He had them in the palm of his hand. Everyone at the table waited for his next words. The Satrap leaned forward slightly. He tapped his finger on the table as he made each point. Malta was entranced. She had never seen this man.
'I find myself in the company of pirates, of men and women tattooed with the shame of slavery. Yet you are not what I was told you were. I do not find ignorance or stupidity amongst you, nor yet barbarism and savagery.
'I have seen the patrol vessels negotiated by treaty with Chalced. Yet I see far too many of them in my waters. They wallow with the wealth they have taken. Clearly, I have put my trust in the wrong allies. Jamaillia City stands vulnerable to attack by the ships of Chalced. I would be wise to seek truer allies. Who better than those who already have learned to do battle with Chalcedeans?'
'Who better indeed?' Captain Red asked those at his table. He grinned broadly, but then brought his smile under control as he added, 'Of course, King Kennit will make all final decisions. But I suspect we are bringing him a prize far weightier than all the gold we have ever shared with him. We are only a few days out of Divvytown. A bird shall be sent at once to alert Kennit to what we bring.' He lifted his glass in a toast. 'Here's to ransoms paid in more than coin or blood!'
As all lifted their glasses and joined in, Malta heard the lookout's cry of 'Sail!'
The men at the table exchanged wary looks. Chalcedean ships were to be avoided, now that the Motley was fully loaded. There was a rap at the door. 'Enter!' Captain Red conceded, annoyance in his voice. The man detested anything that disrupted his meals, let alone a dramatic moment.
The door opened. The ship's boy stood there, his cheeks pink with excitement. With a broad grin he announced, 'Sir, we've sighted the Vivacia, and the Marietta.'
KENNIT WATCHED THE APPROACH OF THE SMALL BOAT FROM THE MOTLEY with mixed feelings. Sorcor had come over from the Marietta for the occasion. He was attired in several acres of scarlet fabric. He stood just behind his captain's right shoulder. Captain Red, at his other side in his own garish garments, seemed too caught up in his own triumph to be aware of his leader's personal reservations. He was delivering to King Kennit a prize that no other of his captains would ever match. For a man with his theatrical background, it was the ultimate achievement. Ever after, he would be known as the pirate captain who gave the Satrap of all Jamaillia to King Kennit as a gift.
Captain Red had come first to the Vivacia to share the news. Now, dramatically poised, he hovered by Kennit's side as they watched the loot delivered. Kennit was both elated, and annoyed. The capture of the Satrap was remarkable, and the potential for gain from his ransom was vast. But this windfall also came at a time when his mind had another focus. He gave a sideways glance to where Althea Vestrit also stood at the railing watching the small boat approach. Jek was at her side. Jek was always at her side. The winter wind blew their hair and Jek's bright skirts, and brought color to their faces. Jek was a stunning woman, tall, fair and bold. But Althea captivated Kennit as no other woman could.
In the days since she had emerged from her cabin and been given the freedom of the ship, he had walked a careful line with her. He maintained to everyone that her terrible dream had been the result of poppy syrup, given her for the pain of a damaged back. For that, he had publicly apologized to her, while gently reminding her that she had complained of a painful back. Didn't she recall taking the syrup? At her snarling denial, he had shrugged helplessly. 'It was when you said you liked lace on a man,' he had delicately prompted her, even as his hand toyed with the lace at his throat. He had smiled fondly at her.
'Don't try to make that mean something,' she threatened him.
He composed his face to injured resignation. 'Doubtless you are far more susceptible to the poppy than you knew,' he courteously suggested.
His luck had given him the power to adorn her as he saw fit. Her lack of garments had forced her to accept the clothing he selected from his plunder and sent to her stateroom. Jewelry, perfume and bright scarves he sent as well. Jek availed herself of this feminine bounty unashamedly, but Althea had resisted it for days. Even now, she kept herself as plain as one could be in silk trousers and damask vest. It pleased him that he chose the colors she wore, that he had touched the garments that now clung to her. How long could she remain proof against such largesse? Like a caged bird, she must eventually come fluttering to his hand.
She avoided him as much as she could, but Vivacia was not a large ship. From threats of murder and foul names, she had simmered to seething hatred and murderous looks. He had met all her stares with grieved concern and solicitous courtesy. Deep inside him, a bizarre merriment bubbled at her predicament. He had a power over her that he never could have foreseen, even if he had deliberately created this situation. She believed herself a wronged victim, but was treated as the hysterical accuser of an innocent man. If she spoke of the rape, her words were received with pity rather than shared outrage. Even Jek, who bore him an impersonal hate for the sinking of the Paragon, had reservations about Althea's accusations. A lack of support for her cause was undoubtedly very daunting to her desire to kill him.
Most of the crew were uninterested in what he had or had not done to her. He was, after all, the captain, and the pirates of his crew had never been overly afflicted with morality. Some, those fondest of Etta, were more concerned by her absence than by Althea's presence. A few seemed to think he had wronged Etta somehow. He suspected that this was what troubled Wintrow most. He never spoke of it directly but from time to time, Kennit would catch Wintrow looking at him speculatively. Fortunately for Wintrow, he did not do this often. Instead, the boy spent most of his time in a futile effort to establish some sort of bond with his aunt.
Althea resolutely ignored her nephew. Wintrow bore her rebuffs mildly, but managed to spend most of his free time in her vicinity. He obviously hoped for reconciliation. To busy him, Kennit had passed most of the day- today tasks of the ship's command on to him. His wits were far sharper than Jola's. If the circumstances had been different, Kennit would have moved him up to mate. He had the instinct for command.
What grated on Kennit was that he had not had even a moment alone with Althea. As far as the pirate could determine, when Althea was not in the stateroom she shared with Jek, she was on the foredeck with the figurehead. It amused Kennit, for he knew the ship spent much time trying to convince her that Kennit would not have mistreated her as she claimed. More than any other influence, Vivacia's attitude seemed to undermine the experience of Althea's own senses. When he himself came to the foredeck each evening to converse with Vivacia, Althea no longer stormed away with Jek in her wake, but retreated a little way and then eavesdropped on them. She watched his every move, trying to see the monster she would make of him. His facade defied her.
As the little boat drew nearer, Kennit saw that it held not only the Satrap, theatrically resplendent in borrowed garb, but also his young Companion. The Satrap stared straight ahead, ignoring their rippling serpent escort, but the young woman stared up at the ship, white-faced. Even at this distance, her dark eyes seemed immense. The oddly fashioned turban atop her head was doubtless some new Jamaillian fashion. He found himself wondering how Althea would look in such headgarb.
ALTHEA GLANCED OVER AT WINTROW. HE STARED DOWN AT THE MOTLEY'S boat as it battled toward them. He had matured since he had left Bingtown Harbor. It was uncanny to look at him in profile; they shared so many features, it was like looking at herself made male. That he looked so like her somehow made his betrayal all the more intolerable. She would never be able to forgive him.
A trickle of rebuke rose through her from the railing she grasped. 'I know, I know. Set it aside,' she murmured in response. Repeatedly, the ship had urged her to let go of her anger. But if she let go of her anger, all that would remain was grief and pain. Anger was easier. Anger could be focused outward. Grief corroded from within.
She could not let the matter go. The rape made no sense, served no logic. She could not argue with that. It was the act of a madman, but civil and shrewd Captain Kennit was certainly not mad. So what had happened? Images of Devon and Keffria were mixed with her memories of the attack. Could it have been what he said, a twisted poppy-induced dream? The ship had tried to placate her by suggesting that perhaps it had been some other crewman. Althea refused that. She clung to the truth as she clung to her sanity, for to let the one go was to deny the other.
In some ways, she thought savagely, it did not matter whether Kennit had raped her or not. He had killed Brashen and sunk Paragon. Those were reasons enough to hate him. Even her beloved Vivacia had been stolen from her, and changed so deeply that some of her thoughts and ideas were completely foreign to Althea. All her
