gently.
Besides, the pirate had lied. He had said that Kennit loved Vivacia, that he often said he'd always wanted a liveship for his very own. Worse, he said that Vivacia had bonded to Kennit. She could not. She was not his family. So the man had lied and he had died.
Brashen was very angry with him. It was Brashen's own fault he was angry, because Brashen could not understand a simple thing like killing someone who had lied to you. There were many things, he was discovering, that Brashen did not understand. But Lavoy did. Lavoy came to him and talked to him, and told him sea tales and called him laddie. And he understood. He understood that Paragon had to be as he was, that everything he had ever done, he'd had to do. Lavoy told him he had nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to regret. He agreed that people had pushed Paragon into everything he had ever done. Brashen and Althea and Amber all wanted him to be like them. They wanted him to pretend he had no past. No pasts at all. Be how they wanted him to be, or they wouldn't like him. But he couldn't. There were too many feelings inside him that he knew they wouldn't like. That didn't mean he could stop feeling them. Too many voices, telling him his bad memories over and over and over, but in tiny little voices he could not quite hear. Tiny little blood voices, whimpering from the past. What was he supposed to do about them? They were never silent, not really. He had learned to ignore them, but that didn't make them go away. But even they were not as bad as the other parts of himself.
He wiped his hands again down his hull. So no one was supposed to talk to him now. He didn't care. He didn't have to talk. He could go years without talking or even moving. He'd done it before. He doubted that Lavoy would obey that order anyway. He listened to the barefoot thundering of footsteps on his deck as men raced to one of Lavoy's orders. He let the other part of himself grow stronger. Did they really think they could punish him and still expect him to sail blithely to Divvytown for them? They'd see. He crossed his arms on his chest and sailed blindly on.
CHAPTER TEN – Truces
AUTUMN RAIN WAS PATTERING AGAINST THE WINDOWS OF RONICA'S BEDROOM. She lay still for a time, listening to it. The fire had burned low during the night. The chill in the room contrasted almost pleasantly with how warm she was beneath the blankets. She didn't want to get up, not just yet. Lying in a soft bed, between clean linens and under a warm quilt, she could pretend. She could go back to an earlier time, and fantasize that any day now the Vivacia would dock. She would meet Ephron as he came striding down the wharf. His dark eyes would widen at the sight of her. The strength of his first hug had always surprised her. Her captain would catch her up in his arms and hold her tight as if he would never let go of her again.
Never again.
Despair washed through her. By an effort of will, she let it pass. She had survived this grief; from time to time, it still ambushed her with its pain, but when it did, she reminded herself that she had survived it. Nevertheless, she found herself irretrievably awake. It was very early, the clouded dawn barely touching her windows.
What had wakened her?
She had fleeting memories of horseshoes clattering on the drive, and the sound of a door flung open. Had a messenger come? It was the only reason for such sounds so early in the morning. She rose, dressed hastily without disturbing Rache, slipped out into the dim hallways of the quiet house and padded softly down the stairs.
She found herself smiling grimly. Malta would be proud of her. She had learned that the edges of the stairs were less likely to creak, and how to stand perfectly motionless in the shadows while others passed unnoticing. Sometimes she would sit in the study and pretend to doze, to encourage the servants to gossip where she might overhear them. She had found a pleasant spot under the study window where she could feign absorption in her needlework, until the worsening autumn weather had put an end to that ruse.
She reached the ground floor and stole quietly through the hall until she was outside Davad's study. The door was shut but not quite latched. Stepping close, she put her ear to the crack. She could just discern a man's voice. Roed Caern? Certainly, he and the Companion had been keeping very close company of late. Scarcely a day went by when he was not closeted with her. Initially, Ronica had blamed that on his involvement in Davad's death. However, everyone else seemed to regard that as resolved now. What else had brought him to Serilla's door at such an hour and in such haste?
The Bingtown Council's consideration of Davad's death was concluded. Serilla had proclaimed that by the Satrap's authority, she found Davad's death due to misadventure and that no one was responsible. The Satrapy, she announced, had decided there was not enough evidence to prove Davad a traitor to Jamaillia. For this reason, his niece would inherit his estate, but Companion Serilla would continue to occupy Restart Hall. His niece would, of course, be suitably compensated for her continued hospitality, in a timely fashion, after all civil unrest had been resolved. Serilla had made a great performance of this pronouncement. She had summoned the heads of the Council to Davad's study, fed them well on delicacies and wine from Davad's cellar, and then read her conclusion aloud from a scroll. Ronica had been present, as had Davad's niece, a quiet, self-possessed young woman who had listened without comment. At the close of the proceedings, the niece had told the Council that she was satisfied. She had glanced at Roed as she spoke. Davad's niece had had little reason to be fond of her uncle, but Ronica still wondered if the woman's response had been purchased or coerced by Roed. The Council had then declared that if the heir was satisfied, they were content also.
No one except Ronica seemed to recall that it left the blemishes on her family's reputation intact. No one else had frowned at the idea that Davad's supposed treason had been to Jamaillia rather than to Bingtown. It left Ronica feeling oddly isolated, as if the rules of the world had shifted subtly and left her behind. Ronica had expected Serilla to turn her out of the house as soon as the Council agreed to her findings. Instead, the woman had emphatically encouraged Ronica to stay. She had been overly gracious and condescending as she said she was sure Ronica could help her in her efforts to reunite Bingtown. Ronica doubted her sincerity. The real reason for Serilla's continued hospitality was what Ronica hoped to discover. So far, that secret had eluded her.
She held her breath and strove to catch every word. The Companion was speaking now. 'Escaped? The message said escaped?'
Roed's reply was surly. 'It didn't need to. Only so many words will fit on a message scroll on a bird's leg. He is gone, Companion Kekki is gone and that girl with them. If we are lucky, they all drowned in the river. But remember the girl is Bingtown-raised, and the daughter of a seafaring family. Chances are she knew her way around a boat.' He paused. 'That they were last seen in a small boat cries to me of conspiracy. Does not it all seem a bit strange to you? The girl went into the buried city and got them out, in the midst of the worst earthquake that Trehaug has suffered in years. No one sees them leave, until they are later seen from the dragon in a small boat.'
'What does that mean, 'from the dragon'?' Serilla demanded, interrupting.
'I have no idea,' Roed declared impatiently. 'I've never been to Trehaug. I imagine it must be some tower or bridge. What does it matter? The Satrap is out of our control. Anything can happen.'
'I'd like to read that part of the message for myself.' The Companion's voice sounded very tentative. Ronica frowned. The messages came to Roed before they reached her?
'You can't. I destroyed it as soon as I'd read it. There is no sense in taking the chance that this information will reach others in Bingtown any sooner than it must. Be assured this will not be our secret for long. Many Traders keep close ties with their Rain Wild kin. Other birds will carry this news. That is why we must act swiftly and decisively, before others clamor to have a say in what we do.'
'I just don't understand. Why has it come to this?' The Companion sounded distraught. 'They promised to make him comfortable and safe there. When he left here, I had convinced him it was the wisest course for his own welfare. What would change his mind? Why would he flee? What does he want?'
Ronica heard Roed's snort of laughter. 'The Satrap may be a young man, but he is not a fool. The same mistake is often made of me. Not years, but the heritage of power is what suits a man to take command. The Satrap was born to power, Companion. I know you claim he does not pay attention to the undercurrents of politics, but he cannot be blind to your quest for influence. Perhaps he fears what you are doing right now: taking over for
