Keffria. “I will speak to him most seriously. I shall tell him that his courtship cannot commence until your Malta has presented herself as a woman.” She paused, mentally calculating. “If that is this spring, then the wedding can be in summer.”
“Wedding? She will barely be fourteen!” Keffria cried out incredulously.
“She would be young,” Caolwn agreed. “And adaptable. For a Bingtown woman marrying into a Rain Wild family, that is advantageous.” She smiled and the fleshy protruberances on her face wobbled hideously at Keffria. “I was fifteen.”
Keffria drew a deep breath; she was not sure if she would shriek at them, or simply order them from the house. Her mother's hand fell on her arm and squeezed it. She managed to close her mouth.
“It is far too early for us to speak of a marriage,” Ronica said bluntly. “I have told you that Malta is fond of childish pranks. I fear this may be one of them, that she has not considered your son's courtship with the seriousness it deserves.” Ronica looked slowly from Caolwn to Jani. “There is no need for haste.”
“You speak as a Bingtown Trader,” Jani replied. “You live long lives and bear many children. We do not have the luxury of time. My son is almost twenty. Finally, he has discovered a woman he desires, and you tell us he must wait? Over a year?” She leaned back in her chair. “It will not do,” she said quietly.
“I will not force my child,” Keffria asserted.
Jani smiled knowingly. “My son does not believe it is a question of forcing anyone. And I believe my son.” She looked from one to the other. “Come, we are all women here. If she were as childish as you say, the dream-box would have revealed that to him.” When no one spoke, she went on in a dangerously soft voice, “The offer is handsome. You cannot be hoping for more, from anyone.”
“The offer is more than handsome, it is staggering,” Ronica replied swiftly. “But we are all women here. As such, we know that a woman's heart cannot be bought. All we ask is that you wait until Malta is a bit older, to be sure she knows her own mind.”
“Surely, if she has opened the dream-box and dreamed a shared dream, we can say she knows her own mind. Especially, it would seem, if she has had to defy both her mother and grandmother to do so.” Jani Khuprus' voice was losing its velvet courtesy.
“The act of a willful child should not be seen as the decision of a woman. I tell you, you must wait.” Ronica's voice was firm.
Jani Khuprus stood. “Blood or gold, the debt is owed,” she invoked. “The payment is due soon, Ronica Vestrit. And you have already been short with it once. By our contract, we can determine the coin of its payment.”
Ronica stood, to match herself against Jani. “There, in the cask by the door. There is your gold. I give it to you freely, the just payment on a debt owed.” She shook her head, wide and slow. “I will not, I will never, give you child or grandchild of mine, save that she goes by her own will. That is all I am saying to you, Jani Khuprus. And it shames us both that such a thing must be spoken aloud.”
“Do you say you will not honor your contract?” Jani demanded.
“Please!” Caolwn's voice was suddenly shrill. “Please,” she went on in a softer tone when all turned to her. “Let us recall who we are. And let us recall that we do have time. It is neither as short as some would believe it, nor as generous as others could wish, but we do have time. And we do have the hearts of two young people to consider.” Her slitted violet eyes flitted from one countenance to another, seeking cooperation. “I propose,” she said quietly, “a compromise. One that may spare all of us much grief. Jani Khuprus must accept your gold. This time. For she is as surely bound by what I and Ronica agreed, here in this same kitchen, as Ronica is ultimately bound by the contract itself. On that we all agree, do we not?”
Keffria held her breath, did not move, but no one seemed to be looking at her. Jani Khuprus was the first to nod, stiffly. The nod that eventually came from Ronica was more like a bowing of the head in defeat.
Caolwn gave a sigh of relief. “This would be my compromise. I speak, Ronica, as a woman who has known Jani's Reyn for all his life. He is a most honorable and trustworthy young man. You need not fear he will take advantage of Malta, regardless of whether she be girl or woman. And that is why I believe you could let him begin his courtship now. Chaperoned, of course. And with the stipulation that there will be no more gifts such as could turn a girl's head more with greed than love. Simply allow Reyn to regularly present himself to her. If she is truly a child, he will see this promptly, and be more abashed than any of us can imagine to have made such a mistake. But if she is truly a woman, give him a chance, the first chance of any, to win her heart for himself. Is this too much to ask? That he be allowed to be her first suitor?”
It went far to repair many things between them that Ronica looked to Keffria for a decision. Keffria licked her lips. “I think I can allow this. If they are well chaperoned. If there are no expensive gifts to turn her head.” She sighed. “In truth, Malta has opened this door. Perhaps this should be her first lesson as a woman. That no man's affection is to be taken lightly.”
The circle of women nodded agreement.
Chapter Thirty-One
Ships And Serpents
It was a crude tattoo, done hastily and only in blue ink. But for all that, it was her image marked on the boy's face. She stared at him aghast. “This falls upon me,” she had said. “But for me, none of this would have befallen you.”
“That is true,” he agreed with her wearily. “But that does not mean it is your fault.”
He turned away from her to sit down heavily on the deck. Did he even guess how his words wounded her? She tried to share his feelings, but the boy who had vibrated with pain the night before was now a great stillness. He put his head back and drew a great breath of the clean wind sweeping her decks. He sighed it out.
The man at the wheel tried to force her back out into the main channel. With almost idle malice, she leaned against it, weltering as he forced her over. That for Kyle Haven, who thought he could bend her to his will.
“I don't know what to say to you,” Wintrow confessed quietly. “When I think of you, I feel shamed, as if I betrayed you by running away. Yet when I think of myself, I am disappointed, for I nearly managed to regain my life. I don't wish to abandon you, but I don't wish to be trapped here either.” He shook his head, then leaned back against the railing. He was ragged and dirty, and Torg had not taken the chains from his wrists and ankles when he left him there. Wintrow now spoke over his shoulder as he looked up at her sails. “Sometimes I feel I am two people, reaching after two different lives. Or rather, joined to you, I am a different person from who I am when we are apart. When we are together, I lose… something. I don't know what to call it. My ability to be only myself.”
A prickling of dread ran over Vivacia. His words were too close to what she had planned to say to him. She had left Jamaillia City the morning before this, but only now had Torg brought Wintrow to her. For the first time she had seen what they had done to him. Most jolting was her crude image in colored ink on the boy's cheek. Nothing marked him as a sailor now, let alone the captain's son. He looked like any slave. Yet despite all that had befallen him, he was outwardly calm.
Answering her thought, he observed, “I don't have anything left for feelings anymore. Through you, I am all the slaves at once. When I allow myself to feel that, I think I shall go mad. So I hold back from it and try to feel nothing at all.”
“These emotions are too strong,” Vivacia agreed in a low voice. “Their suffering is too great. It overwhelms me, until I cannot separate myself.” She paused, then went on haltingly, “It was worse when they were aboard and you were not. Just your being gone made me feel as if I were adrift. I think you are the anchor that keeps me who I am. I think that is why a liveship needs one of her own family aboard her.”
Wintrow made no reply, but she hoped from his stillness he was listening. “I take from you,” she admitted. “I take and I give you nothing.”
He stirred slightly. His voice was oddly flat as he observed, “You've given me strength, and more than once.”
“But only that I might keep you by me,” she said carefully. “I strengthen you so I may keep you. So I can remain certain of who I am.” She gathered her courage. “Wintrow. What was I, before I was a liveship?”
