Letter from King Shrewd to his second queen, Desire of Farrow.
It looked more like a family gathering than a convening of people seeking to prevent a disaster. I thought of my own family and realized such gatherings were often both. Queen Etta’s admiral had boarded while we were occupied with the figurehead. Wintrow Vestrit was already seated at the table, and Althea was brewing tea when we joined them in the stateroom.
Wintrow Vestrit, chief minister to Queen Etta of the Pirate Islands and Grand Admiral of her fleet, looked so much like Althea that they could have been brother and sister rather than nephew and aunt. They were of a height, and I judged there was less than a score of years between them. He was Malta’s elder brother and Amber had told me some of the brutal history of how he had been captured with Vivacia and forced to serve aboard her under the pirate Kennit. Oddly enough, she had told me that the slave tattoo beside his nose and his missing finger were actually the work of his father. Knowing all this, I had not expected the aura of calm about him nor his subdued garb.
Boy-O moved swiftly and easily about his parents’ stateroom, reacquainting himself with the familiar territory of his childhood ship. I saw him pick up a mug from a shelf, smile at it, and restore it to its place. He had his father’s height, but his brow and eyes were from the Vestrit side, mirroring Althea’s and Wintrow’s. He was graceful as a cat.
Wintrow had a grave demeanour, and when Althea served him a steaming cup of rum and lemon mixed with hot water, he took it with muted thanks. I guided Amber to a seat at the captain’s table and joined her there. Lant took his place behind us. My youngsters ranged themselves along the wall and held a subdued silence. When all were served, Althea sat down heavily beside Brashen and heaved a sigh. She met Wintrow’s gaze and said, ‘Now you understand. When I said that our stopping here would change not just your life but hundreds of lives, I don’t think you grasped what I was telling you. I trust that now you do. You have seen the changes in Paragon. Prepare for Vivacia to do the same.’
He lifted his mug and sipped from it slowly, collecting his thoughts as he did so. When he set it down, he said, ‘It’s something we can’t alter. In situations like this, it is best to accept Sa’s will and try to see what comes of it rather than fighting against the inevitable. So, if Paragon is correct, after this last voyage he will return to the Rain Wilds and be given enough Silver to become two dragons.’ He shook his head and a smile flitted briefly over his face. ‘I’d like to witness that.’
‘I think it inevitable that you will witness Vivacia’s transformation. If Amber and Paragon are correct that such a metamorphosis is actually possible.’
‘I am virtually certain of it,’ Amber said softly. ‘You have seen how, given a small amount of Silver, he can change his appearance at will. Given a large quantity, he can transform the wizardwood of his body into any shape he desires. And he will desire to be a dragon. Or two.’
Clef spoke up, and no one seemed to think it was out of place as he asked, ‘But will he be a real dragon, of flesh and blood? Or a wooden dragon?’
A silence fell around the table as we mulled that over. ‘Time will tell,’ Amber observed. ‘He will be transforming from wizardwood to dragon; not entirely different to a dragon’s body absorbing the wizardwood of its cocoon as it hatches.’
Boy-O had drawn closer to his parents. He looked from one to the other and then asked, ‘This is real? This can actually happen? It’s not one of Paragon’s wild fancies?’
‘It’s real,’ Brashen confirmed.
His son stared into a future only he could see, one he had never imagined. Then he spoke in a whisper. ‘He has always had the heart of a dragon. I felt it when he held me in his hands and flew me over the water when I was a child …’ His words trickled away. Then he asked, ‘Has he enough wizardwood in his body to make two dragons? Won’t they be rather small?’
Amber smiled. ‘We cannot know yet. But small dragons grow. From what I understand, dragons continue to grow as long as they live. And few things can kill a dragon.’
Wintrow drew a deep, considering breath. He looked away from Amber, to Brashen and Althea. ‘Are you financially solid?’ he asked gravely.
Brashen wobbled his head in a way that was not yes nor no. ‘We have resources. The loot from Igrot’s hoard was substantial, and we were not wasteful of our share. But money alone is neither wealth nor a future for our son. We’ve no home save here on Paragon, no life or employment beyond plying our trade on the Rain Wild River and in Bingtown. So, yes, we have sufficient funds that we can eat and sleep inside a house for the rest of our days. Inside a house. There’s a future I never sought! But something to leave to Boy-O? A life for us to live … that’s harder for us to chart.’
Wintrow was nodding slowly. A man, I thought, who seemed to think before he spoke. Just as he drew breath and opened his mouth to say something, we heard a shout from outside. ‘Permission to come aboard?’
‘Refuse it!’ Wintrow ordered.
Brashen was at the door of the stateroom in two strides. ‘Refused!’ he shouted into the night and then spun on Wintrow, demanding, ‘Who is it?’
But the voice outside shouted, ‘You can hardly deny me permission to board the ship whose name I bear!’
‘Paragon Kennitsson.’ Wintrow spoke in the brief gulch of silence before the ship bellowed out, ‘Permission granted! Paragon! Paragon, my son!’
Althea went so pale she was more greenish than white. I’d heard a strange note in the ship’s voice, a difference in timbre.
‘Sweet Sa,’ Wintrow breathed into the quiet. ‘He sounded almost like Kennit.’
Brashen looked back at his wife over his shoulder. His face was stone. Then his gaze found Wintrow. ‘I don’t want him talking to the ship,’ he said in a low voice.
‘I don’t want him on this ship,’ Wintrow agreed. He strode to the door and Brashen edged aside to let him pass. ‘Paragon!’ Wintrow shouted and there was command in his voice. ‘Here. And now.’
The figure who answered Wintrow’s summons was no boy or youth but a man, dark-haired, with an aquiline nose and a finely sculpted mouth. His eyes were a shockingly intense blue. His clothing was as handsome as he was, and the emerald earrings he wore were large, diamonds glittering around the green jewels. I judged him to be older than Boy-O, but not by much. And he was softer. Physical work pounds a boy into a different sort of manhood. Boy-O had that physique. But the prince was a house cat in comparison. Kennit’s son smiled with even white teeth. ‘I present myself,’ he said to Wintrow with a mocking bow, and then leaned past him to peer into the cabin. ‘Trellvestrit? You are here, too? It seems you’ve convened a party and not invited me. Well, that’s cold of you, my young friend!’