His mother melted. “Hest, Hest, you were ever the tenderhearted one.” A smile of gentle resignation claimed her face.

His father leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms on his chest. Dour amusement dominated his features. With the wisdom of years of managing his wife, he held his silence.

Sealia Finbok clasped her ringed fingers together and tilted her head at him. “Well, even if I do not think she is worthy of this effort, I cannot deny the nobility of your intention. And I will defer my own judgment and put all my efforts to furthering yours. Now you wait here. I just need to change into something more appropriate for the day and have Bates tell the stableman to harness up and be ready. We are going to the market, my dear. And not just to find gifts suitable to wooing back your wayward bride. Oh, no. We are going to deck you in such fine feathers as she has never seen. Let her see you with fresh eyes; let her see that you have made an effort to gain her attention again. She will be unable to resist you! No, no, don’t roll your eyes and look at your father. In this you must trust me, darling. I am a woman, and I know what will sway her woman’s heart! And if it costs a pretty penny, then so be it. Your dear, loyal heart deserves no less than that.”

She brought her clasped hands up under her plump little chin, shook her head in merry denial of his supposed protests, and then swept from the study, already calling for her serving man Bates.

Trader Finbok heaved himself from his chair, crossed the room, and shut the door firmly behind her. “And a partial share of an unexplored Elderling city may well be worth the nuisance of putting up with a wayward woman. That I understand. But the matter of an heir, Hest, is one that we cannot ignore much longer. It pains me to bring it up yet again, but . . .”

“But until I have brought Alise back to Bingtown and into my bed again, there is absolutely no sense in our discussing it. I know of no man who could impregnate his wife at such a distance, regardless of his eagerness to do so. Not even your son is that well hung.”

Hest had gauged it exactly. Despite his father’s exasperation, the crude jest brought a smile to his face. Trader Finbok shook his head and let the matter drop. “You need to hear the rest of what I’ve learned about the Tarman. The ship is a liveship, and as I’ve told you, one of the first ones built, if not the first one. Never quickened is what everyone believed, as it was built as a barge, with no figurehead. But when the Tarman decided to depart Cassarick without giving the Councils an opportunity to challenge Leftrin’s interpretation of the contract, there was an attempt to restrain the ship by force. The crew of the Tarman fought back, throwing a number of people into the river with no regard for their safety. Then, as the ship moved off, and smaller boats followed in hopes of tracking them back to their find, there was a strange disturbance on the river. Rumor says it was as if the barge itself had legs, or a tail, and struck out at the craft following it, causing many of them to capsize. Others followed at a distance of course. But when night fell and all was dark, the Tarman quenched all lanterns and continued up the river, as if the ship itself were choosing the course. Most of those who followed quickly lost sight of the barge, and by morning it was well away of them. Some gave pursuit, including one of those new vessels, but so far there is no word of any of them sighting the Tarman again. So it seems likely to me that here we have Elderling magic at work. It’s more evidence they’ve found something.”

“And whatever it is, one-fifteenth of it belongs to me.”

“To your family, Hest. Through your wife. She is key to all this. So go book your passage. Make it part of your shopping trip with your mother. And do your best not to beggar the family this afternoon. Until you bring Alise back, the prospect of owning a share of Kelsingra is only a dream.”

“I’ll give priority to booking passage to Trehaug for Redding and me.”

He was halfway to the door when his father spoke quietly but severely. “Book passage for yourself, son. Not for Redding. When a man goes after his runaway wife, he goes alone. He doesn’t take a secretary. Or assistant. Or however you are referring to Redding these days.”

Hest didn’t pause. There were times when he suspected that his father knew much more than he let on. This was such a moment, but if his father only suspected, he would not give himself away. “As you suggest,” he replied in an offhand tone.

He left his father’s study and shut the door firmly behind him. Then he paused to straighten the lace of his cuffs, thinking of a certain wine-red fabric that he had seen at the tailor’s only a day ago, and wondered if he could persuade his mother that a jacket of that fine stuff might win him Alise’s heart. Then the lace of the cuff snagged on his bandage, and a too-familiar welling of anger and fear engulfed him. For an instant, he literally choked on the sensation.