lower lip between his teeth, perhaps to keep it from trembling. Then he raised Kennit's body.
Paragon's pale blue eyes opened at last. He looked a long time into the pirate's face, gazing with the hunger of years. Then, slowly, he clasped him close. Kennit looked almost doll-like in the figurehead's embrace. His lips moved, but Etta heard nothing. The blood from Kennit's injuries vanished swiftly as it touched Paragon's wood, soaking in immediately, and leaving no stain of passage. Then he bowed over Kennit and kissed the top of his head with an impossible tenderness. At last, Paragon looked up. He gazed at her with Kennit's eyes and smiled, an unbearably sad smile that yet held peace and wholeness.
An elderly woman on Paragon's deck strained toward Kennit's body. Tears ran down her face and she cried aloud but wordlessly, a terrible gabbling wail. Behind her, a tall dark-haired man stood with his arms crossed tightly on his chest. His jaw was set, his eyes narrowed, but he did not try to interfere. He even stepped forward and helped support Kennit's body as Paragon released it into the woman's reaching arms. Gently they stretched him on the liveship's deck.
'Now you,' Vivacia said suddenly. She reached for Etta, and she stepped into the liveship's grasp.
SOMEWHERE IN THE DARKNESS, SOMEONE WAS BEATING A DRUM. IT WAS AN unsteady rhythm, loud-soft, loud-soft, and slowing, slowing inexorably to peace. There were other sounds, shouts and angry cries, but they no longer mattered. Closer to his ears, familiar voices spoke. Wintrow muttering to him and to someone else, 'Damn, sorry, sorry, Kennit. Be careful, can't you, support his leg as I lift-'
On the other side of him, Etta was talking. '…Hush. Save your strength. Here's the ladder, this is the last hard bit, my love. Keep breathing…' He could ignore them if he chose. If he ignored them, what could he focus on? What was important now?
He felt Vivacia take him. Oh, yes, this would be best, this would be easiest. He relaxed and tried to let go. He felt the life seeping out of his body, and he hovered, waiting to be gone. But she held him still, cupped in her hands like water, refusing to take him. 'Wait,' she whispered to him. 'Hold on, just for a moment or two longer. You need to go home, Kennit. You are not mine. You were never mine, and we always knew that. You need to be one once more. Wait. Just a bit longer. Wait.' Then she called aloud, 'Paragon. Hurry, hurry. Kennit is yours. Come and take him!'
Paragon? Fear stabbed him. Paragon was lost to him, no more than a boyish ghost now. He had killed him. His own ship could never take him back. He could never go home. Paragon would fling him away, would leave him to sink beneath the sea just as he had-
He knew the touch of the big hands that accepted him. He would have wept, but there were no tears left. He tried to make his mouth move, to speak aloud how sorry he was. 'There, there,' someone said comfortingly. Paragon? His father? Someone who loved him said, 'Don't fear. I have you now. I won't let you go. You will not be hurt anymore.' Then he felt the kiss that absolved him without judgment. 'Come back to me,' he said. 'Come home.' The darkness was no longer black. It grew silvery and then as Paragon embraced him and took him home he faded into white.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE – Hard Decisions
'COME BELOW SO I CAN BANDAGE THIS,' MALTA INSISTED. 'LORDLY ONE, YOU must not take chances with yourself.' She flinched as a rock landed in the water aft of them. She glanced back and Reyn followed her stare. Their aim was getting better. The Jamaillian ships were closing in.
'No. Not yet.' The Satrap clung to the railing and stared down gloatingly. Malta was beside him, pressing a rag to his sword thrust. The Satrap himself refused to touch his wound. Only Malta would do for that duty, but Reyn refused to be jealous. The Satrap clung to her presence as if she anchored his world, yet refused to acknowledge his dependence on her. It amazed him that the man could not hear the falsity in Malta's sweetness to him. The Satrap leaned forward suddenly and cupped his hands to his mouth so that his shouted words would carry his gleeful satisfaction to the men on the foundering Jamaillian ship.
'Farewell, Lord Criath. Give your good counsels to my white serpent now. I'll be sure your family in Jamaillia City knows of your bold cries for mercy. What, Ferdio? Not a swimmer? Don't let it trouble you. You won't be in the water long, and there's no need to swim in the serpent's belly. I mark you, Lord Kreio. Your sons will never see their inheritance. They lose all, not just my Bingtown grants to you but your Jamaillian estates as well. And you, Peaton of Broadhill, oh best of smoking partners! Your forests and orchards will smoke in memory of you! Ah, noble Vesset, will you hide your face in your hands? Do not fear, you will not be overlooked! You leave a daughter, do you not?'
The noble conspirators gazed up at him. Some pleaded, some stood stolidly and some shouted insults back at him. They would all meet the same end. When they had balked at entering the water in the ship's boats while the serpent prowled so near, the crew had abandoned them. Their distrust of the ship's boats had been well founded. They were floating wreckage now. Reyn had not seen a single sailor survive.
It was too much for the Rain Wilder. 'You mock the dying,' he rebuked the Satrap.
'I mock the traitorous!' the Satrap corrected him savagely. 'And my vengeance will be sweet!' he called loudly across the water. Avidly, his eyes tallied the Jamaillian nobles who stood helplessly on the deck of the foundering ship. It was already awash. He muttered names, obviously committing them to memory for later retaliation on their families. Reyn exchanged an incredulous look with Malta. This savage, merciless boy was the Lord High Magnadon Satrap of all Jamaillia? Cosgo opened his mouth again, crying, 'Oh, serpent, don't leave, here's a tender– Ah!'
He gasped suddenly and bent over his wound.
Malta looked as innocent as a babe as she held the rag firmly to the injury and proclaimed, 'Oh, Lord Satrap, you must stop your shouting. Look, it has started your bleeding again. Come, we must go below. Leave them to Sa's justice.'
'Bleeding again-ah, the treacherous cowards deserve to die more slowly. Kennit was right. He saved me, you know.' Without asking permission, he clutched Reyn's arm and leaned on him as they tottered him toward the ship's house. 'At the end, Kennit recognized that my survival was more important than his. Brave soul! I defied those traitors, but when they came with the killing thrust, brave Kennit took my death for me. Now there is a name that will be remembered with honor. King Kennit of the Pirate Isles.'
So the Satrap sought to crown himself with Kennit's deeds and reputation. Reyn embroidered his conceited fantasy for him. 'No doubt minstrels will make wondrous songs to tell of your great adventure. To Bingtown and the Rain Wilds the bold young Satrap journeyed. To be saved at the end by the unselfish pirate king who belatedly recognized the ultimate importance of the Satrap of all Jamaillia is the only fitting end for such a song.' Reyn drawled the words, loving that Malta must fight to keep from smiling. Between them, the Satrap's face lit with delight.
'Yes, yes. An excellent concept. And a whole verse devoted to the names of those who betrayed me and how they perished, torn apart by the serpents that Kennit had commanded to guard me. That will make future traitors pause before they conspire against me.'
'Doubtless,' Malta agreed. 'But now we must go below.' Firmly, she eased him along. Her anxious eyes met Reyn's, sharing her fear that they would not survive the day. Despite the darkness of the emotion, Reyn treasured that he could sense so much of what she felt just by standing near her. He gathered his strength and radiated calmness toward her. Surely, Captain Kennit had been in worse situations. His crew would know how to get them out of this.
'I'LL LAY OUT CANVAS FOR A SHROUD,' AMBER OFFERED.
'Very well,' Brashen agreed numbly. He looked down on Kennit's body. The pirate that had nearly killed them all had died on his deck. His mother rocked him now, weeping silently, a tremulous smile on her lips. Paragon had gone very still since he had handed Kennit to his mother. Brashen feared to speak to him lest he did not answer. He sensed something happening within his ship. Whatever it was, Paragon guarded it closely. Brashen feared what it might be.
