The prince crossed his arms on his chest and drew himself up straight. ‘Touch me, and I’ll have you in chains before morning.’ He gave a contemptuous snort. ‘I’d have thought you’d have tired of playing nursemaid years ago. I scarcely need a nanny following me about. I’m not a wilful child for you to bully. Not any more.’
‘Naw.’ The older man shook his head woefully. ‘You’re worse. You’re a spoiled boy dressed in a man’s fine clothes. If I thought your mother would ever agree to it, I’d tell her that the best thing for you would be to send you off with Trell. As a deckhand. To learn a bit of the trade that your father knew from the bones out when he was half your age.’
Brashen Trell spoke. ‘He’s a bit too old to learn it, I fear. You missed your chance, both of you.’ A strange look crossed his face. ‘He reminds me of a spoiled merchant’s son who thought he was a Trader.’
There is a way a boy stands when he does not wish to admit that words have struck him. Kennitsson stood that way — a bit too still, shoulders a bit too stiff. His speech was precise as he said, ‘I shall be returning to the palace now. But not to dress and play dice with the Spice Island monkeys. Ship! I will see you again in the morning.’ He swung his gaze to Brashen and Althea. ‘I trust you’ll have my quarters awaiting me when I return. The stateroom I saw when I first came on board would be adequate. And please take on appropriate food and drink for me.’
He walked through us, but I saw he chose a path that did not require anyone to step aside for him and knew he doubted his ability to face any of us down. We listened to the sharp thuds of his boots on the deck, then he was over the railing and clambering down a rope ladder, shouting at some poor soul who had been left waiting in a small boat for him. The sound of the moving oars was a gentle shushing in the night.
‘Do you really think so?’ Sorcor had a deep voice and it was full of slow dismay. For a moment, I couldn’t understand what he was asking of Wintrow, but it was Brashen he was looking at in the darkness.
The captain of the
Sorcor looked up toward the moon and the light fell on his face. His brow was wrinkled, his lips pursed in thought. Then he said in a gruff voice, ‘But the ship’s right. He should sail with you. It’s his last chance, his only chance to know this deck under his feet. To sail on the ship that shaped his father.’ He swung his gaze to meet Brashen’s startled gaze. ‘You should take him.’
Wintrow started. ‘What?’
But Sorcor flapped a knobby hand at him, silencing his objection. The older man cleared his throat. ‘I’ve failed the boy. When he was small, I was too glad to have any piece of his father that was left to us. I cherished him and kept him from all harm. I never let him feel the pain of his own mistakes.’ He shook his head. ‘And his mother still dotes on him and gives him what he desires. But it’s not just her. I wanted him to be a prince. I wanted him in fancy clothes with clean hands. I wanted to see him have what his father earned for him. To be what his father would have expected of him.’ He shook his head again. ‘But somehow, we didn’t get that other part of him.’
‘He hasn’t had to become a man,’ Brashen observed flatly. The words were harsh but his tone was not.
‘A voyage away from his mother might do it?’ Sorcor suggested.
Althea stepped suddenly in front of Sorcor. Her gaze went from him to Wintrow. ‘I don’t want him. I’ve enough to deal with on this voyage. I’ve only a vague idea of where we’re going and I’ve no idea how we will be received there. Or how long Amber’s little errand will take, or when we’ll be back. Perhaps it hasn’t been revealed to you, Sorcor, but we go to deal death and vengeance. We very well may end up fleeing for our lives. Or be dead ourselves. I won’t be responsible for the well-being of the prince of the Pirate Islands, let alone his survival.’
‘But I will.’ It was Paragon that spoke.
We all felt and heard that response. It thrummed through the ship’s bones, and it reached our ears not as a shout but as an assertion. I wanted no more additions to our company on this voyage, let alone a spoiled prince, so I drew breath to make my own objection and felt Amber’s sudden clutch on my wrist. In a low voice she said, ‘Hush. As they say in Chalced, you don’t have a dog in this fight.’
Since we had come aboard Paragon, I had felt control of my plans slipping ever farther from my grip. Not for the first time, I wished I’d come alone and unhampered.
