“Very well.” He placed the drawknife carefully and then drew it down the shaft of the oar. She watched how his brown hands gripped the handles of the tool, how the muscles in his forearms stood out. This time the curl of wood he shaved away was longer. “Let’s turn it this way,” he said and guided the oar through a half turn. As he set the drawknife to it again, he asked, “What would I have to do to win you, Thymara?”

It was a question she had never considered. As she thought about it, he said into her quiet, “Because I’m willing to do it. You know that.”

She was startled. “How can you be willing to do something when you don’t even know what I might ask?”

“Because I know you. Maybe better than you think I do. Look, I’ve done some stupid things since we left Trehaug. I admit it. But—”

“Tats, wait. I don’t want you to think that I’m going to give you a list of tasks you have to do. I won’t. Because I wouldn’t know what those things would be. We’ve been through a lot lately. You’re asking me to make a big decision. I’m not playing a game when I say that I don’t think I’m ready to make that decision. I’m not waiting for you to do something or give me something or even be something. I’m waiting for me. There’s nothing you can do to change that. Nothing Greft can do.”

“I’m not like Greft,” he said, instantly insulted.

“And I’m not like Jerd,” she replied. For a moment, they stared at each other. Thymara narrowed her eyes and firmed her chin. Twice Tats started to speak, and then paused. Finally he said, “Let’s just make this oar, shall we?”

“Good thought,” she replied.

EVENING WAS FALLING as Sedric emerged from his room. He’d spent the day alone and in darkness, for his last candle had burned down to nothing and he hadn’t wanted to ask anyone for another one. He’d fasted as well. He’d half expected Davvie to come tapping on his door with a tray of food, but that hadn’t happened. Then he’d recalled that Carson had told him he’d be keeping the boy clear of him. Just as well. Just as well if everyone stayed clear of me, he’d thought. Then he’d heard the self-pity in that statement and despised himself.