a spider in her web. The Traders turned to her and waited on her words. Her fear and anxiety of a moment ago were scorched to ashes in the triumph that burned invisibly within her. Bingtown Trader opposed Bingtown Trader, and they had come for her advice. This was how highly they regarded her. If she could keep her grasp on this power, she could be safe the rest of her life. So, carefully now. Go carefully.
'I knew this moment would come,' she lied gracefully. 'It was one reason I urged the Satrap to come here to mediate this dispute. You see yourselves as factions where the world sees only a whole. Traders, you must come to see yourselves as the world does. I do not mean,' and she raised her voice and held up a warning hand as Roed drew breath for an angry interruption, 'that you must give up any of what is rightfully yours. Traders and sons of Traders may be assured that Satrap Cosgo will not take away what Satrap Esclepius granted you. However, if you are not careful, you may still lose it, by failing to realize that times have changed. Bingtown is no longer a backwater. It has the potential to become a major trading port in the world. To do so, Bingtown must become a city more diverse and tolerant than it has been. But it must do that without losing the qualities that make Bingtown unique in the Satrap's crown.'
The words just came to her, falling from her lips in cadenced, rational statements. The Traders seemed entranced. She hardly knew what she was advising. It did not matter. These men were so desperate for a solution that they would listen to anyone who claimed to have one. She sat back in her chair, all eyes on her.
Drur was the first one to speak. 'You will treat with the New Traders on our behalf?'
'You will enforce the terms of our original charter?' Roed Caern asked.
'I will. As an outsider and the Satrap's representative, only I am qualified to bring peace back to Bingtown. Lasting peace, under terms all can find tolerable.' She let her eyes flash as she added, 'And as his representative, I will remind the Chalcedeans that when they attack a possession of Jamaillia, they attack Jamaillia herself. The Pearl Throne will not tolerate such an insult.'
As if her words of themselves had accomplished that goal, there was a sudden lessening of tension in the room. Shoulders lowered and the tendons in fists and necks were suddenly less visible.
'You must not perceive yourselves as opponents in this,' she offered them. 'You each bring your own strengths to the table.' She gestured to each group in turn. 'Your elders know Bingtown's history, and bring years of negotiating experience. They know that something cannot be gained without all parties being willing to surrender lesser points. While these, your sons, realize that their future depends on the original charter of Bingtown being recognized by all who reside here. They bring the strength of their convictions and the tenacity of youth. You must stand united in this time of trouble, to honor the past and provide for the future.'
The two groups were looking at one another now, openly, the hostility between them mellowing to a tentative alliance. Her heart leapt. This was what she had been born to do. Bingtown was her destiny. She would unite it and save it and make it her own.
'It's late,' she said softly. 'I think that before we talk, we all need to rest. And think. I will expect all of you tomorrow, to share noon repast with me. By then, I will have organized my own thoughts and suggestions. If we are united in deciding to treat with the New Traders, I will suggest a list of New Traders who might be open to such negotiating, and also powerful enough to speak for their neighbors.' As Roed Caern's face darkened and even Krion scowled, she added with a slight smile, 'But of course, we are not yet united in that position. And nothing shall be done until we reach consensus, I assure you. I shall be open to all suggestions.'
She dismissed them with a smile and a 'Good evening, Traders.'
Each of them came to bow over her hand and thank her for her counsels. As Roed Caern did so, she held his fingers in her own a moment longer. As he glanced up at her in surprise, her lips formed the silent words, 'Come back later.' His dark eyes widened but he spoke no word.
After the boy ushered them out, she breathed a sigh that was both relief and satisfaction. She would survive here, and Bingtown would be hers, regardless of what became of the Satrap. She pinched her lips together as she considered Roed Caern. Then she rose swiftly and crossed to the servant's bell. She would have her maid assist her in dressing more formally. Roed Caern frightened her. He was a man capable of anything. She did not wish him to think that her request to him was the invitation to a tryst. She would be cool and formal when she set him to tracking down Ronica Vestrit and her family.
CHAPTER THREE – Wintrow
THE CARVED FIGUREHEAD STARED STRAIGHT AHEAD AS SHE SLICED THE WAVES. The wind at her back filled her sails and drove her forward. Her bow cut the water in a near constant white spray. The flying droplets beaded Vivacia's cheeks and the foaming black curls of her hair.
She had left Others' Island and then Ridge Island behind her. Vivacia moved west now, away from the open ocean and toward the treacherous gap between Shield Wall and Last Island. Beyond the ridge of islands was the sheltered Inside Passage to the relative safety of the Pirate Isles.
Within her rigging, the pirate crew moved lively until six sails bellied full in the wind. Captain Kennit gripped the bow rail with his long-fingered hands, his pale blue eyes squinting. The spray damped his white shirt and elegant broadcloth jacket, but he took no notice of it. Like the figurehead, he stared longingly ahead, as if his will could wring more speed out of the ship.
'Wintrow needs a healer,' Vivacia insisted abruptly. Woefully, she added, 'We should have kept the slave surgeon from the Crosspatch. We should have forced him to come with us.' The liveship's figurehead crossed her arms on her chest and hugged herself tightly. She did not look back toward Kennit, but stared over the sea. Her jaw clamped tightly shut.
The pirate captain took in a deep breath and erased all trace of exasperation from his voice. 'I know your fears,' he told her. 'But you must set them aside. We are days from a settlement of any size. By the time we get to one, Wintrow will be either healing, or dead. We are caring for him as best we can, ship. His own strength is his best hope now.' Belatedly, he tried to comfort her. He spoke in a gentler tone. 'I know you are worried about the lad. I am just as concerned as you are. Hold to this, Vivacia. He breathes. His heart beats. He takes in water and pisses it out again. These are all marks of a man who will live. I've seen enough of injured men to know that is so.'
'So you have told me.' Her words were clipped. 'I have listened to you. Now, I beg you, listen to me. His injury is not a normal one. It goes beyond pain or damage to his flesh. Wintrow isn't there, Kennit. I cannot feel him at all.' Her voice began to shake. 'While I cannot feel him, I cannot help him. I cannot lend him comfort or strength. I am helpless. Worthless to him.'
Kennit fought to contain his impatience. Behind him, Jola bellowed angrily at the men, threatening to strip the flesh from their ribs if they didn't put their backs into their work. Wasted breath, Kennit thought to himself. Just do it once to one of them and the first mate would never need to threaten them again.
Kennit crossed his arms on his chest, containing his own temper. Strictness was not a tack he could take with the ship. Still, it was hard to leash his irritation. Worry for the boy already ate at him like a canker. He needed Wintrow. He knew that. When he thought of him, he felt an almost mystical sense of connection. The boy was intertwined with his luck and his destiny to be king. Sometimes it almost seemed as if Wintrow were a younger, more innocent version of himself, unscarred by the harshness of his life. When he thought of Wintrow that way, he felt an odd tenderness for him. He could protect him. He could be to Wintrow the kind of mentor that he himself had never had. Yet, to do that, he had to be the boy's sole protector. The bond between Wintrow and the ship was a double barrier to Kennit. As long as it existed, neither the ship nor the boy was completely his.
He spoke firmly to Vivacia. 'You know the boy is aboard. You caught us up and saved us yourself. You saw him taken aboard. Do you think I would lie to you, and say he lived if he did not?'
'No,' she replied heavily. 'I know you would not lie to me. Moreover, I believe that if he had died, I would know of it.' She shook her head savagely and her heavy hair flew with her denial. 'We have been so closely linked for so long. I cannot convey to you how it feels to know he is aboard, and yet to have no sense of him. It is as if a part of myself had been cloven away…'
Her voice dwindled. She had forgotten to whom she spoke. Kennit leaned more heavily on his makeshift crutch. He tapped his peg loudly thrice upon her deck. 'Do you think I cannot imagine what you feel?' he asked her.
