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At the foot of the stairs, the pirate queen paused a moment. Malta watched her take a breath as if she steeled herself. Then she set her fingers atop Wintrow’s proffered arm and lifted her chin. As she glided away on Wintrow’s arm, Malta pursed her lips and frowned.

‘Something troubles you?’ Reyn asked. Her took her hand and set it firmly upon his forearm. The warmth of his hand secured her clasp there.

‘I hope my brother grows taller,’ she murmured.

‘Malta!’ he rebuked her, but then smiled.

She had to look up at him, and she loved that she did.

The Jamaillian styles suited Reyn very well indeed.

His close-fitted indigo jacket only emphasized the width of his shoulders.

The white of his cuffs and collar contrasted well with his weather-bronzed skin.

White trousers and black knee boots completed him.

He wore small gold hoops in his ears, which shone against the glossy black curl of his hair.

She smiled sympathetically for whoever had worried it into order tonight.

He had no patience with body servants. He turned his head, and the light ran along his scaling, breaking blue highlights from it.

Dark as his eyes were, she could see the secret blue in their copper depths.

‘Well?’ he asked her. There was a faint flush on his face and she realized she had stood long simply looking at him.

She nodded her assent, and they crossed the floor together.

The hall opened out around them, its lofty ceiling supported by marble pillars.

They walked beneath an arch into the grand ballroom.

At one end of the room, musicians played softly, a prelude to the dancing.

At the other end, the Satrap presided over the festivities from an elevated throne.

Three of his Companions sat in chairs ranged before his dais.

A servant tended two censers set to either side of the Satrap.

The yellow smoke from the herbs wreathed him.

He smiled and nodded benignly on his guests.

A separate dais held a slightly less ornate throne for Queen Etta.

She was ascending the steps as if it were a gallows.

A lower seat beside hers waited for Wintrow.

Seating arrangements for her and Reyn had been more politically perplexing.

Satrap Cosgo had, grudgingly, granted that Queen Etta as the reigning monarch of a separate kingdom had, perhaps, stature equal to his own.

Malta and Reyn, however, made no royal claims for themselves.

Malta repeatedly but quietly asserted that Bingtown was an independent city-state, yet she did not claim to be its representative.

Reyn also refused to acknowledge that Jamaillia had any authority over the Rain Wilds, but he was not their ambassador to the Satrap.

Rather, they represented the interests of the Dragon Tintaglia and her kind.

They were obviously not the King and the Queen of the Dragons nor nobles from afar and hence not entitled to thrones or elevation of any kind.

That Cosgo had ensconced them on elevated chairs on a garlanded dais had as much to do with his desire to display these exotic new allies as a wish to honour them.

That rankled with Reyn more than it did Malta.

Her pragmatism had prevailed over his distaste for exhibition.

It did not matter to her why he granted her this distinction; she cared only that in the minds of every noble who beheld them, it conveyed their elevated status.

It could only increase their bargaining power.

She had used that leverage in every capacity.

With the Satrap’s strangling monopoly on Bingtown’s exports broken, there were many merchants anxious to establish new ties with the Trader cities.

The current fashion favour for their exotic appearances had even motivated a stream of inquiries about trade and settlement possibilities in the Rain Wilds.

Reyn had replied conservatively to these, reminding them that he could not speak for the Rain Wild Council.

A number of entrepreneurs and adventure seekers had offered to pay high prices to book passage on the Vivacia for her journey homeward.

Wintrow had dealt with that, pointing out that Vivacia was the flagship of the Pirate Isles, not the Rain Wilds.

While he would be furnishing transport for the Elderlings’ return, Vivacia was not available for hire.

He suggested they seek out other ships that were Bingtown bound.

With the serpents no longer a threat, and the Chalcedean menace greatly reduced, they all foresaw increased shipping and travel between their cities.

Malta had spent one long afternoon totting figures with Lord Ferdio.

The outcome suggested to both of them that the Satrap’s coffers would actually profit more from this new arrangement than he had from his throttlehold on Bingtown.

The increased flow of ships through the Inside Passage, open trade with the Pirate Isles, and an increase in Jamaillian sailing ships profiting from trade with Chalced and points beyond might shock the city out of its downward spiral of stagnation.

That was before Ferdio had begun reckoning the possible profits from freely marketing goods from the South Islands to the various northern markets.

They had presented their findings to Cosgo, who had smiled and nodded for a brief time before succumbing to boredom.

Satrap Cosgo had changed, Malta thought to herself as they approached his throne, but not enough to impress her with his sincerity.

Restored to wealth and comfort, women and intoxicants, he had resumed all the mannerisms of the effete youth she had first met at the Bingtown Traders’ Concourse.

Yet, she was willing to take the word of those who had known him for years that his transformation was truly remarkable.

As she made her curtsey and Reyn his bow, the Satrap gravely inclined his head in acknowledgement. He spoke down to them.

‘So. This is to be our last evening together, my friends.’

‘One dares to hope otherwise,’ Malta replied smoothly. ‘Surely, in days to come, we shall return to the wonders of Jamaillia City. Perhaps the Lord High Magnadon Satrap will someday undertake another journey to Bingtown or Trehaug.’

‘Ah, Sa forefend it! Still, if duty demands that I do so, I shall. Let it not be said that Satrap Cosgo feared the rigours of travel.’ He leaned forward slightly.

He made a slight gesture of annoyance at the servant, and the man immediately replenished the smouldering concoction on the brass holders.

The tendrils of smoke flowed thick once more.

‘You are determined to depart tomorrow, still.’

Reyn spoke. ‘Determined? Magnadon Satrap, say rather obligated. As you well know, our wedding arrangements have been postponed once already. We can scarcely disappoint our families again.’

‘They needn’t be disappointed. You could be wed tomorrow, if you wished it, in the Satrap’s own Temple of Sa. I shall command a hundred priests to preside, and a procession shall carry you through the streets. This I could arrange for you. Now, if you wish.’

‘It is a most gracious offer, Lord High Magnadon. Yet I fear we must decline. Trader ways demand that we be wed among our own folk, with our own customs. A man of your learning, culture, and travel undoubtedly understands that such traditions are broken only at grave risk to one’s stature.

Of great importance also are the many messages you have charged us with for Traders in both Bingtown and Trehaug.

Those must be delivered without more delay.

Nor have we forgotten the message birds you have furnished, that communication between the Trader cities, the Pirate Isles and Jamaillia City may be improved. ’

Malta bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling.

It was good that the Satrap did not know Wintrow’s opinion of the ‘smelly befouling creatures’ he had reluctantly welcomed aboard Vivacia.

Jola had proposed pigeon pie as variety in their usual menu, but Malta was confident that the birds would live to serve as messengers.

A shadow of petulance crossed his face. ‘You gained what you desired: independence for Bingtown and the Rain Wilds. I no sooner signed the scrolls than you made plans to leave.’

‘Of course, Lord High Magnadon. For did not you also command that the Vestrit family represent Jamaillia’s interests there? It is a duty I take most seriously.’

‘No doubt, you will take it most profitably as well,’ he pointed out caustically.

He inclined his head to inhale his smoke more deeply.

‘Ah, well, if part we must, then I hope it will lead to good fortune for all of us.’ The Satrap leaned back, eyes half-closed.

Malta interpreted this, gratefully, as dismissal.