“Thank you,” Malta said absently as she helped herself to it.
Maybe Cerwin would be jealous.
“Are you going to let me live?” Kyle Haven asked softly as dawn began to tinge the sky. He tried to speak flatly, but harshness tinged with fear seeped into his words. Wintrow could hear weariness as well. The long night was nearly over, but it had taken both of them on the wheel and all Calt could see and all Vivacia could call back to them to get them through the channel. He had to admire his father for his tenacity. He had lasted it out. He still stood canted, sheltering the ribs on his left side, but he had helped bring the ship through. And now he asked for his life from his son. It had to be bitter.
“I will do all I can to see you live through this. This I promise you.” He glanced from his father to Sa'Adar, who still leaned on the stern. Wintrow wondered how much he himself would have to say in any decision to come. “You don't believe me. But your death would grieve me. All the deaths on this ship have grieved me.”
Kyle Haven stared straight ahead. “Another point to port,” was all he said.
Around them the water suddenly spread and calmed. Crooked Island was falling behind them and Hawser Channel opened up.
His son corrected their course. Overhead, men shouted to one another in the rigging, arguing as to what they should do and how. His father was right. There was no way they could sail the ship with only two experienced and able hands. He gripped the wheel. There had to be some way. “Help me, ship,” he breathed softly. “Help me know what to do.” He felt her weary response. It was not one of confidence, only one of trust.
“There's another ship behind us,” Sa'Adar observed aloud. “It's getting closer fast.” He peered at it through the insistent gray rain.
“It's the Raven flag!” The joy in his voice was clear. “Sa has truly provided!” The man tore off his rag of a shirt and began waving it at the other ship.
“There's a boy at her helm!” Sorcor shouted down at him. The storm had died down, even the rain was ceasing, but still he pitched his voice to carry through it. “And a mess on her decks. I think they've had a mutiny.”
“All the better… for us.” Kennit shouted back. It took so much effort. He was so tired. He drew a long breath. “Make ready a boarding party. We'll take her as soon as she reaches the main channel.”
“The kid seems to have a nice touch on the wheel, even with the sails set all wrong. Wait!” Disbelief was strong in Sorcor's voice. “Captain, they're hailing to us. It looks like the man is waving us alongside.”
“Then let us oblige him. Boarders ready! No. Wait.” He took a breath and tried to stand up straight. “I'll lead them myself. Gankis! Come take the wheel. Etta, where is my crutch?”
It was true. The ship was his for the taking, his luck had held. He had believed in it, he had persevered, and there it was, his beautiful liveship. As they gained her side, he thought he had never seen anything lovelier. From the castle of the Marietta, he could look down on her. There were bodies heaped upon a pile of fallen canvas, and her sails were hiked up like a bawd's skirts, but her silvery hull glistened and the clean lines of her were like music.
He swayed and Etta clutched at him. Gankis had the wheel now. The old sailor gave him an odd look, half of pity and half of fear.
“I don't know where your crutch is. Here. Let me get you to the railing.” She grunted with effort as she tugged him along. He came with her in lurching hops until he could lean on it with both hands. “My love,” she said very quietly. “I think you should go below and rest for a time. Let Sorcor secure the liveship for you.”
“No,” he said savagely. It was so damn hard to remain on his leg, and she had to waste his strength with stupid arguing. “No. She's mine and I'll be among the first on her decks. She's come to me by my luck.”
“Please,” Etta said, her voice breaking on the word. “My darling. My love. If you could see yourself just now…”
“Sar,” Sorcor had joined them and he swore the word out on an exhalation. “Oh, Kennit, oh, sir…”
“I'll be leading the boarding party,” he told Sorcor. His mate wouldn't argue with him. He'd make the damn woman stop arguing with him, too.
“Yes, sir,” Sorcor confirmed very quietly.
“You can't mean it!” Etta cried out to Sorcor. “Look at him. He's exhausted, I never should have let him stay on the deck, if I had known what it would cost”
“Let him go.” Sorcor spoke quietly. He had brought Kennit's crutch, but he set it carefully down on the deck. “I'll rig a bosun's chair for you, sir. And I'll see you safely to the deck of your liveship.”
“But…” Etta began, but Sorcor cut her off. “I promised him,” he said harshly. “Look at him, woman. Let me keep my promise to my captain.” In a lower voice he added, “I think there's little else we can do now.”
“But…” she said again. She looked at him and when he met her eyes, something in them seemed to go very still. She did not seem to breathe, only looked at him. Then she looked at Sorcor past him. “I'm going with him, then,” she announced quietly.
“We both are,” he confirmed it.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Restorations
The mate roused Althea from a deep sleep with a cautious tug at her sleeve. “Hey,” Grag Tenira said in an undertone. “Captain wants to see you now. He's on anchor watch, so meet him on deck. Roll out now.” Grag turned and left without waiting to see if she would obey.
A scant second later, Althea's bare feet hit the deck. Around her, the forecastle was dark and quiet. The rest of the crew had liberty tonight. Without exception, they'd gone ashore to carouse. Althea, more eager for solitude than beer, had pleaded lack of coin and stayed aboard to idle and sleep.
The Ophelia was in port at a small island city called Rinstin. It was one of the few completely legitimate settlements in the islands of the Inside Passage. Originally founded near a tin deposit and possessing a good supply of fresh water, the town of prosperous tin miners was beginning to be a trade center as well. The inhabitants could afford a few of the Rain Wild goods that Tenira had to offer. He'd turn a nice profit selling off the casks of salt meat he'd taken on in Jamaillia as well, and depart with tinwares to sell in Bingtown. The man was a savvy trader. In her brief time with him, Althea had already grown to admire him.
As she emerged onto the deck and looked about for Captain Tenira, the oddness of the situation suddenly struck her. The captain was on wheel watch in port? And he'd sent the mate to fetch her? A terrible suspicion welled up in her. Ophelia had given away her secret. When Althea spotted the captain smoking his pipe up by the figurehead, her suspicion became certainty. The young sailor perched on the railing nearby would be Grag, waiting to witness her exposure. Her heart sank into her belly.
Althea paused a moment in the shadows, to smooth her hair back into its queue and rub the sleep from her face. She straightened her worn clothing as best she could. As bad as it had been to be thrown off the Reaper, this was going to be worse. These men knew her family, and would take this tale home with them. So. Head up. No tears, no anger, she promised herself. Dignity and pride. She wished her stomach would settle. She wished she'd had more warning.
As she walked forward, Ophelia's rich voice carried on the night air, almost as if she intended Althea to hear her words. “And you, Tomie Tenira, are turning into a cranky old curmudgeon, with no sense of adventure left to you.”
“Ophelia,” her captain warned her.
“No sense of humor either,” Ophelia confided to Grag. The deck lantern left the mate's face in shadow, and he made no verbal response to her. Althea felt her mouth twist in an ironic smile. She wondered what Grag Tenira thought of his former dance partner now.
She smoothed the smile from her face. She kept her features dispassionate as she greeted Tenira with, “Reporting, sir.”
“Indeed,” Captain Tenira said heavily. He took his short pipe from his mouth. “You know what this is about,
