were coming back into true. He sensed the same adjustment between Brashen and Althea. The tension between them was one they accepted. It acted as a counter-force to easiness between them. He tried to find a simile for it. Like wind in his sails. Without the force against the canvas, he could not move. It was not a tension to be avoided, but one to be courted.
As they did?
It wasn't until Brashen leaned over the railing and spoke to him that he realized how close they had come. He had been so aware of them he hadn't noticed the physical distance closing. Well, he wasn't about to answer them.
Then Althea leaned on the railing also. The feelings flowed through him. From Brashen to Althea, from Althea to Brashen, it included him. The pride in Brashen's voice was not feigned. 'Captain Brashen Trell, of the liveship Paragon.' The words thrummed through the ship. Brashen spoke with more than pride. With fondness. Possession. Brashen had longed to claim him. Not just for this rescue, not because he was cheap and available. He wanted to be captain of the liveship Paragon. In wonder, he sensed Althea echoing his feelings. They both truly felt that he was where he belonged.
Something long closed in Paragon opened. A tiny spark of self-worth suddenly burned in his darkness. 'Don't bet on it, Vestrit,' he said quietly. He grinned as he felt them both start and then lean over the railing to try to see his face. His arms were still crossed on his chest, but he sank his bearded chin onto his chest in self- satisfaction. 'You may think you and Vivacia can show us up. But Trell and I, we still have a lot to reveal. You haven't seen the half of us yet.'
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Compromises
'I THINK IT'S PERFECT.' KEFFRIA COULD NOT KEEP THE SATISFACTION OUT of her voice.
'It's lovely,' Rache echoed the sentiment. 'But turn about just one more time for us. A little faster, so the skirts lift just slightly with the motion. I want to be sure the hem is perfectly even before we do the final stitching.'
Malta lifted her arms carefully to avoid the pins and turned on her stockinged feet. All about them on the floor was the litter of the gown's making. Older dresses had been robbed of lace. The bright panels of fabric set into the lavish sleeves of the dress had once been the skirts of another dress.
'Ah! Like a lily floating on water, when a summer breeze ripples it. You could not be more beautiful.' Rache was triumphant.
'Unless she smiled,' Selden pointed out quietly. He sat on the floor in the corner of the room, his counters spread on the floor before him. Malta had been watching him. He was building castles with them, not working his problems. She was too dispirited to point out his idleness to their mother.
'Your little brother is right, Malta. The gown cannot brighten your face as a smile can. What is wrong? Are you still wishing we had had a fashionable seamstress do this?'
Of course she was! How could her mother even ask such a question? For years, she and Delo had talked of their first Summer Ball as young ladies. They'd drawn pictures of their elaborate gowns, discussed trims and seamstresses and slippers. Never again would the eyes of Bingtown fall so attentively upon them. All would see her dressed in a home-stitched dress with made-over slippers. Every waking moment of summer, she had spent longing for a miracle. It was useless even to speak of how she felt. She didn't want her mother to weep again, or her grandmother to tell her she should take pride in the sacrifices she'd made. This was the best they could do for her. What good would it do to speak of her disappointment?
'It is hard to smile these days, Mother.' She took a breath. 'I had always thought I would walk into the Summer Ball on my father's arm.'
'As did I,' Keffria Vestrit replied quietly. 'It breaks my heart that you cannot have that, Malta. I still remember my first Summer Ball in a woman's gown. When they announced me, I was so nervous I thought I couldn't stand. Then Papa picked up my hand and set it on his arm. And we walked in together… he was so proud of me.' Her voice choked suddenly. She blinked rapidly. 'Wherever your father is, my dear, I am sure he is thinking of you as you are of him.'
'Sometimes it feels wrong to be thinking of the summer parties after the great ball, worrying about dresses and fans and headpieces while he is a prisoner in the Pirate Isles.' Malta paused. 'Perhaps we should put this off one more year. Perhaps by then, he would be home.'
'It's a little late now to be considering that,' Grandmother put in from her chair. She was sitting in the light from the window, trying to fashion a fan from the leftover fabric. 'I used to know how to do this,' she muttered crossly to herself. 'My fingers just aren't as nimble at this as they used to be.'
'I'm afraid your grandmother is right, dear.' Her mother fussed with the lace at her cuffs. 'Everyone is expecting us to present you. And it would make our situation with the Khuprus family even more difficult.'
'I don't think I like him anymore anyway. If Reyn were truly interested in me, he would have come to see me again.' She twisted her head to look at her mother just as Rache tried to set her headdress in place. 'Have you heard no more from his mother?' Rache seized her chin, straightened her head, and pinned the headdress in place.
Keffria frowned at it. 'It's too big. It overpowers her face. We need to make it more delicate. Take it off, we'll try again.' As Rache unpinned it, Keffria asked, 'What more could she write to us? She sympathizes with our plight. They pray your father will return safely to us. Reyn looks forward eagerly to the Summer Ball.' Keffria sighed and added, 'And she suggested, very delicately, that two weeks after the ball, we might discuss the payment on our debt.'
'Translation: she wants to see how Malta and Reyn get along at the ball,' Grandmother put in sourly. She squinted at the pretty work in her hands. 'They have to consider appearances just as much as we do, Malta. For Reyn to call on you too often before you are even presented would be seen as unseemly haste. Besides, it is a substantial journey from the Rain Wilds to Bingtown, not to be undertaken lightly.'
Malta gave a small sigh. So she had told herself, often enough. But it seemed to her more likely that Reyn had simply decided she wasn't worth the nuisance of courting her. Perhaps the dragon had had something to do with it. She had dreamed of the dragon often since then, and the dreams ried from disturbing to frightening. Sometimes the dragon spoke of Reyn. She said that Malta was foolish to wait for him. He would not come to help her. Her only possible hope was to somehow come to the dragon and free her. Over and over, Malta had tried to tell her that was impossible. 'When you say that,' the dragon had mocked her, 'You are saying, really, that it is impossible for you to rescue your father. Is that what you truly believe?' That question always left her speechless.
It did not mean she had given up. She had learned a great deal about men lately. It seemed to her that when she needed their strength or power most, they abandoned her. Both Cerwin and Reyn had vanished when she asked them for something more substantial than trinkets or sweets. Reluctantly she acknowledged a second thought. Just when she needed her own father's strength and power, he had sailed out of her life. And disappeared. It wasn't his fault. She knew that. It didn't change what she had learned. You couldn't depend on men, even powerful men, even when they truly loved you. To save her father, she was going to have to gather power to herself, and then use it.
Afterwards, she would keep it.
A thought occurred to her. 'Mother. Father will not be here to escort me into the Summer Ball. Who will?'
'Well.' She looked uncomfortable. 'Davad Restart has offered, of course. He would be honored; I suppose he feels we owe him something for negotiating for the Paragon…' Her voice died away apologetically.
Rache gave a small snort of contempt. She ripped the seams out of the headdress as if it were Davad's face she tore apart.
'We owe him nothing,' Ronica Vestrit said firmly. She lifted her eyes from her stitching to regard her granddaughter. 'You have no obligation to him, Malta. None.'
'Then… if my Papa cannot be there… I should like to walk in by myself.'
