“I’d best be about my work,” he said reluctantly, and with a girlish lurch of her heart, she was abruptly certain that he, too, wished he could stay. Such knowledge made it easier to let him go.

“Yes. Tarman needs you.”

“Well, some days I’m not sure Tarman needs any of us. But I’d best get out there and put my eyes on the river.” He paused and daringly added, “Though I’d just as soon be keeping them on you.”

She ducked her head, flustered by his compliment, and he laughed. Then he was out of the door, and the river wind banged it shut behind him. She sighed, and then smiled at how foolish she had become about him.

She went to dip her pen, then decided she needed the blue ink if she were to make a note on the page of Leftrin’s interpretation. Yes, she decided, she wanted blue, and she’d credit him for the theory as well. It pleased her to think that scores of years hence, scholars would read his name and know that a common river captain had deduced what had eluded others. She found the small ink bottle, uncorked it, and dipped her pen. It came up dry.

She held the bottle to the light. Had she written that much on her journey? She supposed she had. She’d seen so much that had given her ideas or made her revise old thoughts. She thought of adding water to the pigment that remained and scowled. No. That would be her last resort. Sedric, she recalled, had plenty of ink in his portable desk. And she hadn’t visited him since morning. It was as good an excuse to check on him as any.

SEDRIC CAME AWAKE, not suddenly, but as if he were surfacing from a deep dive into black water. Sleep sleeked away from his mind like water draining from his hair and skin. He opened his eyes to the familiar dimness of his cabin. But it was different. The air was slightly cooler and fresher. Someone had recently opened the door. And entered.

He became aware of a figure hunched on the deck by his pallet. He heard the stealthy pawing of thieving hands on his wardrobe chest. Moving by tiny increments, he shifted so he could peer over the edge of his bed. The compartment was dim. Outside the light was fading and he had not lit a lamp. The only illumination came from the small “windows” that also ventilated his room.

Yet the creature on the floor beside his bed gleamed a warm copper and seemed to cast back light that had not struck it. As he watched, it shifted and brilliance ran over a scaled back. She scrabbled at the wardrobe chest, seeking for the hidden drawer that held the vials of her stolen blood.