CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

                                        
KENNIT’S WOMEN

SHE WHO REMEMBERS AND MAULKIN DID NOT ARGUE. SHREEVER almost wished they would. That would have meant that at least one of them had reached a decision. Instead, they discussed endlessly what had happened, what might happen and what it might mean. In the tides since Maulkin’s Tangle had refused to kill the other ship, the serpents had trailed after Bolt and waited to see what would happen next. Bolt herself had barely spoken to them, despite the nagging queries of She Who Remembers. The silver creature seemed caught in some dilemma of her own. Chafing under the indecisiveness, Shreever’s temper frayed like an outgrown skin. With every changing tide, she felt a sense of loss. Time flowed, leaving the serpents behind. She was losing strength and body weight. Worse, she could not keep her thoughts straight.

“I am dwindling,” she said to Sessurea as she swayed with the sea. They were anchored beside one another for the night. There was a nasty bit of current here; it stirred the silt constantly, making the water murky. “Tide after tide, we follow this ship. To what end? Maulkin and She Who Remembers swim always in her shadow, and speak only to one another. The toxins they waste on the ship’s hull taste strange, and bring us no prey. Repeatedly, they say we must be patient. I have patience, but what I have lost is endurance. By the time a decision is reached, I will be too weak to travel with the tangle. What does Maulkin wait for?”

Sessurea was silent for a time. When the blue serpent finally spoke, there was more wonder than rebuke in his tone. “I never thought to hear you criticize Maulkin.”

“We have followed him long, and I have never questioned his wisdom,” she replied. She lidded her eyes briefly against the wash of silt. “I wish he would lead us again. Him I would follow until my flesh could no longer hold my bones together. Now, however, he defers, both to She Who Remembers, and to the silver ship. I accept the wisdom of She Who Remembers. But who is the silver creature that we should tarry to do her bidding while our cocooning season escapes us?”

“Not who is the silver creature. What?” Maulkin materialized suddenly alongside them. His false-eyes gleamed faintly in the murky water. He anchored himself, then wrapped a lap of coil around them both. Gratefully, Shreever eased her grip on the rock. With Maulkin holding her, she would rest more fully.

“I am tired,” she apologized. “I do not doubt you, Maulkin.”

Their leader spoke gently to her. “You have not doubted me, even when I have vacillated. You have paid a price for that loyalty, I know. I fear that the price we all pay for my indecision is too high. She Who Remembers has already pointed this out to me. Our tangle is mostly male. It will do little good for us to cocoon and hatch if we have delayed so long that no queens rise.”

“Delayed?” Shreever asked quietly.

“That is what we debate. Every tide of lingering weakens us. Yet, without a guide, there is no sense in forging on, for this world does not match our memories. Not even She Who Remembers is sure of the way. We need Bolt’s guidance, so we must wait for her. As weak as we have become, we will need her protection as well.”

“Why does she make us wait?” Sessurea, blunt as always, bit to the spine of it.

Maulkin made a disgusted sound, and a waft of toxin drifted from his mane. “To that, she has given us a score of answers, and none. She Who Remembers thinks the silver ship is more dependent on the fickle aid of humans than she will admit. As I told you, it comes down to what she is. She insists she is a dragon. We know she is not.”

“She is not?” Sessurea thundered in dismay. “What is she, then?”

“Why does that matter?” Shreever moaned. “Why cannot she simply help us, as she said she would?”

Maulkin spoke soothingly, but his words were alarming. “To help us, she will have to beg help of the humans. While she insists she is all dragon, I do not think she can humble herself to do that.” He spoke slowly. “Before she can help us, she must accept what she is. She Who Remembers has been urging her to do that. She Who Remembers knows much of one two-legs aboard the ship. Wintrow aided her to escape the Others. In touching him, she knew him. He was full of knowledge of a ship, thoughts that She Who Remembers did not grasp fully at the time. Now She begins to piece it all together. We seek to awaken the other portion of the ship, to give her strength to emerge again. It is a slow process, stinging such a creature awake. She has been both weak and reluctant. But of late, she has begun to stir. We may yet prevail.”

 

KENNIT BALANCED THE TRAY IN ONE HAND AND TURNED THE KEY in the lock with the other. It was not easy, for a fine trembling was ruining his dexterity. A night and a day had passed since he had last entered this room. Since then, he had not slept and barely eaten. He had avoided the foredeck and the figurehead, avoided Etta and Wintrow. He could not completely recall how he had spent those hours. For some of them, he had been aloft. Sorcor had recently presented him with a leg-peg that had a groove cut in the bottom of it. This was the first time he had completely tested it, and he had been delighted. From the crow’s nest, he could look out over his entire domain. The serpents frolicked in the crested waves about his ship and the wind sped him on. With the wind in his face, he had dreamed, savoring repeatedly his time alone with Althea Vestrit. It had not been discipline and forbearance alone that kept him away from her. Anticipation was a pleasure in itself. He had waited until his passion was once more at full tide before coming here again. Now he stood outside her door, shivering with longing.

Would he take her again? He had not yet decided. If she was wakeful enough to accuse him, he intended to deny everything. He would be so gracious, so concerned for her fears. There was such power in controlling another’s reality. Never before had he realized that. “Such a terrible nightmare,” he whispered in sham sympathy, and felt the creeping grin that threatened to overpower his face. He straightened his features and tried to calm himself. Several deep breaths later, he opened the door and stepped into the dimness.

The fading winter afternoon dimly lit the room. She huddled under the covers on the bunk, deeply asleep. The acid stink of vomit was thick in the small room. He leaned on his crutch as he shut the door, wrinkling his nose against the stench. That would never do; such a smell was very unappealing. It ruined everything. He would have to give her an extra dose of the poppy and mandrake sedative, and send in the ship’s boy to give the room a good scrubbing while she slept. Bitterly disappointed, he set the tray down on the table.

Her full weight hit him between the shoulders. He went down, tray, crutch, food, all falling with him in a clattering mess. His head struck the table edge as he fell. Her hands clutched his throat. He twisted around, tucking his chin tight to his chest to keep her from getting a good strangle. She had a knee in the small of his back, but as he rolled she fell with him. Her reflexes were slow, dulled by the drugs. If he had still had two legs, she would not have had a chance against him. As it was, he managed to grip her wrist for an instant before she jerked away from him. She scrabbled to her feet, panting and swaying, and backed away from him in the small room as he came to his hands and knee. Her eyes were wide and black. His crutch had fallen out of reach. He edged toward it.

“You bastard,” she panted raggedly. “You heartless beast!”

He feigned bewilderment. “Althea, what has come over you?”

“You raped me!” she grated hoarsely. Then, her words rising to a shout, uncaring of who heard, “You raped me. You killed my crew and burned my ship. You killed Brashen! You imprisoned Vivacia! It’s all your doing!”

“You make no sense. My dear, your mind is unsettled. Calm down! You don’t want to shame yourself before the whole crew, do you?”

He saw her glance about for a weapon. He had misjudged how dangerous she was. Despite the residue of drug that she fought, her muscles knotted convulsively. He knew the look of murder; he had seen it often enough in his own mirror. He lunged for his crutch, but in the next instant, she sprang not toward him, but to the door. She worked the latch clumsily, then jerked the door open, colliding with the jamb as she reeled out. He saw her strike the opposite wall, catch herself, and then stagger up the companionway.

The figurehead. She was trying to get to the figurehead. He got his crutch under his arm, caught at the table’s edge and pulled himself to his feet. She would get a surprise if she got as far as the foredeck. There would be no Vivacia to beseech for aid. He was tempted to let her go, but he could not have her ranting and raving to his crew. What if Wintrow or Etta heard her?

He reached the door and looked out. Althea had slowed. She clung to the wall, stumbling doggedly on. Her dark hair hung in a lank curtain about her face. She was dressed in Wintrow’s clothing, soiled now with spilled food and vomit. She must have awakened, dressed and then huddled there, waiting for him. Quite a plan, for as much poppy as he had given her. He almost admired her. He’d have to increase the dosage.

The silhouette of a crewman appeared in the doorway at the end of the hall. Kennit raised his voice in a command. “Detain her. Bring her back to her room. She is not well. She attacked me.”

The figure took two steps into the darkened companionway, and Kennit suddenly saw his error. The crewman was Wintrow. “Aunt Althea?” he asked incredulously. He offered her a steadying arm, but she disdained him. He doubted that she recognized Wintrow. Instead, she lifted her arm to point a shaking hand at Kennit.

“He raped me!” She flung back her head to peer at the lad through her draggled hair. “And my ship is locked down deep in the dark. I’m drugged. I’m sick. Help me. Help her.” Her words ran down with her strength. She sagged against the wall and slid down it while Wintrow stood transfixed in horror. Her head swayed like a poisoned cat’s. To Kennit’s dismay, another crewman had arrived. Then, worst of all, he heard Etta’s voice behind him.

“What did that bitch say?” she demanded furiously.

Kennit turned quickly to face her. “She’s ill. She makes no sense. She attacked me.” He shook his head. “The loss of her companions seems to have driven her mad.”

Etta’s eyes went very wide. “Kennit, you’re bleeding!” she exclaimed in horror.

He lifted a hand to his brow and his fingers came away scarlet. He had struck his head harder than he thought. “It’s nothing. I’ll be fine.” He composed himself and spoke in a voice of both command and concern. “Wintrow. Be cautious but gentle with her. She doesn’t know what she’s saying. Watching Paragon burn has turned her mind.”

“I’m sane enough, you raping, murdering bastard!” Althea snarled. Her words ran together. She thrashed about, trying to stand.

“Aunt Althea!” Wintrow was shocked. Kennit could see the horror in the boy’s face. He crouched down and helped the woman to stand. “You need to rest,” he offered her sympathetically. “You’ve had quite a shock.”

She held onto his shoulders and looked at Wintrow as if he were an insect. He stared back at her in consternation. But for their expressions, they looked very alike. It reminded Kennit of the old depictions of Sa, male and female, face-to-face on the ancient coins. Then Althea turned her look of disgust on Kennit. He saw her decide, and he was ready for her shambling charge. He thought he could avoid her dazed attack, but he did not have to try. With a furious screech, Etta sprang out in front of him.

The whore was larger than Althea, physically alert and more experienced in fighting. She knocked the Bingtown woman down effortlessly and then straddled her, pinioning her. Althea gave a full-throated roar of fury and struggled, but Etta held her easily. “Shut up!” the whore shrieked at her. “Shut your lying mouth! I don’t know why Kennit bothered saving your useless life. Shut up or I’ll break your teeth.”

Kennit stared in horrified fascination. He had seen women fight before; in Divvytown, it was so common a sight as to be unremarkable, but he had always considered it a tawdry spectacle. Somehow, this humiliated him. “Etta. Get up. Wintrow. Put Althea back in her room,” he commanded.

Althea gasped her words from beneath Etta’s weight. “I’m a stupid bitch? He raped me. Here, on my own family ship! And you, a woman, defend him?” She rolled her head and stared up wildly at Wintrow. “He’s buried our ship! How can you look at him and not know what he is? How can you be so stupid?”

“Shut up! Shut up!” Etta’s voice slid up the scale, cracking on hysteria. She slapped Althea, an openhanded blow that rang in the confined companionway.

“Etta! Stop that, I said!” Kennit cried in horror. He seized the whore’s upraised hand by the wrist and tried to drag her off Althea. Instead, Etta only struck her with her other hand, and then, to Kennit’s complete mystification, burst into tears. Kennit lifted his eyes to find half a dozen sailors crowding the end of the hall, staring in openmouthed wonder at the spectacle. “Separate them,” he snapped. Finally, several men moved forward to do his bidding. Wintrow took Etta by the arm and pulled her from Althea. For a wonder, she did not fight him, but allowed him to hold her back. “Put Etta in my chamber until she calms herself,” he directed Wintrow. “You others, put Althea back in her room and fasten the lock. I will deal with her later.”

Althea’s brief struggle with Etta had consumed her resistance. Her eyes were open, but her head lolled on her neck as two men dragged her to her feet. “I’ll . . . kill . . . you,” she promised him gaspingly as they hauled her past him. She meant it.

He drew his handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his brow. The blood on the cloth was darker; the cut was clotting. He probably looked a sight. The prospect of confronting Etta did not appeal to him, but it could not be avoided. He would not walk about with blood dribbling down his face and spattered food on his clothing. He drew himself up straight. As the crewmen returned from locking Althea up, he managed a wry smile for them. He shook his head conspiratorially. “Women. They simply do not belong aboard a ship.” One crewman returned him a grin, but the others looked uneasy. That was not good. Was Etta that great a favorite with the crew? He’d have to do something about that. He’d have to do something about this whole situation. How had it become so untidy? He straightened his rumpled jacket and brushed food from the sleeve.

“Captain Kennit, sir?”

He looked up in annoyance at yet another rattled deckhand. “What is it now?” he snapped.

The man licked his lips. “It’s the ship, sir. The figurehead. She says she wants to see you, sir.” The sailor swallowed, and then went on, “She said, ‘Tell him right now. Now!’ No disrespect intended, sir, but that was how she spoke, sir.”

“Did she?” Kennit managed to keep his voice coolly amused. “Well, you may tell her, with no disrespect intended, that the captain has another matter to tend to, but that he will be with her presently. At his earliest convenience.”

“Sir!” The man fumbled for a way to begin a desperate protest. Kennit speared him with a cold gaze. “Yes, sir,” he conceded. His step dragged as he departed.

Kennit did not envy him his errand, but he could scarcely let the ship see him like this, let alone have a common seaman see him dash to obey the ship’s summons. He lifted a hand to smooth his moustache. “Slow. Calm. Steady. Take control of it again,” he counseled himself.

But a tiny voice spoke from his wrist in mocking counterpoint. “Swiftly. Messily. It all falls to pieces. In the end, dear sir, you will not even have control of yourself. No more than Igrot did when he met his fate at your hands. For when you became the beast, little Kennit, you doomed yourself to share the beast’s end.”

 

ETTA. ETTA, PLEASE, WINTROW BEGGED HER, HELPLESSLY TORN. He should be seeing to Althea. She had appeared both sick and deranged, but how could he leave Etta like this? She paid no attention. She wept on, sobbing into the pillows as if she could not stop. He had never seen anyone weep this way. There was a terrible violence to her gasping sobs, as if her body sought to purge herself of sorrow, but the misery went too deep for tears to assuage.

“Etta, please, Etta,” he tried again. She did not even seem to hear him. Timidly, he patted her on the back. He had dim memories of his mother patting his little sister so, when Malta was so immersed in a tantrum that she could not calm herself. “There, there,” he said comfortingly. “It’s all over now. It’s all over.” He moved his hand in a small, comforting circle.

She took a deep breath. “It’s all over,” she confirmed, and broke into fresh mourning. It was so unlike Etta that it was like trying to comfort a stranger. Her behavior was as incomprehensible as Althea’s.

The scene with Althea had been horrible; something was deeply wrong with his aunt, and he had to speak with her, regardless of what Kennit commanded. Her wild accusations of rape and strange talk of a buried ship stirred deep fears for her sanity. He should never have let Kennit prevent him from seeing her. The isolation had not rested her, but had left her alone with her grief. How could he have been so stupid?

But Etta wept on, and he could not leave her. Why had Althea’s crazed words affected Etta like this? Then the answer came to him: she was pregnant. Women always behaved strangely when they were pregnant. He felt almost giddy with relief. He put his arm around her and spoke by her ear.

“It’s all right, Etta. Just cry it out. These emotional storms are to be expected, in your condition.”

She sat up on the bed abruptly, her face mottled red and white, her cheeks shining with smeared tears. Then she swung. He saw her clenched fist coming, and almost managed to evade the punch. It clipped the point of his chin, clacking his teeth together and jolting stars into his eyes. He recoiled, his hand going to his jaw as he stood. “What was that for?” he demanded, shocked.

“For being stupid. For being blind, as they say only women are blind. You are an idiot, Wintrow Vestrit! I don’t know why I ever wasted my time on you. You know so much, but you learn nothing at all. Nothing!” Her face suddenly crumpled again. She dropped her face to her knees and rocked back and forth like a disconsolate child. “How could I have ever been so stupid?” she moaned. Sitting up, she reached for him.

Hesitantly, he sat down on the bed beside her. When he tried to pat her on the shoulder, she came into his arms instead. She put her face against his shoulder and sobbed, her shoulders shaking. He held her, gingerly at first, and then more firmly. He had never held a woman in his arms before. “Etta,” he said softly. “Etta, my dear.” He dared to stroke her shining hair.

The door opened. Wintrow startled, but did not release her. He had nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to be guilty about. “Etta is not herself,” he told Kennit hastily.

“Indeed. That may be a relief, if whoever she is can behave better than the real Etta,” he returned churlishly. “Brawling in the corridor like a common guttersnipe.” When Etta did not lift her head from Wintrow’s shoulder, he went on sarcastically, “I do hope I’m not interrupting you two. A small matter like my face bleeding or my clothes being filthy should not distress either of you.”

To Wintrow’s amazement, Etta slowly lifted her head. She looked at Kennit as if she had never seen him before. Something passed between them in that look, something Wintrow was not privy to. It seemed to break the woman, but she wept no more. “I’m finished,” she said brokenly. “I’ll get up and find . . .”

“Don’t bother,” Kennit snarled as she stood. “I can see to my own needs. Go to Jola instead. Tell him to signal Captain Sorcor to send a boat for you. I think it will be better if you stay aboard the Marietta for a time.”

Wintrow expected an outburst at those words, but Etta stood silent. She looked different. Slowly he realized the change in her. Usually, when she looked at Kennit, her eyes shone and a glow of love suffused her. Now she stared at him, and it was as if her life were draining out of her. When she spoke, her capitulation was complete. “You are right. Yes. That would be best.” She lifted her hands and rubbed her face as if awakening from a long dream. Then, without another word or glance, she left the room.

Wintrow stared after her. This could not be happening. None of it made sense to him. Then, “Well?” Kennit demanded icily. His cold blue stare swept Wintrow head to foot.

Wintrow came to his feet. His mouth was dry. “Sir, I don’t think you should send Etta away, not even for her own safety. Instead, as soon as possible, we should remove Althea from the ship. Her mind is turned. Please, sir, take pity on the poor woman and let me send her home We are only a few days from Divvytown. I can pay her passage home on one of the trading vessels that comes to Divvytown now. The sooner she is gone, the better for all of us.”

“Really?” Kennit asked dryly. “And what makes you think you have any say at all in what I do with Althea?”

Wintrow stood silent, numbed by Kennit’s words.

“She is mine, Wintrow. To do with as I will.” Kennit turned away from him and began to disrobe. “Now. Fetch me a shirt. That is all I require of you just now. Not thinking, not deciding, not even begging. Fetch me a clean shirt and lay out trousers for me. And get me something to clean this cut.” As Kennit spoke, he was unbuttoning his soiled shirt. His jacket already lay on the floor. Without thinking about it, Wintrow moved to obey him. The anger coursing through him obliterated all thought. He set out the clean clothing, and then found a cloth and cool water for Kennit. The cut was small, and already closed. Kennit wiped the blood from his brow and tossed the wet cloth disdainfully to the floor. Wintrow retrieved it silently. As he returned it to the washbasin, he found the control to speak again.

“Sir. This is not a good time for you to send Etta away. She should be here. With you.”

“I think not,” Kennit observed lazily. He held out his wrists for Wintrow to button his cuffs. “I prefer Althea. I intend to keep her, Wintrow. You had best get used to the idea.”

Wintrow was aghast. “Will you hold Althea here, against her will, while you banish Etta to Sorcor’s ship?”

“It will not be against her will, if that is what upsets you. Your aunt has already indicated that she finds me a comely man. In time, she will come to accept her role beside me. Today’s little . . . incident was an aberration. She merely needs more time to rest and adapt to the changes in her life. You need not be troubled on her behalf.”

“I will see her. I will speak— What was that?” Wintrow lifted his head.

“I heard nothing,” Kennit replied disdainfully. “Perhaps you should join Etta on board the Marietta until—” It was his turn to stop in midsentence. His eyes widened.

“You felt it, too,” Wintrow said accusingly. “A struggle. Inside the ship herself.”

“I felt no such thing!” Kennit replied hotly.

“Something is happening,” Wintrow declared. Bolt had taught him to dread his connection to the ship. He felt his link to her roiling with turmoil, yet he feared to reach toward her.

“I feel nothing,” the pirate declared disdainfully. “You imagine it.”

“Kennit! Kennit!” It was a long, drawn-out call, threatening in its intensity. Wintrow felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

Kennit shrugged hastily into his fresh jacket and straightened his collar and cuffs. “I suppose I should go and see what that is about,” he said, but Wintrow could see his nonchalance was feigned. “I imagine the little fracas in the corridor has upset the ship.”

Wintrow made no reply, except to open the door for Kennit. The pirate hastened past him. Wintrow followed him more slowly. As he passed Althea’s door, he heard the low murmur of a voice. He stopped to listen, his ear close to the jamb. The poor woman was talking to herself, her voice so low and rapid that he could not make out any words. “Althea?” He tried the door, but the lock on it was stout. He stood a moment in indecision, then hastened after Kennit.

He had nearly reached the door when Etta entered the companionway. She walked very straight and tall, and her face was impassive. He lifted his eyes to meet hers. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“Of course not.” Her voice was soft and flat. “Sorcor has a boat on its way. I must gather a few things.”

“Etta, I spoke to Kennit. I asked him not to send you away.”

She seemed to vanish in stillness. Her voice came from far away. “I suppose you meant well by that.”

“Etta, you should tell him you’re with child. It might change everything.”

“Change everything?” Her smile was brittle. “Oh, Kennit has already changed everything, Wintrow. There is no need for me to add to it.”

She started to walk away. He dared to reach out and take her arm to restrain her. “Etta, please. Tell him.” He clenched his jaws to keep from saying more. Perhaps if Kennit knew that she was pregnant, he would not set her aside to claim Althea. Surely, it would change his heart. What man could remain unmoved by such news?

Etta shook her head slowly, almost as if she could hear his thoughts. “Wintrow, Wintrow. You still don’t understand, do you? Why do you think I was so shaken? Because I’m pregnant? Because she struck Kennit and made him bleed?”

Wintrow shrugged in helpless silence. Etta leaned her head closer to his. “I wanted to kill her. I wanted to do whatever I had to do to her to make her be silent. Because she was speaking the truth, and I couldn’t stand to hear it. Your aunt is not mad, Wintrow. At least, no more mad than any woman becomes after rape. She spoke the truth.”

“You can’t know that.” His mouth was so dry he could scarcely form the words.

Etta closed her eyes for an instant. “For women, there is an outrage that cannot be provoked in any other way. I looked at Althea Vestrit, and I recognized it. I have seen it too often. I have felt it myself.”

Wintrow glanced at the locked door. The betrayal numbed him. Believing her hurt too much. He clung to doubt. “But why didn’t you confront him?”

She looked deeply into his eyes, turning her head as if she were trying to see how he could be so foolish. “Wintrow. I have told you. Hearing the truth was bad enough. I don’t want to live it. Kennit is right. It is best that I stay on the Marietta for a time.”

“Until what?” Wintrow demanded.

She shrugged one shoulder stiffly. The gleam of tears sprang into her eyes again. Her voice was tight as she said very quietly, “He may weary of her. He may want me back.” She turned away. “I have to gather my things,” she whispered hoarsely.

This time, when she stepped away from him, he let her go.

 

THEY WERE ALL LOOKING AT HIM. KENNIT COULD FEEL THE EYES of every crewman tracking his progress as he made his way forward. He dared not hurry. The spat between the two women had been bad enough. They would not witness him racing to the ship’s summons, no matter how urgent.

“Kennit!” The figurehead threw back her head and bellowed the word. In the twilit waters beside the ship, the serpents arched into sight and dove again with lashing tails. The sea around the ship seethed with the ship’s agitation. He gritted his teeth to keep his expression bland and limped on. Althea had left several bruises that were starting to ache. The ladder to the foredeck was annoying, as always, and all the while he struggled, the ship shouted his name. By the time he reached her, sweat coated him.

He took a breath to steady his voice. “Ship. I’m here. What do you want?”

The figurehead swiveled to look at him and he gasped. Her eyes had gone green, not a serpent green, but a human green, and her features had lost the reptilian cast they had assumed of late. She did not entirely look as Vivacia had, but this was definitely not Bolt. He almost stepped back from her.

“I’m here, too. What do I want? I want Althea Vestrit out here on the foredeck. I want her companion, Jek, as well. And I want them here now.

His mind raced. “I’m afraid that isn’t feasible, Bolt,” he ventured. He used the name deliberately, and waited for her response.

The ship gave him the most disdainful look he had ever endured from a feminine face. “You know I am not Bolt,” she replied.

“Are you Vivacia, then?” he asked soberly.

“I am myself, in my entirety,” she replied. “If you must name me by a name, then address me as Vivacia, for that part of me is as integral as the plank I was built from. But I did not call you to discuss my name or identity. I want Althea and Jek brought here. Now.

“Why?” he countered, his voice as controlled as hers.

“To see them for myself. To know that they are not being ill-treated.”

“Neither of them have been ill-treated!” he declared indignantly.

The lines of the ship’s mouth went flat. “I know what you did,” she said bluntly.

For a moment, Kennit stood in the center of a great stillness. In all directions, it led to disaster. Had his luck finally deserted him? Had he finally made the one error that was not correctable? He took a breath. “Are you so swift to believe such evil of me?”

Vivacia glared at him. “How can you ask me something like that?”

She was not absolutely certain. He read it in her response. Once, she had cared for him, in a gentler way than Bolt had. Could he rouse that in her again? He ran his hand soothingly along the railing. “Because you see, not with your eyes, but with your heart. Althea believes she experienced something horrible. And so you believe her.” He paused dramatically. He let his voice drop. “Ship, you know me. You have been inside my mind. You know me as no one else can.” He took a chance. “Can you believe that I am capable of such a thing?”

She did not answer him directly. “It is the greatest wrong that can be done to a female, human or dragon. It affronts and disgusts me on all levels. If you have done this, Kennit, it is irreparable. Not even your death could atone for it.” There was more than human fury repressed in her voice: there was a cold reptilian implacability. It went beyond revenge and retaliation to annihilation. It sent a chill up his spine. He gripped her railing to steady himself. His voice was tight with self-justification when he spoke.

“I assure you, I intend no harm at all to Althea Vestrit. Hurting her, offending her would run counter to all my hopes for her.” He took a great breath and confided in the ship, “Truth be told, in the few days since she came aboard, I have conceived a great fondness for her. My feelings for her bewilder and confuse me. I am not sure how to deal with them.” Those words, at least, rang with honesty.

A long silence followed his words. Then she asked quietly, “And what of Etta?”

Who was stronger in the ship, Bolt or Vivacia? Bolt had seemed to like Etta: Vivacia had never disguised her jealousy of her. “I am torn,” Kennit admitted. “Etta has been at my side a long time. I have seen her grow far beyond the common whore I rescued from Bettel’s bagnio. She has bettered herself in many ways, but she must suffer in comparison to Althea.” He paused, and sighed lightly. “Althea is altogether a different sort of woman. Her birth and her breeding show in every movement she makes. Yet there is a competency to her that I find very attractive. She is more like . . . you. And I confess, part of the attraction is that she is so much a part of you. The same family that shaped you created her. To be with her is, in a sense, to be with you.” He hoped she would find that flattering. He held his breath, waiting.

Around them the night deepened. The serpents became disembodied sounds, their odd singing mingled with the random splashes of their passage. As the darkness became complete, the brief flashes of their gleaming, scaled bodies lit the waters around the ship.

“You killed Paragon,” she said quietly. “I know that. Bolt saw it. I have her memories.”

He shook his head. “I helped Paragon die. It was what he wanted. It was what he had tried to do for himself so many times. I only made it easier for him.”

“Brashen was dear to me.” The ship’s voice was choked.

“I am sorry. I did not realize that. In any case, the man was a true captain to the end. He would not leave his ship.” There was regretful admiration in his voice. He went on more quietly, “You have Bolt’s memories. Then you will remember she wanted Althea dead. I refused that. What does she remember of Althea’s ‘rape’?” His lips scarce touched the word.

“Nothing,” the ship admitted. “She refused to touch minds with Althea. But I know what Althea recalls.”

Relief fueled his voice with kindness. “And Althea recalls a nightmare, a poppy dream, not a reality. Such dreams are especially vivid. I do not blame her, or you, for believing her nightmare was real. I blame myself. I should not have given her poppy syrup. I meant no harm, only to help her rest and give her time to absorb the tragedy that had changed her life.”

“Kennit, Kennit,” the ship burst out in an anguished voice. “You have become precious to me. It gives me pain even to try to believe such things of you. For me to admit such a horrendous act by you means I must admit I have been duped and deceived as to all you are. If it is true, it will make lies of all truths there have ever been between us.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Please, please, tell me she is mistaken. Tell me you could not have done such an odious thing.”

What one wants to believe badly enough becomes real. “I will show you my proof. I will have Althea and Jek brought to you. You will see for yourself that they have taken no harm while in my care. Althea may have a few bruises, but,” he chuckled deprecatingly, “probably fewer than she gave me. She is not a large woman, but she is spirited.”

A faint smile came to the ship’s face. “She is that. She has always been that. You will bring her here?”

“Immediately,” he promised. He turned his head as Wintrow came up onto the foredeck. Kennit watched his face as he got his first look at the transfigured figurehead. His dark eyes, so troubled an instant before, kindled. Life came back to Wintrow’s face, flowing into it as if he were a carved statue awakening. He started forward eagerly. Kennit lurched to stand between them. That would not do. The ship was his; he could not let Wintrow reassert a claim to her.

Swiftly, he took a ring of keys from his pocket. “Here, lad!” he exclaimed and tossed it. The keys flashed in the ship’s lantern light before Wintrow caught it. As their eyes met, the light of his joy in Vivacia dimmed. He gave Kennit an oddly measuring look. Kennit read it plainly. Wintrow wondered whom to believe. The pirate shrugged it off. To wonder was not to know. His luck was holding. He considered the boy through the darkness. With a wrench, he wondered if he could part with Wintrow if he had to. The idea dismayed him. But if Wintrow forced him to it, then it must be done in a way that did not compromise his luck, nor alienate the crew. Perhaps he could die in selfless service to Kennit. That might, perhaps, be arranged. The crew might find it inspiring to witness such dedication. He looked at him, mourning him already, then steeled himself to the harshness of life.

“Wintrow,” he exclaimed heartily. “As you can see, Vivacia has rejoined us. She desires to see your Aunt Althea. Escort her and Jek to the foredeck, please. Make them comfortable for the time being. I myself will see that Althea’s old room is made more fitting for them to share.” He turned back to the ship, but his words were for Wintrow as well. “I will do all I can for their comfort. You will see, in the days to come, that they are my honored guests, not prisoners.”

 

IT WAS COWARDLY, HE SUPPOSED, BUT HE FREED JEK FROM HER chains first. “Vivacia wants both you and Althea on the foredeck,” he began, but before he could explain any further, the blonde woman had snatched the keys from his hands and was working on the lock. Once free, she surged to her feet and looked down on him with cold blue eyes. Serpent venom had eaten through her clothing and bared her scalded skin. Despite her injuries, she was a formidable and powerful woman. “Where’s Althea?” she demanded.

She followed him through the ship, and jostled him aside at the door. She worked the lock and opened the door, only to have Althea charge into her. His aunt’s shoulder caught the tall woman in the sternum. “Althea!” Jek exclaimed, and wrapped the smaller woman in her arms, containing her wildly flailing arms. “It’s me, it’s Jek, calm down!”

After a moment, Althea stopped struggling. She threw her head back to look up at Jek. Her hair was wild, her eyes dilated to black pits. She breathed the stench of vomit. “I have to kill him,” Althea grated. Her head swayed on her neck. She clutched at her friend’s shoulder. “Promise me you’ll help me kill him.”

“Althea, what’s wrong with you?” Jek turned a furious gaze on Wintrow. “What has been done to her?”

“He raped me,” Althea gasped. “Kennit raped me. He kept coming into my room, pretending kindness and kissing me, and then . . . And my ship, he’s been holding my ship down under where she couldn’t see or feel the wind. . . .”

Jek looked at Wintrow over Althea’s bent head, horrified at her friend’s rambling state. “You’ll be all right now,” she said faintly. Her eyes were uncertain.

“Vivacia is asking for you, right now,” Wintrow told her hastily. It was the most comforting thing he could think to say. “She wants you to come to her right away.”

“My ship,” Althea half-sobbed. She staggered free of Jek’s embrace and careened down the hallway.

“What’s wrong with her?” Jek demanded of Wintrow. Cold fury was in her eyes.

“It’s too much poppy,” he explained, and then found he was talking to empty air. She had hastened after Althea.

 

THE FOREDECK HAD NEVER BEEN SO FAR AWAY. ALTHEA MOVED IN a dream. The air was gelid against her, but if she leaned on it, it gave way all too easily. She forced her way down the companionway, one shoulder braced against the wall. When she reached the open deck, it stretched leagues before her. She dared herself to brave it. Then Jek was at her side, taking her arm. Without a word, she leaned on her and began to step away the distance.

Tears stung her eyes. She felt she walked through time as much as distance. She was finally walking away from her foolish decisions and toward the place she was meant to be. She had lost Brashen, and poor Paragon, and all the hands who had come so far with them. Kennit had brutalized her body and her ship was still in his hands, but somehow if she could just reach the foredeck and once more look into Vivacia’s eyes, she could deal with it all. It would not hurt less, the grief would not be eased, but there would still be something in her life worth the effort of living.

That dog’s son Kennit still stood on the foredeck. He had the nerve to look down on her and smile welcomingly. He moved back from the ladder as she approached it. He probably knew that if he stood too close, she’d try to pull him down and break his neck.

“Move your other foot now,” Jek said quietly. “Lift it to the next rung.”

“What?” What was she talking about?

“Here,” she offered, and abruptly Althea felt herself lifted and shoved up the ladder. She scrabbled at it faintly, got a grip, and then Jek unceremoniously shoved her the rest of the way up it. She crawled onto the foredeck on her hands and knees, knowing that something was wrong with that, but unable to think of a different way to manage it. Then Jek was beside her, hauling her onto her feet.

“Let me go,” Althea told her plainly. “I want to go alone.”

“You’re not well,” Kennit said sympathetically. “I hold none of this against you.”

“Bastard,” she spat at him, and she thought he had moved closer. She swung at him, and then suddenly he was where he had been standing all along, the coward. “I’m still going to kill you,” she promised him, “but not where you’ll bleed on my deck.”

“Althea!”

The beloved voice was shocked with worry for her, but there was something else there too, something she couldn’t name. She turned and after a blurry moment found Vivacia looking back at her. She should have looked joyful, not anxious. “It will be all right,” she assured her. “I’m here now.” She tried to run to her, but it became a stagger. Jek was suddenly at her side again, helping her to the railing. “I’m here now, ship,” she told her, finally, after all the months. Then, “What has he done to you? What has he done to you?”

It was Vivacia and it was not. All her features had subtly changed. Her eyes were too green, and the arch of her brows too pronounced. Her hair was like a mane, wild around her face. Yet for all that, the difference was what she felt as she clutched the railing. Once they had fit together like complementary parts of a puzzle box and completed one another. Now it was as if she gripped Jek’s hands, or Paragon’s railing. It was Vivacia, but she was complete without Althea.

Yet Althea was not complete without her. The places she had expected the ship to fill were still empty and ached more horribly than ever.

“I am one now,” the ship confirmed softly to her. “The memories of your family have merged with the dragon. It had to be, Althea. There was no going back to denying her, any more than she could truly go on without me. You don’t begrudge me that, do you? That I am whole now?”

“But I need you!” The words broke from her before she could consider what they meant. Terrible to blurt out to all a truth you had never recognized yourself. “How can I be myself without you?”

“Just as you have been,” the ship replied, and she heard her father’s wisdom in the words, and an elder sapience as well.

“But I’m hurt,” she heard herself say. Words were welling from her like blood from a wound.

“You will heal,” Vivacia assured her.

“You don’t need me. . . .” The knowledge of that sent her reeling. To have come all this way, striven so hard and lost so much, only to discover this.

“Love can exist without need,” Vivacia pointed out gently. In the seas beyond the bow, several serpents had risen to regard them gravely. Either her eyes were still tricking her, or the yellow-green one was deformed.

From somewhere, Wintrow had come to grip the railing beside her. “Oh, ship, you feel beautiful,” he exclaimed. Althea felt an odd tension run out of him. “You . . . you make sense now. You are complete.”

“Go away,” Althea told him distinctly.

“You need to rest,” he told her gently. Mealy-mouthed, empty courtesy, just like Kennit’s.

She swung at him, but he jerked his head back. “Go away!” she shouted at him. Tears, useless tears, started down her face. Where had her strength gone? She lurched with the realization that the ship did not reach out to her and supplement her in her need.

Vivacia spoke quietly. “You must do that for yourself now, Althea. Each of us must.”

It was as if her own mother had pushed her aside. “But you were with me. You know what he did to me, how he hurt me. . . .”

“Not exactly,” the ship replied gently, and in those words, the separation was complete. The ship was a separate creature from her now, and just as capable of misunderstanding her as any human. Just as capable of disbelieving her.

“I know how real your pain is, and was,” Vivacia offered her. “It is just that . . . perhaps I know you too well, Althea. All the years you lived aboard me, all the dreams you dreamed with me before I awoke. I shared them, you know. And this is not the first time such a nightmare has plagued you.” There was an awkward silence, then she added, “Devon did you great wrong, Althea. And it was not your fault. It was never your fault. And neither was Brashen’s death.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “You don’t deserve to be punished.”

Vivacia had gotten too close to a truth Althea didn’t want to hear. It was a truth she could not bear just now. All the connections between pain and fault, between Althea’s wicked willfulness and the deaths of those she loved and the bad things that happened to her because she deserved bad things—cause and effect suddenly spun dizzyingly around her. If she hadn’t defied her mother to go on the ship with her father, her mother would have loved her more and not given the ship to Keffria, and if Devon hadn’t taken her maidenhead, she wouldn’t have told Keffria, and Keffria wouldn’t have despised her all these years, and none of it would even have begun, and Paragon wouldn’t be sunk and Brashen dead, and Amber, and young Clef, how could she even think of him—

“I need to go back to my room,” she begged huskily.

“I’ll take you,” Jek said.

 

WINTROW TAPPED AT THE DOOR OF HIS ROOM CAUTIOUSLY, THEN jumped when Jek jerked it open. For an instant, he stood mutely looking up at the northern woman. Then he found his tongue. “Kennit thought you might want some women’s clothing.”

She scowled as if he had already offended her, but stepped back and waved him in. Althea sat on the bunk, her knees drawn up to her chest. A pallet had been made up on the floor for Jek. She looked better, in a haggard but alert way. The tension in the room suggested he had walked in on an argument. His aunt glanced disdainfully at his burden of slithering fabric. “Take them away. I accept nothing from him.”

“Wait,” Jek intervened. She gave Althea an apologetic look. “I’ve been in these clothes since we went overboard. I’m tired of smelling myself.” She winced, then added reluctantly, “And you. Those clothes you’re in smell like vomit.”

“Don’t you see what those dresses are?” Althea flared. “They’re a bribe. And if I wear one of them, I’d be seen as a whore, bought with clothes. No one would ever believe what he did to me.”

“I don’t think he intends it that way,” Wintrow said quietly. He suspected the gift was more to gain the ship’s approval than Althea’s, but the look she shot him silenced him. He did not know how to begin to talk to her. Give her time, he told himself. Let her be the one to begin talking. He shut the door behind him before placing the armload of clothing on the foot of the bunk. He also unburdened himself of a chest of jewelry and several bottles of scent.

Jek raised an eyebrow at the trove, then glanced back at Althea. “Would you mind if I looked through it?”

“I don’t care,” Althea lied. “You’ve already made it obvious you doubt my story.”

Jek flipped open the lid of the jewelry chest. She spoke as she considered the glittering contents. “You don’t lie, Althea.” She took a deep breath and added reluctantly, “It’s the circumstances that make me . . . have doubts. The whole thing just doesn’t make sense. Why would he rape you? He has a woman of his own, he’s forbidden rape on this ship, and his reputation is that of a gentleman. Back in Divvytown, no one spoke ill of him. He saw me twice every day, and treated me with courtesy, despite the chains. Even the ship herself is shocked at the idea that he might do such a thing.” She rummaged through the garments, and held a soft blue skirt up against herself. “I won’t be running the rigging in this,” she observed in an aside. Althea wasn’t distracted by her humor.

“So you believe the whole thing was a poppy dream?” Althea demanded fiercely.

Jek shrugged. “He gave me poppy syrup in brandy for my burns. It helped. But it did give me vivid dreams.” She knit her brow. “I hate the man, Althea. But for him, my friends would be alive still. Despite that, he displays a sense of honor that—”

“It wasn’t a dream.” Althea turned her accusing gaze on Wintrow. “You don’t believe me, do you? You’ve become his meek little follower, haven’t you? You gave our family ship over to him without a fight.”

Before Wintrow could defend himself, Jek spoke. “Put yourself in my place, Althea. What if I’d told you that Brashen had attacked me? Think how difficult that would be for you to accept. Althea. You’ve been through a horrible experience. Near drowned, and recovered only to find your ship and all hands and Brashen drowned. You’re grieving. It is natural for you to hate Kennit and believe him capable of any evil. It could turn anyone’s mind.”

“It didn’t turn your mind.”

Jek was silent for a moment. In a quieter voice, she went on, “I’m grieving in my own way. Amber wasn’t some chance-met acquaintance. I’ve cut a lock of hair to mourn her, not that I expect you to understand that. But I lost a friend, not my lover. You lost Brashen. It’s bound to affect you more strongly.”

The sense of Jek’s words settled onto Wintrow and stunned him. He stared at his aunt, unable to imagine such a thing. She glared at his scandalized expression. “Yes, I was sleeping with Trell. I suppose that you share your mother’s opinion of that. Can’t rape a whore, right, Wintrow?”

The injustice of her words stirred his own anger. He stood his ground. Enduring Etta’s temper had taught him some courage at least. “I didn’t condemn you,” he defended himself. “I was just surprised. I’ve a right to be shocked. It’s not what one expects of a Trader’s daughter. But that doesn’t mean I . . .”

“Fuck you, Wintrow,” she retaliated savagely. “Because you’re exactly what I’d expect of Kyle Haven’s son.”

Those words stung him more than they had a right to. He struggled to keep his voice level. “That wasn’t fair. You want to be angry with everyone, so you’re putting meanings to my words that I don’t intend. You haven’t given me a chance to speak at all. I haven’t said I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t have to say it. Your standing with Kennit proves what you believe. Get out. And take that with you.” She extended a leg to kick the chest disdainfully to the floor.

He walked to the door. “Maybe I’m not standing with Kennit. Maybe I’m standing with my ship.”

“Shut up!” she roared. “I don’t want to hear your excuses. I’ve heard enough.”

“If you carry on like a madwoman, people will treat you like one,” he warned her harshly. He shut the door firmly behind himself. He heard the crash and tinkle of a bottle of scent shattering against it. In the dim companionway, he shut his eyes for a moment. Some of her accusations had been fair, he forced himself to admit. He wouldn’t have believed her. Her story was illogical and implausible. He doubted that anyone on board believed what she said about Kennit. Except for him. And it wasn’t her word that had forced him to believe her. It was Etta’s.