She caught sight of herself in Kennit’s mirror, and suddenly wondered, Why?

Why bother combing her hair, why bother sleeping, or breathing?

Her head pounded with the pain of her thoughts.

Why bother thinking? She bowed her head into her hands again.

She had no tears left. Her eyes were full of sand, her throat rasped rough with her grieving, but it gave her no relief.

Not tears nor screaming could ease this pain.

Kennit was dead. The agony knifed through her again.

But his child is not.

As clearly as if Kennit himself had whispered the words, the thought reached her.

She straightened herself and took a breath.

She would walk a turn around the deck to calm herself.

Then she would lie down and rest at least. She would need her wits about her tomorrow, to look out for the interests of the Pirate Isles. Kennit would have expected that of her.

‘I’m sorry. You’ll have to speak to me here. Currently, I don’t have a room to call my own.’

‘It doesn’t matter where we speak, only that we do.’ Amber studied him as if he were a rare book. ‘And sometimes public is far more private than private can be.’

‘I’m sorry?’ The woman had an intricate and tricky way of speaking. Wintrow had the feeling he should be careful what he said to her, and even more careful of what she said to him. ‘I’m very tired,’ he excused himself.

‘We all are. Far too much has happened in one day. Who would have believed so many threads could converge in one location? But so it happens, sometimes. And the end of the thread must pass through the tangle many times before all is unknotted.’ She smiled at him.

They stood on the afterdeck in the darkness.

The only light came from the distant bonfires on the beach.

He could not really see her features, only the shifting planes of her face.

But he knew she smiled as she toyed with her gloves.

‘I’m sorry. You wanted to speak to me?’ He hoped she would get to the point.

‘I did. To say to you what you’ve said three times to me.

I’m sorry. I apologize to you, Wintrow Vestrit.

I don’t know how I missed you. For over two and a half years I searched for you.

We must have walked the same streets in Bingtown.

I could feel you, so close for a time, and then you were gone.

I found your aunt instead. Later, I found your sister.

But somehow, I missed you. And you were the one I was meant to find.

As I stand near you now, I know that without any doubt.

’ She suddenly sighed and all puzzles and levity were gone from her words as she shook her head and admitted, ‘I don’t know if I’ve done what I was meant to do.

I don’t know if you have fulfilled your role, or only begun it.

I’m so tired of not knowing, Wintrow Vestrit.

So tired of guessing and hoping and doing my best. Just once, I’d like to know I did it right. ’

His body hummed with weariness. Her words almost made sense to him. But he had no thoughts to offer her, only courtesy. ‘I think you need sleep. I know I do. I don’t have a bed to offer you, but I can find you a clean blanket or two.’

He could not see her eyes, but still felt her looking into his. Almost desperately, she asked, ‘Is there nothing here for you? When you look at me, there is no spark? No sense of connection, no echo of opportunity missed? No wistfulness for a path untrod?’

He almost laughed at her twisting words. What response did she hope to wring from him? ‘Just now, my only regret is for a bed unslept in,’ he suggested wearily.

Once, at the monastery, he had taken shelter in a wooden hut during a thunder storm.

As he watched the storm, gripping the wet doorframe, lightning had struck a tree nearby.

As the blast split the oak, a sensation of power had darted through him and left him sprawled on the earth in the falling rain.

A similar feeling shocked him now. The woman twitched as if he had poked her.

For an instant the distant flames of the bonfires leapt in her eyes.

‘A bed unslept in, and a woman unbedded. The bed is yours by right, but the woman, though she may come to you in time, never completely belongs to you. Yet the child is yours, for this child belongs not to he who makes him but to he who takes him.’

Meanings danced all around him, like the spattering rain that began to fall. Small hail was mixed with it, bouncing off the deck and Wintrow’s shoulders. ‘You speak of Etta’s child, don’t you?’

‘Do I?’ She cocked her head. ‘You would know better than I. The words come to me, but the sense of them belongs to another. But mark how you call him. Etta’s child, when all others speak of him as Kennit’s.’

Her words nettled him. ‘Why should I not name him hers? It takes two to make a child. His value is not solely in that Kennit fathered him. When they name him so, they discount Etta. I tell you this, stranger. In many ways, she is more fit to be the mother of a king than Kennit was to father one.’

‘You should remain near him, for you will be one of the few that know that.’

‘Who are you? What are you?’ he demanded.

The drenching rain descended suddenly in a roar that drowned out speech, and the hailstones grew larger.

‘Inside!’ Wintrow shouted, and led the way at a run.

He held the door open and waited for her to follow him.

But the cloaked figure who hastened in from the downpour was not Amber but Etta.

He looked past her, but saw no one there.

Etta pushed her hood back. Her dark hair was plastered to her skull and her eyes were huge.

She caught her breath. Her voice came from the depths of her soul.

‘Wintrow. I have something to tell you.’ She drew another breath.

Her face suddenly crumpled. Tears ran with the rain down her face.

‘I don’t want to raise this child alone. ’

He did not take her in his arms. He knew better than that. But the words came easily. ‘I promise you, you won’t have to.’

He attacked her in the darkness, his weight pinning her down.

Fear paralysed her. Althea gasped for air, trying to find a scream.

She could not even squeak. She thrashed, trying to escape him, but only hit her head on the wall.

There was no air. She could not fight him.

With a spectacular effort, she freed an arm and struck him.

‘Althea!’

His outraged yell woke her. She jerked to consciousness.

The grey of early dawn leaked in the broken window.

Brashen sat up on the bed, holding his face.

She managed to get a breath in, then panted another.

She hugged herself tightly, trying to still her own trembling.

‘What? Why’d you wake me?’ she demanded.

She groped after her dream, but could find only the ragged edges of terror.

‘Why’d I wake you ?’ Brashen was incredulous. ‘You nearly broke my jaw!’

She swallowed dryly. ‘I’m sorry. I think I had a nightmare.’

‘I suppose so,’ he agreed sarcastically. He looked at her, and she hated how his eyes softened with sympathy. She didn’t want his pity. ‘Are you all right now?’ he asked gently. ‘Whatever it was, it must have been bad.’

‘It was just a dream, Brashen.’ She pushed his concern aside.

He looked away, cloaking his emotion. ‘Well. I suppose it’s morning, or nearly so. I may as well get dressed.’ His voice was flat.

She forced a smile. ‘It’s another day. It has to be better than yesterday.’ She sat up, stretching. Every muscle ached, her head pounded, and she felt half sick. ‘I’m still tired. But I’m looking forward to getting under way.’ That, at least, was true.

‘Good for you,’ Brashen growled at her. He turned his back on her.

He went to his clothing chest and began to rummage through it.

She’d be getting her ship back today. No wonder she was alert with anticipation.

He was glad for her. Truly, he was. He could remember what it was like to step up to command.

He found a shirt and dragged it on. She’d do well.

He was proud of her. She’d been happy for him when he took over Paragon.

He was happy for her now. Honestly. He turned back to her.

She crouched on the floor by her duffel bag surrounded by scattered garments.

The look she gave him was one of misery.

She looked so worn, Brashen felt a rush of remorse.

‘I’m sorry I’m so abrupt,’ he said gruffly. ‘I’m just very tired.’

‘We both are. No need to apologize.’ Then she smiled and offered him, ‘You could go back to bed. There’s no real reason we both have to be up this early.’

Was that supposed to make him feel better?

That she was willing to just walk away, leave him sleeping in his bunk?

This reminded him too much of the harsh way they’d parted in Candletown.

Maybe this was just how Althea Vestrit said goodbye to her men.

‘You must have slept through that part last night. Wintrow warned us that we’d all have to be up early to catch this tide to get clear of here.

Semoy’s a good hand, but I want to bring Paragon out of this maze myself. ’

‘I think I can steer a tricky passage as well as you can.’ She rocked slightly back on her heels to give him an offended look.

‘I know you can,’ he barked back. ‘But that won’t do Paragon much good when you’re at Vivacia’s wheel,’ he retorted.

She looked at him blankly. Then her face changed. Understanding dawned. ‘Oh, Brashen.’ She came to her feet. ‘You thought I was going away today. On Vivacia.’

‘Aren’t you?’ He hated the slight hoarseness in his voice. He looked at her sullenly, refusing to hope.

She shook her head slowly. He saw an echo of loss in her eyes. ‘There’s no place there for me, Brashen. I saw that yesterday. I will always love her. But she is Wintrow’s ship. To take her away from him would be…identical to what Kyle did to me. Wrong.’

He fitted the words together. ‘Then you’re staying on with Paragon?’

‘Yes.’

‘And with me?’

‘So I assumed.’ She cocked her head at him. ‘I thought we both wanted this. To be together.’ She looked down. ‘I know it’s what I want. Even though I’m losing my liveship, I know I want to be with you.’

‘Althea, I’m so sorry.’ He tried to get his face under control. ‘Really, I am. I know what the Vivacia meant to you, what she still means to you.’

Both amusement and irritation glinted in her eyes. ‘You’d look more sincere, if you’d stop grinning.’

‘I would if I could,’ he assured her sincerely.

She took three steps. Then she was in his arms. He held her.

She was staying with him. She wanted to stay with him.

It was going to be fine. For a time he just held her.

A long moment later, he asked, ‘And you’re going to marry me?

In Bingtown, at the Traders’ Concourse?’

‘That was the plan,’ she agreed.

‘Oh.’

She looked up into his face. His eyes and his heart were so open to her now.

She saw all the uncertainty and pain she’d caused him, without intention.

She had never meant to do that. He smiled at her and she managed to smile back.

His hold on her tightened and she resisted the urge to gently free herself.

She had to get past this. This was Brashen. She loved him.

She took a breath. She had never imagined that she’d have to force herself to endure his touch.

But just this time, just this once, she would, for both of them.

She could relax and tolerate it. He needed this reassurance of her love.

And she needed to prove to herself that Kennit had not destroyed her.

Just this once, she could pretend desire.

For Brashen’s sake. She turned her mouth up to his and let him kiss her.