The Trader woman would have been useful to her right now. The tangled threads of accusations and suspicion were difficult to follow. So much was based on what Mingsley knew or suspected. Ronica had had a gift for sorting out such things.

And a gift for making her think. Ronica’s words kept coming back to her. She could be shaped by her past without being trapped by it. At one time, she had considered those words only in light of her rape. Now she leaned back in her chair and opened her mind to a wider interpretation. Satrap’s Companion. Must that determine her future? Or could she set it aside and become a woman of Bingtown, standing independent?

“I HATE TO RUSH YOU,” GRAG APOLOGIZED AS HE ENTERED REYN’S GUEST chamber with an armload of clothes. He kicked the door shut behind him. “However, the others are gathered and waiting. Some of them have been here since early morning. The longer they wait, the more impatient they grow. Here are dry clothes. Some of these should fit you. Your clothes fit me well enough when I was a Rain Wilder for the Ball.” He must have seen Reyn wince, for immediately he added, “I’m sorry. I never got to tell you that. Sorry about what happened with the coach, and sorry that Malta was injured.”

“Yes. Well. It makes small difference to her now, I suppose.” Reyn heard how harsh his words sounded. “I’m sorry. I can’t… I can’t talk about it.” He tried to interest himself in the clothes. He picked up a long-sleeved shirt. There were no gloves there; he’d have to use his wet ones. And the wet veil, too. It didn’t matter, nothing really mattered.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to talk about it.” There was genuine regret in Grag’s voice. “Your tie with Malta has brought this down on you. The rumor around town is either that she kidnapped the Satrap from where the Rain Wild Traders were holding him, or that she aided his escape. Roed Caern has been noising it about that she has probably turned him over to the Chalcedeans, because she is Chalcedean herself, and…”

“Shut up!” Reyn drew in a deep breath. “A moment, please,” he said thickly. Despite his veil, he turned his back on Grag. He bowed his head and clenched his hands, willing that the tears would not spill, that his throat would not close up and choke him.

“I’m sorry,” Grag apologized again.

Reyn sighed. “No. I should apologize. You don’t know, you can’t know everything I’ve been through. I’m surprised that you’ve heard anything at all. Listen. Malta is dead, the Satrap is dead.” A strange laugh bubbled up in him. “I should be dead. I feel I am dead. But… no. Listen. Malta went into the buried city for my sake. There was a dragon there. The dragon was… between lives. In a coffin or a cocoon type of thing… I don’t know what to call it. The dragon had been tormenting me, invading my dreams, twisting my thoughts. Malta knew. She wanted to make it stop.”

“A dragon?” Grag’s voice was questioning of both the word and Reyn’s sanity.

“I know it’s a wild tale!” Reyn’s denial of Grag’s interruption was fierce. “Don’t ask me questions and don’t look skeptical. Just listen.” Swiftly he recounted all that had happened that day. At the end of his tale, he lifted his veiled eyes to challenge Grag’s incredulous stare. “If you don’t believe me, ask the Kendry. The ship saw the dragon as well. It… changed him. He has been morose since then, constantly seeking his captain’s approval and closeness. We have been concerned for him.”

In a softer voice, Reyn went on, “I never saw Malta again. They’re dead, Grag. There was no plot to steal the Satrap from Trehaug. Only a girl, trying to survive an earthquake. She didn’t succeed. We searched the whole length of the river, twice. There was no sign of them. The river ate the boat and they perished in the water. It’s a horrible way to drown.”

“Sa’s breath.” Grag shuddered. “Reyn, you’re right, I didn’t know. In Bingtown, all we’ve heard are conflicting rumors. We heard that the Satrap was missing or dead in the quake. Then a rumor started that the Vestrits had stolen him to sell him to the Chalcedeans or let the New Traders kill him. Ronica Vestrit has been hiding here with us. Caern has put it about that she must be captured and held. At any other time, we would have urged Ronica to go to the Council and demand that they hear her. But lately, there have been some ugly reprisals against folk that Roed Caern has accused of being traitors. I don’t know why the Companion trusts him so. It’s dividing the Bingtown Council, for some say we must listen to her as the Satrap’s representative, while my father and I feel it is time Bingtown kept its own counsel.”