by Robin Hobb
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
An Ultimatum
Althea was not gracious about leaving the foredeck. She had seen the oncoming sails, and her fears for Vivacia battled with her hopes of Kennit's defeat. Wintrow's urgent pleas went unheeded until Vivacia herself turned to her. "Althea. Please go below. This might be my chance to strike a bargain with Kennit. It will be easier for me if you are not present." Althea had scowled, but left the foredeck, Jek trailing after her.
Wintrow made a hasty side trip to the galley, to cobble together a large tray of food and drink. By the time he reached the cabin, Althea and Malta were already facing one another across the room. The Satrap had thrown himself onto the bunk and was staring at the wall. Jek sat morosely in the corner. Malta was furious. "I don't understand why either of you would take his part. He pirated our liveship, killed her crew and holds my father captive."
"You are not listening," Althea said coldly. "I despise Kennit. All the assumptions you have made are false."
Wintrow clashed the tray down onto the small table. "Eat and drink something. All of you. Then talk, one at a time."
The Satrap rolled to look at the table. His eyes were red. Wintrow wondered if he had been weeping silently. His voice was choked with an emotion, possibly outrage. "Is this another of Kennit's humiliations for me? I am expected to eat here, in these crowded circumstances, in the company of common folk?"
"Magnadon Satrap, it is no worse than sharing a table with pirates. Or eating alone in your room. Come. You must eat if you are to keep up your strength."
Wintrow and Althea exchanged incredulous looks at Malta's solicitous tone. Witnessing this, Wintrow felt suddenly uncomfortable. Were they lovers? His aunt's admission had made all sorts of unthinkable things possible. "I'm going up on deck, to see what is happening. I'll try to bring back word to you." He hastened from the room.
The Jamaillian ships drew ever closer, spreading out as they came. Their obvious strategy was to bar his way south and surround him. The ships on the wings of the formation had picked up their speed. If he was going to flee, he must turn tail soon, before the Jamaillians could close their net. This was no time for talk, but the liveship spoke anyway.
"Kennit. You cannot question my loyalty to you. But my serpents grow weary. They need food and rest. More than anything else, they need me to lead them home soon."
"Of course they do." Kennit heard the haste in his own voice and tried to change his tone. "Believe me, sweet sea lady, your concerns are my own. We, you and I, shall see them safely home. I shall give you the time you have asked me to give you, that you may watch over them. Immediately after this."
One of the smaller ships separated from the fleet and came on. No doubt, it would hail them soon. Kennit needed to be ready, not engaged in conversation. The opportunity for complete victory was as large as the danger of complete failure. If the serpents did not help him, his three ships stood small chance against such a fleet.
"What do you ask of us?" Vivacia asked wearily.
Kennit did not like the sound of that. He tried to change it. "We will ask them to subdue this fleet for us. It would take little effort from them. Their presence alone may be enough to persuade the ships to surrender. Once we show the Jamaillians that we have the Satrap, I suspect we'll gain their full cooperation. Then the serpents would escort us as we journey to Jamaillia City, in a show of force. Once the Satrap and his nobles have conceded to the terms of our treaty, why then, we will be free to follow our hearts. I will summon every vessel at my command. We will protect and guide the serpents on their journey home."
Vivacia's face had grown graver as he spoke. Desperation came into her eyes as she slowly shook her head. "Kennit. Bolt in her rashness made you offers that we cannot keep. Forgive me, but it is so. The serpents do not have that sort of time. Their lives begin to dwindle within them. We must go soon. Tomorrow, if we can."
"Tomorrow?" Kennit suddenly felt as if the deck were falling away from him. "Impossible. I would have to let the Satrap go, release him to his own ships, and then flee like a dog with its tail between its legs. Vivacia, it would destroy all we have worked for, just when our goal is within our grasp."
"I could ask the serpents to help you this last time. After the fleet concedes to you, you could take the Satrap onto the Marietta. Have the Motley carry the word to Divvytown, and have it dispersed from there that all your ships are to join you on your journey south. That would be as impressive as weary and dying serpents." She stopped the sarcasm that had crept into her voice. "Let Wintrow and Althea take me north, with my serpents. They could stay with me while I keep watch over the cocoons, freeing you to firm your kingship. I vow I would return to you by high summer, Kennit."
She spoke her treachery aloud to him. Here, at the pinnacle of his need for her, she would leave him, to return to her Bingtown family. He cursed himself silently for not heeding Bolt. He never should have brought Althea on board. He gripped his crutch and forced calmness on himself. The terrible plummet from dawning triumph to imminent disaster choked him.
"I see," he managed to say. Behind him, the mood on the deck was jubilant. Unaware of her betrayal, his crew exchanged rough jests as they eagerly awaited the encounter. The ostentatious Captain Red had spread wide the news of Kennit's negotiations. All expected him to succeed. To fail now, so publicly, was unthinkable.
"Help me as you can today," he suggested. He refused to think he begged. "And tomorrow will have to take care of itself."
A strange look passed over Vivacia's face, like anticipated pain. She closed her wide green eyes for an instant. When she opened them, her gaze was distant. "No, Kennit," she said softly. "Not unless you give me your word that tomorrow we take the serpents north. That is the price for them helping you today."
"Of course." He did not think about the lie. She knew him too well. If he paused to consider it, she would know the falsehood. "You have my word, Vivacia. If it is that important to you, it is important to me as well." Tomorrow, as he had told her, would have to take care of itself. He would deal with the consequences then. He watched the single ship separate itself from the Jamaillian fleet and come toward him. Soon it would be within hailing distance.
"Can you see anything?" Jek asked.
Althea, her forehead pressed to the porthole, did not answer. This tiny, expensive window had been a major indulgence from her father. The rest of her room had changed, but she could not touch this without thinking of him. What would her father think of her now? She burned with shame. This was her family's ship, and here she was, hiding belowdecks while a pirate negotiated from her deck. "What is going on out there?" she wondered aloud. "What is he saying to them?"
The door opened and Wintrow entered, cheeks red from the wind. He began speaking immediately. "The Jamaillians challenged our passage. Kennit called himself King of the Pirate Isles and demanded they give way. They refused. He returned that he had the Satrap aboard and that the Satrapy had recognized him as the legitimate King of the Pirate Isles. They scoffed at him, saying the Satrap was dead. Kennit replied that the Satrap was very much alive, and that he was taking him to Jamaillia to restore him to his throne. They demanded proof. He shouted back that the proof they would get, they would not like. Then they offered to let him leave if he first surrendered the Satrap to them. He replied he was not a fool.
"Now the Jamaillian negotiating ship has pulled back. Kennit has said they may have time to think, but warns them to stand where they are. All wait to see who will make the next move."
"Waiting. More waiting," Althea ground out the word. "Surely he won't sit still and wait while they surround us. The only logical course is to flee." Then she stared at the Satrap. "This is true, what Kennit says? You have recognized him as king? How could you be so stupid?"
"It's complicated," Malta flung back at her while the indignant Satrap glared. "He would have been more stupid to refuse." In a lower voice, she added, "We took our only chance at survival. But I don't expect you to un
derstand that."
"How could I?" Althea retorted. "I still don't know how you even came to be here, let alone with the Satrap of Jamaillia." She took a breath. She evened her tone. "As long as we are stuck here and must wait, why don't you tell me how you came to be here. How did you leave Bingtown at all?"
Malta did not want to speak first. A tiny motion of her eyes toward the Satrap cued Wintrow to her reluctance. Althea did not notice it. Her aunt had never been one for subtleties. She scowled at Malta's reticence, and Malta was relieved when Wintrow interfered. "I was the first to leave Bingtown. Althea knows a bit of what I've been through, but Malta knows nothing. Althea is right. As we must wait, let's use the time wisely. I'll tell my travels first." His eyes were both sympathetic and shamed as he added, "I know you are anxious for news of our father. I wish I had more to tell."
He launched into an honest but brief account of all that had passed. Malta felt incredulous when he spoke of being tattooed as a slave at her father's command. What had become of the tattoo, then? She bit her tongue to keep from calling him a liar. His tale of their father's disappearance was as incredible as the story of rescuing a serpent. When he told of how the ship had cured him and erased the scar, she was skeptical but kept silent.
Althea's face betrayed that she had not heard a full accounting of Wintrow's journey. She, at least, looked perfectly willing to believe that Kyle Haven was capable of anything. When Wintrow spoke of his father's disappearance at Kennit's hands, she only shook her head. Jek, the hulking Six Duchies woman, listened attentively, as if she appreciated a good yarn. Meanwhile, beside Malta, the Satrap ate and drank, with no concern for the others. Before Wintrow had finished speaking, the Satrap had claimed the bunk and turned to face the wall.
When Wintrow finally ran out of words, Althea looked at her expectantly. But Malta suggested, "Let us tell our stories in order. You left Bingtown next."
Althea cleared her throat. Wintrow's simple telling had moved her more than she was willing to show. Decisions she had faulted him for were now made clear. Truly, she should have allowed him to speak of this before. She owed him an apology. Later. Given what he had gone through with Kennit, it was no wonder he had sided with the man. It was understandable, if not forgivable. She realized she was staring silently at him. His face had reddened. She looked aside and sought order for her own thoughts. There was so much she did not wish to share with these youngsters. Did she owe Malta the truth about her relationship with Brashen? She would give them, she decided, the facts, not her feelings. Those belonged only to her.
"Malta will remember the day we left Bingtown on Paragon. The ship handled well, and the sailing was good for the first few days, but—"
"Wait," Wintrow dared interrupt his aunt. "Go back to the last time I saw you, and tell me from there. I wish to hear it all."
"Very well," Althea conceded gruffly. For a time, she looked at the sky outside the porthole. Wintrow could see her deciding how much to share with him. When she spoke, she told things in a bare, bald way, her voice becoming dispassionate as she approached more recent events. Perhaps it was the only way she could speak of them. She did not look at Wintrow, but spoke directly to Malta of the sinking of Paragon with all hands, including Brashen Trell. In a cold flat voice, she spoke of her rape. Wintrow lowered his eyes, shocked by the flare of both understanding and hatred in Malta's eyes. He did not interrupt her. He kept his peace until she said, "Of course, no one aboard believes me. Kennit has impressed them all with his gentlemanly ways. Even my own ship doubts me."
Wintrow's throat and mouth were dry. "Althea. I don't doubt you." They were among the most painful words he had ever spoken.
The look she gave him near broke his heart. "You never spoke out for me," she accused him.
"It would have done no good." The words sounded cowardly, even to himself. He lowered his eyes and said honestly, "I believe you because Etta told me she believed you. That was why she left the ship. Because she could not live as witness to what he had done. Sa help me, I remained, but kept silent."
"Why?" The flat, one-word question came not from his aunt but his sister. He forced himself to meet Malta's eyes.
"I know Kennit," he found himself saying. The truth he acknowledged now cut him. "He has done good things, even great things. But one reason he could do them was because he does not bind himself by rules." His eyes went from Malta's doubting face to Althea's frozen one. "He accomplished much good," he said softly. "I wanted to be part of that. So I followed him. And I looked aside from the evil things he did. I became very good at ignoring that which I could not countenance. Until finally, when the evil was directed at one of my own blood, it was still easier not to avow it aloud." His voice had become a whisper. "Even now, to admit it makes me… part of it. That is the most difficult part. I wanted to share in the glory he gained for the good he did. But if I claim that, then—"
"You can't play in shit and not get some on you," Jek observed succinctly from her corner. She reached up to set a large hand on Althea's knee. "I'm sorry," she said simply.
Shame burned in him. "I am sorry, too, Althea. So sorry. Not only that he did this to you, but that you suffered my silence."
"We have to kill him," Jek continued when neither Althea nor Malta spoke. "I see no alternative."
For an icy moment, Wintrow supposed she spoke of him. Althea shook her head slowly. Tears stood in her eyes but did not spill. "I've thought about that. At first, I thought about little else. I would do it in an instant, if I could do it without injuring the ship. Before I take that step, she must see him for what he is. Wintrow. Are you willing to help me with that? To make Vivacia see him as he truly is?"
Wintrow lifted his chin. "I must. Not for you, not for the ship. For myself. I owe myself that honesty."
"But what of Father?" Malta demanded in a low agonized voice. "Althea, I beg you, consider that. If not for his children, for Keffria, your sister. Whatever you think of Kyle, please do not endanger my father's return to us. Hold back your hand from Kennit, for at least that long."
A long low sound suddenly traveled through the ship. Althea heard it with her ears, but her bones shook with the sound. A meaning she could almost grasp ran along her skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. She forgot all else, reaching after it.
"It's Vivacia," Wintrow said needlessly.
Malta got a distant look. "She calls the serpents," she said softly.
Althea stared at Malta, as did Wintrow. Her eyes were wide and dark.
In the silence that followed, a long snore sounded from the Satrap's bunk. Malta jerked as if awakening, then gave a small sour laugh. "It sounds as if I may now speak freely, without interruptions, corrections and accusations of treachery." To Althea's surprise, Malta swiped at sudden tears, smearing the paint from her face. She drew a shuddering breath. Then she tugged off her gloves, revealing hands scalded scarlet. She snatched her headwrap off and threw it down. A shocking ridge of bright red scar began high on her brow and stood up well into her hairline. "Get the staring part over with," she ordered them in a harsh hopeless voice. "And then I will speak…" Her voice broke suddenly. "There is so much. What happened to me is the least of it. Bingtown is destroyed; when last I saw it, fires smoldered and fighting was widespread."
Althea watched her niece as she spoke. Malta spared them nothing. Her tale was in its details, but she spoke swiftly, the words tumbling from her lips, her voice soft. Althea felt the tears run down her cheeks at news of Davad Restart's death; the strength of her reaction surprised her, but what followed left her numbed and reeling. The rumors of unrest in Bingtown were suddenly a personal disaster. She was devastated when she realized Malta had no idea if her grandmother or Selden still lived.
Malta spoke of Bingtown and Trehaug with detachment, an old woman telling quaint stories of her vanished youth. Emotionlessly, she told her brother of her arranged marriage to Reyn Khuprus, of fleeing to his family in Trehaug when Bingtown fell, of the curiosity that had drawn her
into the buried city and the quake that had nearly claimed her life. Once, Malta would have made an extravagance of such a tale, but now she simply recounted it. When Malta spoke of Reyn, Althea suspected the young Rain Wilder had won her niece's heart. Personally, she felt Malta was still too young to make such decisions.
Yet as Malta spoke on, her voice hushed and hurrying through her days with the Satrap, Althea realized the girl faced the world as a woman. Her experiences aboard the galley left Althea shuddering. Malta laughed, a terrible sound, at how her disfigurement had preserved her from worse treatment. By the time Malta finished, Althea loathed the Satrap, yet understood the value Malta placed on him. She doubted he would keep his promises to her, but it impressed Althea that even in her time of danger, Malta had thought of her home and family and done all she could for them.
Truly, the girl had grown up. Althea recalled ashamedly that she had once felt that some hardship would improve Malta. Undoubtedly she had been improved, but the cost had been high. The skin on her hands looked as coarse as a chicken's foot. The cicatrix on her head was a monstrous thing, shocking in both color and size. But beyond the physical scarring, she sensed a dulling of her high spirits. The girlchild's elaborate dreams of a romantic future had been replaced with a woman's determination to survive tomorrow. It felt like a loss to Althea.
"At least you are with us now," Althea offered her when Malta finished. She had wanted to say, "Safe with us," but Malta was no longer a little girl to be cozened with falsehoods.
"I wonder for how long," Malta replied miserably. "For where he goes, I must follow, until I am sure he is safely restored to power, and that he will keep his word to me. Otherwise, all this has been for nothing. Yet, if I leave you here, will I ever see you again? Althea, at least, must find a way to get off this ship and away from Kennit."