The Liveship Traders Series

by Robin Hobb

  Amber said nothing. She was setting out bits of metal and wooden spacers. She measured off several lengths of gleaming silken thread, and then began to knot them together into a woven rope. ‘You don’t love him,’ Amber suggested.

  ‘I could. I don’t allow myself to love him. It’s like wanting something you can’t possibly afford to buy. There is no reason not to love him, save that there is so much…attached to him. His family. His inheritance. His ship, his position in the community.’ Althea sighed again. ‘The man himself is wonderful. But I can’t bring myself to give up everything I’d have to surrender to love him.’

  ‘Ah,’ Amber said. She fitted a bead to the woven strand and knotted it in place.

  Althea traced an old carving on the chair’s arm. ‘He has expectations and they don’t include me captaining my own liveship. He’d want me to settle down and manage things for him. I’d make a home for him to come back to, and raise our children and keep our household in order.’ Her brows knit over her dark eyes. ‘I’d do everything that needed to be done so that he could sail off without any worries save the ship.’ Bitterness came into her voice. ‘I’d do all the things that made it possible for him to live the life he wanted.’ She spoke the next words sadly. ‘If I decide to love Grag, to marry him, it would cost me everything else I’ve ever wanted to do with my life. I’d have to lay it all down for the sake of loving him.’

  ‘And that’s not what you want to do with your life?’ Amber asked.

  A sour smile twisted Althea’s mouth. ‘No. I don’t want to be the wind in his sails. That’s what I want someone else to do for me.’ She sat up straight suddenly. ‘That is…that didn’t come out right. I’m not explaining this very well.’

  Amber looked up from her work to grin at her. ‘On the contrary, I think you are uncomfortable only because you have stated it so plainly. You want a mate who will follow your dream. You don’t want to give up your own ambitions to make someone else’s life possible.’

  ‘I suppose that’s true,’ Althea admitted reluctantly. An instant later she demanded, ‘Why is that so wrong?’

  ‘It isn’t,’ Amber assured her. A moment later she added wickedly, ‘As long as you’re male.’

  Althea leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms stubbornly. ‘I can’t help it. That’s what I want.’ When Amber said nothing, Althea asked, almost angrily, ‘Don’t try to tell me that that is what love is, giving it all up for someone else!’

  ‘But for some people, it is,’ Amber pointed out inexorably. She bound another bead into the necklace, then held it up to look at it critically. ‘Others are like two horses in harness, pulling together towards a goal.’

  ‘I suppose that wouldn’t be so bad,’ Althea conceded. Her knitted brows said she did not entirely believe it. ‘Why can’t people love one another and still remain free?’ she demanded suddenly.

  Amber paused to rub her eyes, then tug thoughtfully at her earring. ‘One can love that way,’ she conceded regretfully. ‘But the price on that kind of love may be the highest of all.’ She strung her words together as carefully as she strung her beads. ‘To love another person like that, you have to admit that his life is as important as yours. Harder still, you have to admit to yourself that perhaps he has needs you cannot fill, and that you have tasks that will take you far away from him. It costs loneliness and longing and doubt and –’

  ‘Why must love cost anything? Why does need have to be mixed up with love? Why can’t people be like butterflies, coming together in bright sunshine and parting while the day is still bright?’

  ‘Because they are people, not butterflies. To pretend that people can come together, love, and then part with no pain or consequences is more false a role than pretending to be a proper Trader’s daughter.’ She set her beads down and met Althea’s gaze. She spoke bluntly. ‘Don’t, please, convince yourself that you can bed Grag Tenira and walk away from it without diminishing both of you. A moment ago you spoke of love without need. To sate your need without love is theft. If you must have that, hire it done. But don’t steal that from Grag under the pretence that it is free. I know Grag Tenira now. He cannot give you that, not that way.’

  Althea crossed her arms on her chest. ‘I wasn’t thinking of doing that.’

  ‘Yes, you were,’ Amber asserted, her eyes back on her beads. ‘We all think about doing that. That doesn’t make it right.’ She turned her work and began a new pattern of knots. In the silence she added, ‘When you bed someone, there is always a commitment. Sometimes that commitment is only that you will both pretend it doesn’t matter.’ Her strangely-coloured eyes held Althea’s for a moment. ‘Sometimes that commitment is made only to yourself. The other party never knows it or agrees to it.’

  Brashen. Althea shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Why did he always come to mind at such inopportune moments? Whenever she thought she had weeded him from her memory, the leaves of that interlude unfurled again. It made her angry all over again, but she was no longer sure it was Brashen she was angry with. She pushed such thoughts away. It was over and done with, a part of her life she was finished with. She could put it behind her. She could cover it up with other things.

  ‘Love isn’t just about feeling sure of the other person, knowing what he would give up for you. It’s knowing with certainty what you are willing to surrender for his sake. Make no mistake; each partner gives up something. Individual dreams are surrendered for a shared one. In some marriages, one partner gives up almost everything she once thought she wanted. But it’s not always the woman who does so. Such sacrifice is not shameful. It’s love. If you think the man is worth it, it works.’

  She sat still for a time, pondering. Then Althea leaned forward suddenly, to ask Amber, ‘Do you think that if I married Grag, I’d change my mind?’

  ‘Well. Someone would certainly have to,’ Amber replied philosophically.

  Brashen ventured a peek down the hallway again. Where was the girl? Was she going to leave him standing here until the runner returned with her mother? Waiting was always hard for him. He grinned to himself, the prospect of seeing Althea lightening his heart despite the gravity of the tidings he bore. He wished he had just the tiniest end of a cindin stick to sustain him, but he had resolutely left them behind on the Springeve. He knew Althea disapproved of his small vice. He didn’t want her to think he was the sort of man who had to carry it with him always. She already considered it enough of a fault. Well, he already knew all Althea’s faults. Proximity had forced him to tolerate them for years. They didn’t matter. He had come to care for her, and it was more than a single night of bedding together. That night had only made him admit what he already felt. For years, he’d seen her nearly every day. They’d shared a drink or a meal in many ports, gamed together, mended sail together. She didn’t treat him like the disgraced son of a Bingtown Trader. She treated him like a valuable ship’s officer, respected him for his knowledge and his ability to command men. She was a woman, but he could talk to her, beyond complimenting her gown or comparing her eyes to stars. How rare was that?

  He wandered back to a window, looked out down the drive. A light footfall behind him turned him around. It was the girl again. A bit spoiled, if Althea’s tales of her were true. Her eyes met his, and she smiled gravely. Her demeanour had changed yet again. ‘I’ve sent off a runner, as you suggested. If you’d like to follow me, I can offer you a cup of coffee and some morning cake.’ Her genteelly modulated voice was that of a well-bred young lady welcoming him to her home.

  It recalled him to his own manners. ‘Thank you. That would be most welcome.’

  She gestured to the hallway, and surprised him by taking his arm. She scarcely came to the top of his shoulder. He noticed her scent now, some floral oil, violets perhaps. It wafted up from her hair. She glanced up at him once through her eyelashes as he accompanied her down the hall. The look made him reevaluate his first impression of her. Sa’s breath, how fast children grew up. Hadn’t she been a playmate of
little Delo? The last time he had seen his little sister, she had been in disgrace for muddying her pinafore. He hadn’t even set eyes on her in years. A peculiar sense of loss assailed him. He had lost more than just home and fortune when his father had disowned him.

  She led him into the morning room. Coffee service and a plate of morning bread had already been set out on a small table flanked by two comfortable chairs. The opened window presented a garden vista. ‘I hope you’ll be comfortable waiting here. I made the coffee myself. I hope it isn’t too strong.’

  ‘I’m sure it will be fine,’ he said lamely. He felt doubly shamed. That had been what had delayed her, and yes, the Vestrit family had fallen on hard times when a daughter of the house made coffee and sliced bread for visitors. ‘You know my sister, don’t you?’ he burst out suddenly. ‘Delo?’

  ‘Of course I do. Dear, sweet Delo. She is my closest friend.’ Again, she gave him that smile. She gestured him to a seat, and took the opposite one at the small table she had arranged. She poured the coffee, and served him the sweet seed-studded bread.

  ‘I haven’t seen Delo in years,’ he found himself admitting.

  ‘You haven’t? What a shame. She has quite grown up, you know.’ Her smile was slightly different as she added, ‘I know your brother too.’

  Brashen knitted his brows at her knowing tone. ‘Cerwin. He is well, I trust.’

  ‘I suppose so. He was the last time I saw him.’ She gave a small sigh and looked away from him. ‘I do not see him often.’

  Was she infatuated with young Cerwin? Brashen quickly reckoned his siblings’ ages from his own. Well. He supposed Cerwin was of an age to be courting young ladies. Yet, if Delo and Malta were the same age, Malta seemed rather young to be courted. He began to feel a bit uncomfortable. Was this pretty little charmer girl or woman? She stirred her coffee, and somehow contrived to make him notice the elegance of her hands as she did so. Then she leaned across the little table and offered to spice his coffee for him. Surely, she had not intended to display quite that much bosom as she did so. He looked away but her scent still reached him.

  She sat back in her chair. She lifted her coffee, sipped it, and then pushed a stray strand of hair back from her unlined brow. ‘You know my Aunt Althea, I believe?’

  ‘Of course. We served together…on the Vivacia, for many years.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘She returned safely to Bingtown?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Weeks and weeks ago. She came back aboard the Ophelia. That’s the Tenira family liveship, you know.’ Her eyes met his squarely as she added, ‘Grag Tenira is very enamoured of her. It has made Bingtown buzz with gossip. Not a few are startled at the idea of my headstrong aunt suddenly losing her heart to such a steady young man. My grandmother, of course, is quite thrilled. We all are. We had almost given up hope of her ever making a good match and settling down. I am sure you know what I mean.’ She gave a small confidential laugh, as if these were words she would not share with just anyone. She watched him so closely, as if she could see how the barbs of her words set in his heart and clawed there.

  ‘A good match,’ he repeated numbly. He found himself nodding like a bob-head toy. ‘Tenira. Grag Tenira. Oh, he would. Be a good match, I mean. He’s a good sailor, too.’ This last he added more to himself. It was the only thing he could think of that might have attracted Althea to Grag Tenira. Well, he was handsome, too. Brashen had heard him called handsome. He also wasn’t disinherited and didn’t have a fondness for cindin. The thought of the drug made him abruptly long for some, to distract him from this nasty new sensation. There might be part of a stick in his jacket pocket, but he could scarcely indulge in a waterfront vice here in front of this gently reared child.

  ‘…more bread, Brashen?’

  He caught only her last few words. He glanced down at his untouched plate. ‘No. No, thank you very much. It’s very good, though.’ He hastily took a bite of the bread. In his dry mouth, the seedy texture was like sawdust. He washed it down with a gulp of the coffee, and then realized he was eating like a deckhand at a galley table.

  Malta reached across the table to brush the back of his hand with her slender little fingers. ‘You seem quite travel-worn. I was so upset when I first let you in…I never thanked you for coming so far to bring us tidings of my father’s ship. You have come from afar, haven’t you?’

  ‘Quite a way,’ he admitted. He drew away from her and rubbed his hands together in his lap, as if that would still the tingling of her touch. She smiled knowingly at that, and then turned her face aside. A blush rose on her cheeks. She was aware of her flirting then it wasn’t the casual touch of a child. He felt besieged and confused. There were too many things to consider here. His mouth ran at the thought of even a small piece of cindin to clear his mind. He forced himself to take another bite of bread instead.

  ‘You know, I look at you, and I wonder how your brother might look if he grew a moustache. Yours is quite flattering to your jaw and lips.’

  Brashen lifted a hand to his own face to smooth his moustache selfconsciously. Her words were not appropriate, nor the way her eyes followed his fingers almost avidly. Brashen stood. ‘Perhaps I should come back late this afternoon. Please let them know to expect me. I probably should have sent word before I came calling today.’

  ‘Not at all.’ The girl remained seated. She did not stand to escort him to the door or even acknowledge his desire to leave. ‘I’ve already sent the runner. I am sure they will return soon. They will want to hear news of my father and his ship as swiftly as possible.’

  ‘I am sure they will,’ Brashen agreed stiffly. He could not understand this young woman. She looked at him guilelessly. Perhaps her words had been a child’s artless error. Perhaps he had been too long at sea. He sat down, his back rigidly straight, and held his hat in his lap. ‘I will wait for them, then. I am sure I have interrupted your day. Please, do not feel you must remain with me. I shall be fine waiting here by myself.’

  She gave a bubble of laughter at his awkward words. ‘Oh, dear. I have made you uncomfortable. I am terribly sorry. I suppose I have been too familiar with you. It is only because you were dear Grandfather’s first mate so long that I feel you are almost a relative. Also, knowing Cerwin and Delo as well as I do, I naturally wished to extend a warm welcome to their brother.’ Her voice dropped dramatically. ‘I think it is so tragic that you are no longer welcome in your family home. I have never understood exactly what happened between you and your father…’ She let her words trail off, inviting his confidence.

  Spilling his guts about his family quarrel was the last thing he wished to do now. He could not recall that he had ever been in such an awkward situation. One moment Malta seemed an innocent child doing her best to welcome a guest in the absence of her elders. The next she seemed like a temptress toying with him. His news was pressing and he wished to see Althea, but the longer he remained here, the uneasier he felt. It was belatedly occurring to him that perhaps this whole situation would be seen as improper. He was, to all appearances, completely alone with a young woman of a good family. He knew some fathers and brothers who had fought duels over lesser offences. He stood again. ‘I fear I must go. I have other errands. I will return, late this afternoon. Please give your family my regards.’

  Malta made no effort at rising. He didn’t wait for her to do so. ‘Very pleasant to have seen you again.’ He bowed to her, and turned to leave.

  ‘Your brother Cerwin doesn’t think I’m a child.’ There was a challenge in those words.

  Unwillingly he turned back to face her. She had not arisen, but she had thrown back her head against the chair, baring the white column of her throat. A bit of her hair had come loose and she reached up to twine it through her fingers as she spoke. She smiled lazily. ‘He is sweet, like a little house cat. You, I suspect, are more like a tiger.’ She put a fingertip in her mouth and nibbled at it thoughtfully. ‘Pets can be such boring creatures,’ she observed.

  Brashe
n suddenly discovered that the heart of a correctly-mannered Bingtown Trader’s son beat in his chest under his pirate’s blouse. He was shocked to his core. There could be no mistake in her inflection. Captain Vestrit’s granddaughter, in his family home, was honing her seductive wiles on him. It was outrageous.

  ‘You should be ashamed of yourself,’ he said with honest indignation.

  He did not turn back at her shocked gasp, but proceeded down the hall to the main door. He pulled it open to let himself out and found himself looking down into the startled faces of Ronica Vestrit and Keffria Haven. ‘Oh, thank Sa you’ve come,’ he exclaimed, even as Keffria demanded, ‘Who are you and what are you doing in our house?’ She glanced about wildly as if to summon man-servants to seize him.

  ‘Brashen Trell,’ he told her hastily, bowing low. ‘I bring tidings of the Vivacia. Urgent and troublesome tidings.’

  The shock of his words instantly seized their attention.

  ‘What is wrong? Has anything happened to Kyle? Have you word of my son, of Wintrow?’ Keffria demanded immediately.

  ‘No,’ Ronica Vestrit commanded. ‘Not here, come inside and sit down. Come, Keffria. To the study.’

  Brashen stepped aside to allow them to precede him. He spoke as he followed them. ‘Your granddaughter Malta let me in. I presumed the runner she had sent to fetch you would have prepared you for my tidings.’ He wanted to ask if Althea were coming, but held his tongue against that.