“Good.” Ronica let the satisfaction ring in her voice. “The Bingtown Council meets tonight. I plan to present what information I have, and urge that we begin to unite with the rest of the city once more. I do not know what success I shall have, if any. It is so discouraging that so few have done anything for themselves. But I will try.”

Silence held for a few moments. Ronica sipped at her tea.

“So. If they will not listen to you, will you give up, then?” Rache asked her.

“I cannot,” Ronica replied simply. Then she gave a short, bitter laugh. “For if I give up, I have nothing else to do. Rache, this is the only way I can help my family. If I can be the gadfly that stings Bingtown into action, then it might be safe for Keffria and the children to return. At the very least, it might be possible for me to get word to them, or to hear from them. As things stand, with the sporadic fighting in the city and my neighbors distrusting one another, not to mention considering me a traitor, my family cannot return. And if by some miracle Althea and Brashen do manage to bring Vivacia home, then there must be a home for them to return to. I feel like a juggler, Rache, with all the clubs raining down upon me. I must catch as many as I can and try to set them spinning again. If I cannot, I am nothing more than an old woman living hand to mouth until my days end. It is my only hope to regain my life.” She set her teacup down. It clinked gently against the saucer. “Look at me,” she went on quietly. “I have not even a teacup to call my own. My family… dead, or so far away that I know nothing of them. Everything I took for granted has been snatched from me; nothing in my life is as I expected it to be. People are not meant to live like this….”

Ronica’s words trailed off as Rache’s eyes met hers. She suddenly recalled to whom she was speaking. The next words fell from her tongue without thought. “Your husband was sold ahead of you and sent on to Chalced. Have you ever thought of seeking him out?”

Rache cupped both hands around her tea as she looked down into it. The lashes of her eyes grew wet, but no tears fell. For a long moment, Ronica regarded the straight pale parting in her dark hair.

“I’m sorry-” she began.

“No.” Rache’s voice was soft but firm. “No. I shall never seek him out. For I like to imagine that he has found a kind master who treats him well for the sake of his pen skills. I can hope that he believes that his son and I are alive and well somewhere. But if I went to Chalced, with this mark upon my face, I would quickly be seized as a runaway slave. I would become chattel again.

Even if I didn’t, even if I found him alive, then I should have to tell him how our son died. How our son died and yet I still lived. How could I explain that to him? No matter how I imagine it, it never comes out well. Follow it to the end, Ronica. It always ends in bitterness. No. As bitter as it is now, it is still the best ending I can hope for.”

“I’m sorry,” Ronica repeated lamely. If she had still had money, if she had had a ship, she could have sent someone to Chalced, to seek for Rache’s husband, to buy him and bring him back. Then… and then they could both live with the knowledge of their dead son. But there could be other children. Ronica knew that. She and Ephron had lost all their sons in the Blood Plague, but Althea had been born to them afterwards. She said nothing to Rache, but she made a small promise to herself and Sa. If her fortune turned, she would do what she could to change Rache’s fortunes as well. It was the least she could do for the woman after she had stood by her side for so long.

First, she would have to change her own fortune. It was time she stopped letting other folk do her dangerous work.

“I make no progress with Serilla,” she told Rache abruptly. “It is time to take what I know and build upon it, regardless of what the Council decides tonight. If they decide anything at all. Tomorrow, very early, I will go with you to the fishermen’s beach. We will have to catch them before they go out for the morning’s fishing. I will talk to Sparse Kelter myself, and ask him to speak to the other Three Ships families. I will tell them it is time, not only to make peace with Bingtown, but for Bingtown to declare that we rule ourselves. But it will take all of us, not just Old Traders. Three Ships immigrants, even those New Traders who can be persuaded to live by our old ways. No slavery. All must be a part of this new Bingtown we shall build.” Ronica paused, thinking. “I wish I knew of even one New Trader who was trustworthy,” she muttered to herself.

“All,” Rache said quietly.

“All the New Traders?” Ronica asked in confusion.