“Where is the Satrap?” he demanded angrily. He pulled his cloak more tightly around him, and dashed water from his face. The rain was cold.

Jola looked frightened. “Behind you, sir.”

Kennit glanced back at him. Malta, her headwrap again in place, stood beside the Satrap. Wintrow hovered near his sister. When had they all come up on the foredeck? How long had he stood there, dazed with Etta’s news?

“Of course he is!” He kept his anger, but refocused it. “Exactly where he should be. Return their hail. Tell them King Kennit bids them think well. Remind them, that I can recall the serpents at any time. Then tell them that my intent is not to destroy them, but simply to make them heed a lawful treaty. They may send one ship forward with representatives. We will allow them aboard. They shall hear from the Satrap himself that my claims are true.”

Jola looked relieved. “Then the serpents haven’t left us? They’d come back if you called them?”

If there had been a serpent close by, Kennit would have fed him to it.

“Relay my message!” he barked at Jola. He turned back to stare at the threatening fleet. He recognized the type of fleet it was. Each ship belonged to a noble, and each cherished the hope of returning laden with booty and crowned with glory. They would vie to be the one to treat for the Satrap’s release; every noble would want to negotiate it. Would they be foolish enough to send him a hostage from every ship? He hoped so, and yet he knew that there might still be bloody fighting today.

WHEN MALTA FLED, JEK AND ALTHEA HAD CARRIED REYN DOWN TO ALTHEA’S room. On her bunk, he had come to himself. “Where’s Malta?” he demanded woozily. “Didn’t I find her?” Blood leaked sluggishly from one nostril and water dripped from his hair.

“You did,” Althea assured him. “But Captain Kennit has summoned her.” Reyn suddenly clapped both hands to his bared face. “Did she see me?” he demanded, horrified. A question like that, at such a time, demanded a truthful answer.

“Yes. She did,” Althea replied quietly. There was no point in lying, or trying to save his feelings. His copper eyes were hard to read but the set of his mouth was not. “She’s very young, Reyn,” Althea excused her niece. “You knew that when you began courting her.” She tried to make her words gentle as well as firm. “You can’t expect-“

“Leave me for a time. Please,” he requested quietly.

Jek left off staring at him, and opened the door. Althea followed her out. “Those are Wintrow’s clothes on the pegs,” she said over her shoulder. “If you want some dry things on.” Not that there was much hope any of it would fit him. Despite his scaly face and eyes, he was a well-made man, tall and muscled.

Jek seemed to have been following her thoughts. “Even with the scales, he’s not bad-looking,” she observed quietly.

Althea leaned against the wall outside her room, Jek beside her. “I should be out on the foredeck, not down here,” she grumbled to her friend.

“Why? It’s not like you have any control over what happens up there,” Jek pointed out maddeningly. She lowered her voice suddenly. “Admit it, Althea,” she coaxed. “When you look at the scales on his face, you have to wonder about the rest of him.”

“No, I don’t,” Althea replied icily. She didn’t want to think about it. The man was a Rain Wilder, kin to Bingtown Traders; she owed him loyalty, not idle speculation about his body. She’d seen Rain Wilders before and, she told herself, she wasn’t shocked. They could not help what the Rain Wilds did to them. The Khuprus family was renowned for both their wealth and honor. Reyn Khuprus, scaled or not, was a good catch; that he had come seeking his betrothed so far, in such a way, was undeniable evidence of a brave heart. Still, she did not blame Malta for running away. She had probably fantasized a handsome face beneath his veil. To confront her scaly betrothed must have shaken her.

REYN PULLED HIS WET SHIRT OFF. IT SLAPPED TO THE FLOOR ATOP HIS OTHER clothes. He took a deep breath through his tight throat and stared into the room’s small mirror forcing himself to see what Malta had seen. Tintaglia had not lied to him. His contact with her had accelerated the Rain Wild changes. He touched the fine dragon scaling of his face, lidded and opened the copper reptile eyes that stared at him. The scaled planes of his bared chest glinted bronze. There was a bluish cast to the skin beneath: bruising or a color change? He had seen Rain Wild gaffers of fifty who had not shown as much change as he already did. What would become of him as he aged? Would he grow dragon claws, would his teeth become pointed, his tongue ridged?