He laughed suddenly, the sound as painful as a sob. “I know. I know. It’s just-” His words abandoned him. How could he explain to a boy the rush of feelings that accompanied the restoration of his world?

Amber filled in other thoughts for him. “Kennit would not bother taking her up only to kill her. He has to intend to ransom her. That’s the only logical answer. We may not have enough to ransom the Vivacia back, nor the power and skill to take her by force, but we have enough to make a respectable offer for Althea and Jek.”

“We’ll have to go to Divvytown.” Brashen’s mind was racing. “Kennit believes he sank Paragon. If we reappear…” He shook his head. “There’s no telling what kind of reception we’d get.”

“He’s ne’r seen Amber ‘n me. We could take the ship’s boat up the slough on a high tide, an’ make the offer an’-“

Brashen shook his head as he smiled down on Clef’s valiant offer. “That’s a brave thought, but it wouldn’t work, lad. There would be nothing to stop them taking the ransom and keeping you both as well. No. I fear there will have to be a fight.”

“You cannot win her back by fighting,” Paragon suddenly broke in. “Nor will you buy her back with ransom. He cared nothing for your gold when you last encountered him. No. He will not sell her.” The figurehead twisted his scarred visage toward them.

“How do you know?” Brashen demanded.

Paragon looked away from them and his voice went deeper. “Because I know what I would do. I would fear that she knew my secrets. Such knowledge is too dangerous for Kennit to let her go alive. He will kill her before he allows her to be taken from him. Yet, I do not understand why he took her up at all. It would have been far safer for him to let her drown. So there is a piece of the puzzle I do not hold.”

Brashen held his breath. The ship had never before been so open with him. It was almost as if a stranger spoke with Paragon’s voice.

Paragon mused on. “If he keeps her, he will keep her for himself alone, a treasure beyond gold’s power to ransom. And there is only one place where Kennit keeps such treasures. Eventually, he will cache her there. Only one place is safe enough to hide that which is too precious even to kill.”

“Could you take us there? Could we lie in wait for him?” Brashen asked.

The ship turned away from them. He hunched his head down on his chest. The muscles stood out suddenly on his back, as if he waged some terrible battle with himself.

“Ser?” Clef began, but Brashen motioned the boy to silence. They all waited.

“We sail on the next tide,” Paragon announced suddenly in his man’s voice. “I will do it. What gold cannot buy, blood may. I will take you to the key to Kennit’s heart.”

Liveship Traders 3 - Ship of Destiny

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX - Courtship

“I WANT TO BE LET OUT OF HERE.”

Kennit shut the door behind him and set down the tray. With elaborate calm, he turned back to Althea. “Is there something you need that you don’t have here?” he asked with studied politeness.

“Fresh air and free movement,” she replied immediately. She was sitting on the edge of her bunk. As she stood, she had to catch her balance against the gentle roll of the ship. She kept one hand on the bulkhead to steady herself.

He knit his brow. “You feel ill treated? Is that it?”

“Not exactly. I feel I am a prisoner, and-“

“Oh, never that. You are my most honored guest. That you would think otherwise wounds me. Come. Be honest with me. Is there something about me that offends you? Is my appearance frightening? If so, I assure you it is without my intent.”

“No, no.” He watched her struggle to formulate an answer. “You are a gentleman, and not at all frightening. You have shown me only courtesy and graciousness. But the door was locked when I tried it and-“

“Come. Sit down and eat something, and let us discuss it.” He smiled at her and managed to keep his eyes from roving over her. She was dressed in Wintrow’s clothing, and with her hair tied back, the resemblance between the two was even more marked. She had his dark eyes and his cheekbones, but her face had never been marred with a tattoo. She had probably put on Wintrow’s clothes believing them less provocative than his nightshirt. Exactly the opposite was true. The rise of her breasts inside Wintrow’s shirt stirred Kennit’s blood to pounding. Her cheeks were tinged pink with her earnestness, yet an unnatural glitter in her eyes showed that she had not completely cast off the soporific he had been giving her. He uncovered her food and set it out for her, just as the ship’s boy Kennit had once waited on the pirate Igrot. Strange parallels abounded, he thought to himself. He pushed down the thought and forced himself to keep his voice conversational.