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She almost laughed at his tone. ‘No. I’m not going to kill your father or anything so rash as that.

’ She hesitated, trying to measure what little she knew of the boy.

Vivacia had assured her that he was trustworthy.

She hoped the young ship was right. ‘I am going to try to out-manoeuvre him, though. But it won’t work if he knows of my plans.

So I’m going to ask you to keep my secret. ’

‘Why are you telling anyone at all what you plan? A secret is kept best by one,’ he pointed out to her.

That, of course, was the crux of it. She took a breath. ‘Because you are crucial to my plans. Without your promise to aid me, there is no sense in my even acting at all.’

The boy was silent for a time. ‘What you saw, that day, when he hit me. It might make you think I hate him, or wish his downfall. But I don’t.’

‘I’m not going to ask you to do anything wrong, Wintrow,’ Althea replied quickly. ‘Truly. But before I can say any more, I have to ask you to promise to keep my secret.’

It seemed to her that the boy took a very long time considering this.

Were all priests so cautious about everything?

‘I will keep your secret,’ he finally said.

And she liked that about him. No vows or oaths, just the simple offering of his word.

Through the palm of her hand, she felt Vivacia respond with pleasure to her approval of him.

Strange, that that should matter to the ship.

‘Thank you,’ she said quietly. She took her courage in both hands, and hoped he would not think she was a fool. ‘Do you remember that day clearly? The day he knocked you down in the dining room?’

‘Most of it,’ the boy said softly. ‘The parts when I was conscious, anyway.’

‘Do you remember what your father said? He swore by Sa, and said that if but one reputable captain would vouch for my seamanship, he’d give my ship back to me. Do you remember that?’ She held her breath.

‘I do,’ Wintrow said quietly.

She put both hands to the ship’s hull. ‘And would you swear by Sa that you heard him say those words?’

‘No.’

Althea’s dreams crashed down through their straw foundations. She should have known it. How could she ever have thought the boy would stand up to his father in as great a matter as this? How could she have been so stupid?

‘I would vouch that I heard him say it,’ Wintrow went on quietly. ‘But I would not swear. A priest of Sa does not swear by Sa.’

Althea’s heart soared. It would be enough, it would have to be enough. ‘You’d give your word, as a man, as to what he said,’ she pressed.

‘Of course. It’s only the truth. But,’ he shook his head down at her, ‘I don’t think it would do you any good.

If my father will not keep his word to Sa to give me up to the priesthood, why should he keep his word on an angrily-sworn oath?

After all, this ship is worth much more to him than I am.

I am sorry to say this to you, Althea, but I think your hopes of regaining your ship that way are groundless. ’

‘You let me worry about that,’ she said in a shaky voice.

Relief was flowing through her. She had one witness, and she felt she could rely on him.

She would say nothing to the boy of the Traders’ Council and the power it held.

She had entrusted him with enough of her secret.

She would burden him with no more of it.

‘As long as I know you will vouch for the truth, that your father spoke those words, I have hope.’

He received these words in silence. For a time Althea just stood there, her hands on her silent ship. She could almost feel the boy through the ship. His desolation and loneliness.

‘We sail tomorrow,’ he said finally. There was no joy in his voice.

‘I envy you,’ Althea told him.

‘I know you do. I wish we could change places.’

‘I wish it were that simple.’ Althea tried to set aside her jealousy.

‘Wintrow. Trust the ship. She’ll take care of you, and you take good care of her.

I’m counting on both of you to watch out for each other.

’ She heard in her own voice the ‘doting relative’ tone that she had always hated when she was young.

She pushed it away, and spoke as if he were any young boy setting out on his maiden voyage.

‘I believe you’ll grow to love this life and this ship.

It’s in your blood, you know. And if you do,’ these words came harder, ‘if you do, and you are true to our ship, when I take her over, I’ll make sure there’s always a place for you aboard her. That is my promise to you.’

‘Somehow I doubt I’ll ever ask you to keep it. It’s not that I don’t like the ship, it’s just that I can’t imagine—’

‘Who are you talking to, boy?’ Torg demanded.

His heavy feet thudded across the deck as Althea melted back into the ship’s shadow.

She held her breath. Wintrow wouldn’t lie to Torg.

She already knew that about him. And she couldn’t stand by and let the boy take a beating for her, but she also couldn’t risk Torg holding her for Kyle.

‘I believe this is my hour with Wintrow,’ Vivacia cut in sharply. ‘Who do you imagine he would be speaking to?’

‘Is there someone on the docks down there?’ Torg demanded. His bushy head was thrust out over the railing, but both the curve of Vivacia’s hull and the deep shadow protected Althea. She held her breath.

‘Why don’t you haul your fat arse down there and see?’ Vivacia asked nastily. Althea clearly heard Wintrow’s gasp of astonishment. It was all she could do to keep from laughing. She sounded just like their cocky ship’s boy, Mild, in one of his bolder moods.

‘Yea? Well, maybe I’ll just do that.’

‘Don’t trip in the dark,’ Vivacia warned him sweetly.

‘It would be a shame if you went overboard and drowned right here by the dock.’ The liveship’s peaceful rocking suddenly increased by the tiniest of increments.

And in that moment her adolescent taunting of the man took on a darker edge that stood the hair up on the back of Althea’s neck.

‘You devil ship!’ Torg hissed at her. ‘You don’t scare me. I’m seeing who’s down there.’ Althea heard the thudding of his feet on the deck, but she couldn’t decide if he hurried toward the gangplank or away from the figurehead.

‘Go now!’ Vivacia hissed to her.

‘I’m going. Good luck. My heart sails with you.

’ Althea no more than breathed the words, but she knew the ship did not need to hear her speak so long as she touched her.

She slipped away from Vivacia, staying to the deepest shadows as she fled.

‘Sa keep them both safe, especially from themselves,’ she said under her breath, and this time she knew that she uttered a true prayer.

Ronica Vestrit waited alone in the kitchen.

Outside the night was full, the summer insects chirring, the stars glinting through the trees.

Soon the gong at the edge of the field would sound.

The thought filled her stomach with butterflies.

No. Moths. Moths were more fitting to the night and the rendezvous she awaited.

She had given the servants the night off, and finally told Rache pointedly that she wished to be alone.

The slave woman had been so grateful to her lately that it was difficult to be rid of her sad-eyed company.

Keffria had her teaching Malta to dance now, and how to hold a fan and even how to discourse with men.

Ronica found it appalling that she would entrust her daughter’s instruction in such things to a relative stranger, but understood also that lately Keffria and Malta had not been on the best of terms. She was not informed as to the full extent of their quarrelling, and fervently hoped she would not be.

She had problems enough of her own, real and serious problems, without listening to her daughter’s squabbles with her grand-daughter.

At least Malta was keeping Rache busy and out from under foot.

Most of the time. Twice now Davad had hinted he’d like the slave to be returned to him.

Each time Keffria had thanked him so profusely for all Rache’s help, all the while exclaiming that she didn’t know how she’d get along without her, that there had been no gracious way for Davad to simply ask for her back.

Ronica wondered how long that tactic would suffice, and what she would do when it did not.

Buy the girl? Become a slave-owner herself?

The thought made her squeamish. But it was also endlessly aggravating that the poor woman had so attached herself to her.

At any time when she was not busy with something else, Rache would be lurking outside whatever chamber Ronica was in, looking for an opportunity to leap forth and be of some service to her.

She devoutly wished the woman would find some sort of life for herself.

One to replace the one that her slavery had stolen from her? she asked herself wryly.

In the distance, a gong rang, soft as a chime.