because I do not wish to see Bingtown fall. All my life, Bingtown has been the center of my studies. I have always wanted to come here: it is the city of my dreams. So I connived and begged to get the Satrap to allow me to come. Now that I am here, I do not want to be a witness to its death throes, any more than I want to die here before I have fully comprehended its wonders.'
'What do you suggest we do?'
'Act before they do. Take the Satrap and his Companions hostage, yes, but keep us safe. Alive, he is a bargaining chip. Dead, he is the spark that ignites the fire of war. Not all the Jamaillian nobles can be involved in this. Send a message out somehow, to alert those who are loyal to the Satrapy. Tell them what is transpiring here. They will mount an effort to aid you, if you promise to return Cosgo unharmed. There will be war with Chalced, but eventually, there is always war with Chalced. Take the time I have given you by this warning, and secure the town as best you can. Gather supplies; hide your children and families. Get word to the folk up the Rain Wild River.'
He was incredulous. 'But you say it is most likely that they will act tonight. There is no time for any of that!'
'You are wasting time dancing with me now,' she pointed out acidly. 'You should be getting the word out right now. I suspect there will be incidents in the streets tonight. Fires, brawls, whatever it will take to ignite riots in the city. It will spread out to the ships in the harbor. Someone, intentionally or by accident, will give the Chalcedeans an excuse to attack. Perhaps they will simply receive a message that the Satrap has been killed.' She looked unerringly into his veiled eyes. 'By morning light, Bingtown will be burning.'
The music was ending. As he and his partner slowed and then stopped, it seemed prophetic. He stood a moment in the silence, her hand still in his. Then he stepped away from her with a bow. 'The others are gathering outside, in the gardens. We should join them,' he suggested. He gestured to the door.
As if someone had literally tugged his heartstrings, he turned and looked across the room. Malta. Walking away with her hand on Cerwin Trell's arm. He could not simply leave the gathering like this, not without a word. He turned back to Companion Serilla. 'Just outside the doorway, there is a pathway that goes to the east. It isn't far and the lanterns will all be lit tonight. Will you be comfortable, walking alone? I shall join you as quickly as I can.'
Her look said it was unforgivably rude. But she said, 'I am sure I shall be fine. Do you think you will be long?'
'I hope not,' he assured her. He did not wait to see what she would think of such a vague answer. He bowed again and left her by the door. The music was starting again, but he cut swiftly across the dance floor, narrowly avoiding the whirling couples. He found Malta sitting alone. When he stood before her, she looked up quickly. The sudden light of hope in her eyes could not quench the fear that was there. 'Reyn-' she began, but he cut her off before she could apologize.
'I have to go somewhere. It's very important. I may not be back this evening. You'll have to understand.'
'Not be back… where? Where are you going? What is so important?'
'I can't tell you. You'll have to trust me, just now.' He paused. 'I'd like you to go home as soon as possible. Would you do that for me?'
'Go home? Just leave my presentation ball and go home while you go and do 'something more important'? Reyn, this is impossible. The meal has not been shared, the gifts of our kinship have not been offered– Reyn, we've only shared one dance! How can you do this to me? I've looked forward to this all my life, and now you say I should hurry home, because you've found something more important to do?'
'Malta, please understand! This isn't something I chose. Fate doesn't respect our wishes. Now… I have to go. I'm sorry, but I have to go.' He longed to tell her. It wasn't that he didn't trust her. It was her family's connection to Davad Restart that worried him. If Davad was a traitor, it was important that he believe their plot was still secret. What Malta did not know, she could not accidentally betray.
She looked up at him and her eyes flashed darkly. 'I think I know exactly what it is that is more important to you than I am. I wish you joy of it.' She looked aside from him. 'Good evening, Reyn Khuprus.'
She was dismissing him, as if he were a recalcitrant servant. He doubted she would heed his advice to go home. He stood still in an agony of indecision.
'Excuse me.'
The jostle was deliberate. Reyn turned. Cerwin Trell glowered at him. He held two glasses of wine. For a moment, Reyn's control teetered in the balance. Then something like despair clutched his heart. There wasn't time. He could stay and pursue this squabble now, but it could not be resolved. If he stayed, by morning they might all be dead.
The hardest part of turning and walking away was knowing that by morning they might all be dead, no matter what he did. He did not look back at all. If Malta had looked stricken, he would have had to return to her. If she had been simpering at Trell, he would have had to kill the boy. No time. Never any time to live his own life. He left the Traders' Concourse and plunged into the torch-tattered darkness outside.
MALTA DANCED THREE MORE TIMES WITH CERWIN. HE SEEMED BLITHELY unaware of how her feet dragged through the steps. After her effortless grace in Reyn's arms, dancing with Cerwin seemed an awkward physical effort. She could not quite match his step or the beat of the music. The adoring compliments he showered upon her rattled against her nerves like hailstones. She could hardly stand to look into his earnest, boyish face. All the life and beauty had gone out of the ball. The whole gathering seemed diminished by Reyn's departure. It suddenly seemed there were fewer couples on the dance floor, less laughter and talk in the room.
Bleakness welled up from the bottom of her soul, inundating her again. She could recall that she had been briefly happy earlier today, but the memory seemed shallow and false. As the music faded, it was a relief to see her mother at the edge of the dance floor, gesturing unobtrusively for Malta to come to her.
'My mother summons me. I'm afraid I have to go.'
Cerwin stepped back from her, but caught both her hands in his. 'Then I shall let you go, but only because I must, and I pray you, only for a brief time.' He bowed to her gravely.
'Cerwin Trell,' she acknowledged him, and then turned and left him.
Keffria's face was solemn as her daughter approached her. The concern in her eyes didn't change, but she managed a smile as she asked, 'Have you had a good time, Malta?'
How to answer that? 'It has not been what I expected,' she replied truthfully.
'I don't think anyone's presentation ball is quite what one expects.' She reached for Malta's hand. 'I hate to ask this of you, but I think we should leave soon.'
'Leave?' Malta asked in confusion. 'But why? There is still the shared meal, the presentation of the gifts-'
'Hush,' Keffria bid her. 'Malta, look around you. Tell me what you see.'
She glanced about herself hastily, then perused the room more carefully. In a low voice she asked, 'Where have all the Rain Wild Traders gone?'
'I don't know. A number of Bingtown Traders have vanished as well, without any explanation or any farewell. Grandmother and I fear there is some trouble afoot. I went outside for a breath of air, and I smelled smoke. The blockade of the harbor has increased tension in the city. We fear a riot or outbreak of some kind.' Keffria looked slowly about the room. She kept the calm smile on her face as if she discussed the ball with Malta. 'We feel we would all be safer at home.'
'But,' Malta began and then fell silent. It was hopeless. All joy and light had gone out of the evening anyway. To stay here would just extend the death throes of her dream. 'I shall do as you think best,' she abruptly conceded. 'I suppose I should tell Delo farewell.'
'I think her mother already took her home. I saw Trader Trell speaking to his son just a moment ago, and now I do not see Cerwin either. They'll understand.'
'Well, I don't,' Malta replied sourly.
Her mother shook her head. 'I am sorry for you. It is hard to see you come of age in such troubled times. I feel you are being cheated of all the things we dreamed you would do. But there is nothing I can do to change it.'
'I know that feeling,' Malta said, more to herself than to her mother. 'Sometimes I feel completely helpless. As if there is nothing I can do to change any of the bad things. Other times, I fear I am simply too
