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“I have to find help. Fast, before those navy ships do anything. And if they won’t help because they think we’re pirates, then it’s to pirates I will go. Well, privateers.”
    Testhy sighed. “Privateers don’t run rescues.”
    “Sure they do. If there’s a reward.”
    Testhy stared at her, mouth turned down at the corners.
    Jeje’s face heated. “All right, so privateers might not help me. But just the same I’m going to sail back to Freedom Islands. Find someone there. Because I sure won’t here.”
    That’s it, she thought, that’s it. I’m not just following orders. For the first time it’s me who’s making the decisions.
    Testhy said, “You will never get the old life back.”
    Jeje clamped her teeth together. Is that what I’m doing after all?
    They sat there staring at one another, both realizing the conversation had shifted from “we” to “you” and “I.” Shared purpose had vanished like fog between the harbormaster’s office and here; they both knew that when they got up from that sticky old table they would part, probably forever. And both felt enough regret to keep talking.
    Testhy said, “We have good skills. We’re alive. Let’s stay that way. Move on.” But his sky-blue gaze was again on his calloused hands.
    “I have to know for sure. It’s right. Even if it’s not sensible.”
    Testhy shook his head, and would not look up.
    “Fare you well, then.” She got to her feet.
    She half expected him to follow, out of habit if nothing else, and she hoped he would, but his fear of pirates was too strong; he watched her go, and then comforted himself by thrusting a hand into his pocket to check the little stash of coins he’d always kept by him, ever since their first cruise. He left, walking away from the docks.
    While Nugget and the brothers sat aboard the Vixen, munching stale berry pastries that Nugget had bought from a dockside tavern before it closed, Jeje walked alone through the rain back to the dock. She was captain of her own life now; she was giving the orders. There was no pride. Or joy. Or triumph. She felt tired and heartsick and full of questions that had no answer.

Chapter Three
    ON a sultry night two weeks later, far to the southeast of Choraed Elgaer, the Sierlaef—heir to the kingdom of Iasca Leror—downed more sweet wine, chilled in high mountain streams and brought down by Runners during the night. It was special wine, imported at great cost, but he drank it like water as he watched two young women dancing a slow, undulating dance completely unlike the girls’ dances at home. Instead of the long robes he was used to, these girls wore tight blouses cut low, silky skirts that clung to the body, and sashes made of small bells around their hips that jingled and caught the eye in a way he liked very much. The Sierlaef saw the one with the biggest hips sending him speculative glances from heavy-lidded dark eyes, and he swallowed more wine, trying not to let anticipation heat up into urgency. There was still the after-dinner poetry to get through, and then meeting with that old bore Horseshoe Jaya-Vayir to plan the next day’s patrol of the eastern mountains.
    Noise from behind brought him to his feet, the wine cup crashing down to the table. The Jarl’s heir looked up, puzzled. The Sierlaef frowned toward the side entrance, from where a buzz of excitement spread through the room. Everyone crowded up, staring, turning and talking to those behind, until liegemen in crimson and gold came striding in.
    “Shit.”
    Did the Sierlaef really say that? The teenage heir exchanged a startled glance with his cousin, who would be his future Randael, or Shield Arm.
    Neither understood the royal heir, and truth to tell they didn’t much like him either. But he was here, seemed to want to stay, so they’d had to drop everything and entertain him for long, weary weeks of waiting for possible attack over the border.
    They watched in relief as the Sierlaef began shoving his