The Complete Liveship Traders Trilogy: Ship of Magic, The Mad Ship, Ship of Destiny. Robin Hobb
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yes. Thank you, Rache. You are correct. This is best handled with formality rather than scolding him like a rude boy. Even if that is how he has behaved.’ Ronica bit her lower lip for a moment. ‘Advise Keffria of this as well, and ask her to join us. Bring refreshments and serve them. Then, wait a bit before you tell Malta she has guests waiting. She has created this, she should witness how it is dealt with.’
Rache took a breath, a soldier preparing for battle. ‘Very well.’
After she had left the room, Ronica lifted her hands to her face and rubbed her eyes. She glanced back at the accounting ledgers she had set aside, and shook her head. Her eyes and head ached from poring over them anyway, and she had yet to find any way to make the debts on the pages any smaller or the credits any larger. This, at least would be a distraction. An unpleasant distraction from an impossible problem. Ah, well. She patted at her hair, then straightened her spine and headed towards the sitting room. If she hesitated, she’d lose her nerve. Cerwin Trell might be young, but he was also the heir to a powerful Trader family. She needed to put him in his place, but without direct insult. It would be a fine line to tread.
At the sitting room door she paused to take a breath and set her hand to the latch.
‘Mother.’
Ronica turned to see Keffria bearing down on her like a runaway horse. Small glints of anger shone in her usually docile eyes. Her lips were set in a firm line. Ronica could not recall having seen her daughter like this. She lifted a cautioning hand to her. ‘The Trell family is not to be offended,’ she reminded her very quietly. She saw Keffria hear her words, evaluate them, and set them aside.
‘Neither are the Vestrits,’ she hissed in a low voice. The inflection was so like her father that it paralysed Ronica. Keffria pushed open the door and preceded her into the room.
Cerwin looked up with a guilty start from where he perched on the edge of a divan. Even Delo looked startled. She cocked her head to peer past Keffria and Ronica.
Ronica spoke before Keffria could. ‘Malta will join us in a moment, Delo. I am sure your friend will be very happy to see you. And what a pleasure to have you call on us, Cerwin. It has been, oh, let’s see. Why, do you know, I can’t recall the last time you came to visit us.’
Cerwin surged to his feet and bowed. He straightened and smiled, but not easily. ‘I believe my parents brought me to Keffria’s wedding. Of course, that was some years back.’
‘About fifteen,’ Keffria observed. ‘You were an inquisitive little boy, as I recall. Didn’t I catch you trying to grab the goldfish in the garden fountains?’
The boy was still standing. Ronica tried to recall his age. Eighteen? Nineteen? ‘I suppose you did. Yes, I do recall something of that. Of course, as you say, I was just a little boy, then.’
‘That you were,’ Keffria replied before Ronica could speak. ‘And I would never blame a little child for seeing something bright and pretty and desiring to possess it.’ She smiled at Cerwin as she added, ‘And here is Rache with some refreshments for us. Do sit down and be comfortable.’
Rache had brought coffee and small cakes and cream and spices on a tray. She set it up on a small table, and left the room. Keffria served them. For a time the only talk was whether or not cream and spices were preferred in the coffee. When all were served, Keffria seated herself and smiled round at their guests. Delo was sitting nervously on the edge of her seat, and she kept glancing towards the door. Ronica guessed she was hoping Malta would appear and take her out of the grown-up setting. At least, so she hoped.
Keffria immediately returned to her attack. ‘So. What does bring you calling here today, Cerwin?’
He met her eyes boldly, but his voice was soft as he said, ‘Malta invited me… us. I had taken Delo into the market for an afternoon of shopping. We chanced to meet Malta and we all took some refreshment together. And Malta extended to us an invitation to call on her at home.’
‘She did.’ Keffria’s tone did not question his story. Ronica hoped her dismay did not show as plainly as her daughter’s. ‘Well. The silly child never told us to expect you. But that is how girls are, I suppose, and Malta worse so than most. Her head is full of foolish fancies, I am afraid, and they crowd out all common sense and courtesy.’
Ronica heard Keffria’s words with half an ear. She was already wondering how often Malta had slipped away to market on her own, and if the meeting had truly been as chance as Trell made it sound. She looked at Delo speculatively; could the two girls have planned the ‘accidental’ encounter?
As if on cue, Malta entered the room. She glanced around in consternation at them all taking refreshments together so socially. A sly wariness came over her face, very ugly to Ronica’s eye. When had the girl become capable of such cunning? It was plain she had hoped to greet Delo and Cerwin on her own. At least she did not appear to have expected them today. Although her hair was freshly brushed and there was a touch of paint on her lips, her dress at least was appropriate to a girl of her age. She wore a simple woollen shift, embroidered at the throat and hem. Yet there was something in the way she wore it, sashed tight to show her waist and pull the fabric firm against her rounding bosom that suggested there was a woman in the child’s clothes. And Cerwin Trell had risen to his feet as if it were a young woman entering rather than a little girl.
This was worse than Ronica had feared.
‘Malta,’ her mother greeted her. She smiled at her daughter. ‘Delo has come over to visit with you. But won’t you have some cakes and coffee with us first?’
Delo’s and Malta’s eyes met. Delo swallowed and licked her lips. ‘And afterwards, perhaps you can show us the trumpet vine that you said was on bud.’ She cleared her throat and spoke louder than was needed as she added to Keffria, ‘Malta was telling us about your hothouse room when last we met. My brother is very interested in flowers.’
Keffria smiled, a stretching of her lips. ‘Is he? Then he shall have a tour. Malta spends so little time in the flower rooms, I am surprised that she even recalled we had a trumpet vine. I shall show it to Cerwin myself. After all,’ and she turned the smile on Cerwin, ‘I can scarcely trust him alone with my goldfish, after what he tried the last time!’
Ronica almost felt sorry for the boy, as he forced a smile to his face and tried not to show his full understanding of her words.
‘I am sure I would enjoy that very much, Keffria.’
Ronica had expected to have to take control of this situation. But in this area, at least, Keffria seemed to have finally assumed her full role. Ronica said little other than courtesy talk as they finished the coffee and cakes. Instead, she watched. She was soon convinced that Malta and Delo were conspirators in this, with Delo far more uneasy and guilt-stricken over it than Malta. Malta looked, if not at ease, at least determined. She focused herself and her conversation at Cerwin in a way he could not help but respond to. Cerwin himself seemed well aware of the impropriety of the situation, but like a mouse fascinated by a snake, he could not seem to recover himself from it. Instead he strove to remain focused on Keffria’s stream of polite conversation, while Malta smiled at him over the rim of her coffee cup. Mentally, Ronica shook her head. Keffria had worried that Malta was too naive to be brought into Bingtown society as a young woman, fearing that men might take advantage of her. The opposite was more likely true. Malta watched Cerwin with the avidity of a stalking cat. Deep in her heart, Ronica wondered which was more important to her; the man or the hunting of him. Cerwin was young, and from what little Ronica had seen of him, inexperienced in games such as these. If Malta won him too easily… and he showed little sign of resisting her attentions… then Malta might discard him for more challenging conquests.
Ronica was looking at her grand-daughter with new eyes. What she saw there she found no more admirable in a woman than in a man. A little predator, she was. Ronica wondered if it were already too late to do anything about it. When had the pretty little girl metamorphosed into not a woman but a grasping, conquering female? She found herself thinking that perhaps it was just as well Kyle had drawn Wintrow back from the priesthood. If one of them must