of apology in his voice. ‘At least, it could be that way. To the detriment of all of us. I don’t propose a splitting of our ways, Ronica. Obviously the family will prosper best if we work together, from a common home towards a common goal. But I cannot do that with my hands tied. You must see it is so. You’ve done very well, for a woman, all these years. But times are changing, and Ephron should not have left you to cope with everything on your own. As much as I respected the man… perhaps because I respected the man, I must learn from his mistakes. I’m not going to just sail off into the sunset and tell Keffria to mind things and manage until I return. I have to make provisions now to be able to stay home and run things. Nor am I going to let Wintrow come aboard the Vivacia and behave like some spoiled prince. You’ve seen what became of Althea; she’s wilful and thoughtless of others to the point of uselessness. No, worse, to the point of doing damage to the family name and reputation. I’ll tell you bluntly, I don’t know if you two can draw the lines with her that need to be drawn. Perhaps the simplest thing to do with her would be to marry her off, preferably to a man who does not live in Bingtown…’
Like a ship under full sail, Althea swept around the corner and into the room. ‘Would you care to mouth your insults to my face, Kyle?’
He was not at all surprised to see her. ‘I thought I saw your shadow. How long have you been eavesdropping, little sister?’
‘Long enough to know that you intend no good for my family or our ship.’ Althea tried not to be rattled by his calmness. ‘Who do you think you are, to speak to my mother and sister so, calmly telling them what you plan to do, how you intend to come back and “run” things?’
‘I think I’m the man of this family now,’ he proclaimed bluntly.
Althea smiled coldly. ‘You can be the man of this family all you like. But if you think you’re keeping my ship, you’re mistaken.’
Kyle sighed dramatically. ‘I thought it was only your so-called Rain Wild kin that believed that saying a thing often enough can make it so,’ he observed sarcastically. ‘Little sister, you are such a fool. Not only does the common law of Bingtown recognize your sister as sole heir, but it was put into writing and signed by your father himself. Will you oppose even him in this?’
His words disembowelled her. She felt that everything that had ever given her strength had been torn from her. She had almost managed to convince herself that yesterday had been an accident, that her father could never have consciously intended to take the ship from her. It had only been that he had been in great pain and dying. But to hear that it was in writing, and sealed by him… NO. Her eyes darted from Kyle to her mother and then back again. ‘I don’t care what my father was deceived into signing on his deathbed,’ she said in a low but furious voice. ‘I know that Vivacia is mine. Mine in a way you can never claim her, Kyle. And I tell you now, I will not be stopped until I have her under my command—’
‘Your command!’ Kyle gave a great bark of laughter. ‘You command a ship? You’re not even fit to serve aboard a ship. You have this great conceit about your abilities, this self-deception that you are some kind of a seaman. You’re not! Your father kept you aboard to keep you from getting into trouble on shore, as far as I can see. You’re not even a good sailor.’
Althea opened her mouth to speak, but a groan from Wintrow, sprawled on the floor, turned all eyes that way. Keffria started forward, but Kyle stopped her with a gesture. Their mother ignored both his look and his hand, however, to go to the boy. He sat up, obviously dizzy, holding both hands to the sides of his head. With an effort he focused his eyes on his grandmother. ‘Am I all right?’ he asked her dazedly.
‘I hope so,’ she responded gravely. She gave a small sigh. ‘Althea, would you fetch me a cold, wet cloth?’
‘The boy is fine,’ Kyle proclaimed grumpily, but Althea ignored him. She stormed off down the hall to fetch her mother a wet rag, wondering all the time why she did so. She suspected her mother of having deceived her father, of getting him to sign something he never intended. So why did she so meekly obey her now? She didn’t know, save that perhaps it was to give herself a moment away from Kyle before she killed him.
As she went down the hall to the pump room, she wondered what had become of her world. Never before had there been such doings in her home. People shouting at one another in her home was strange enough, but Kyle had knocked his own son cold on the floor. She still couldn’t believe it had happened. These things were too foreign to her, so shocking she had no idea how to deal with them or even what to feel. She doused a towel under the cold stream of water she pumped up, and wrung the cloth out well. A very nervous serving woman was lurking there in the water room.
‘Do you need my help?’ the woman all but whispered.
‘No. No, everything is under control. Captain Haven just had a bit of a temper-tantrum,’ Althea heard herself lie calmly. Under control, she thought to herself. It felt far from that to her. Instead she felt like she was a juggler’s club, flying through the air, not knowing what hand would next seize her and fling her into a rhythm. No hand, perhaps. Perhaps she would just go flying off, out of control, never again to be a part of her family’s pattern. She smiled bitterly at the ridiculous image, and put the wet cloth into an earthenware bowl before she bore it down the hall to the dining room. When she got there, Wintrow and her mother were seated at a corner of the low table. Wintrow looked pale and shaken, her mother very determined. She held both the boy’s hands in her own as she spoke to him earnestly.
Kyle, arms crossed on his chest, stood by the window. His back was to the room, but Althea could sense his indignation. Keffria stood next to him, looking up at him imploringly, but he appeared unaware of her existence.
‘… all in Sa’s hands.’ Her mother spoke earnestly to her nephew. ‘I believe that He has sent you back to us, and created this bond between you and the ship for a reason. It’s meant to be, Wintrow. Can you accept it, as you once accepted the way we sent you off with the priest?’
A bond between Wintrow and her ship. It could not be. Her heart turned to ice in her chest, but strangely her body kept moving and her eyes kept seeing. Wintrow’s whole attention was on his grandmother’s face. He simply looked at her. His Haven blood showed plain in him, in the set of his chin and the anger in his eyes. Then, as Althea set the bowl and cloth down next to him, she saw the boy take control of himself. In half a dozen breaths, his features relaxed, and for a fleeting instant she glimpsed not only a strong resemblance to her father but to her own image in the looking-glass. It shocked her into silence. When the lad spoke, his voice was mild and reasoned. ‘So I’ve heard people speak a thousand times. It’s Sa’s will, they say. Bad weather, late storms, stillborn children. Sa’s will.’ He reached for the damp cloth in the bowl, folded it carefully and pressed it against his jaw. The side of his face was already starting to purple, and he still looked shaky and unfocused. The edges of his words were soft; Althea guessed it was painful for him to speak. But he did not seem angry, or cowed, or frightened, only intent on reaching his grandmother with his words, as if by winning her to his side he could save his own life. Perhaps he could.
‘Weather and storms I am willing to say are his will. Stillborn children, perhaps. Though not when the husband had beaten his wife but the day before… ’ his voice trailed off into some unpleasant memory. Then his eyes came back to his grandmother’s face. ‘I think Sa gave us our lives, and his will is for us to live them well. He gives us obstacles, yes… I have heard folk rail against his cruelty and loudly ask “why, why?” But the next day the same folk will take their saws and go out and cut limbs from their fruit trees, and dig up young trees and move them far from where they sprouted. “They will grow better and yield more,” the orchard workers say. They do not stand by the tree and explain that it is for their own good.’
He
