Shao Lune had looked down at her with irritation and dismay, not amused or entertained by self-pity, but instead obviously turned off. Then she’d berated Baru, excoriated her for wanting to give up. Shao Lune would not be imprisoned and manipulated by a spineless self-pitying slug. Was Baru a spineless self-pitying slug? Did she have no will of her own?

Baru had tried to get up and get at her and that provoked Shao Lune’s merciless counterattack. Baru remembered the tremendous relief of having no control. She remembered her release, the climax she couldn’t reach with Ulyu Xe. She was pragmatically relieved to have that release, and she ought to be a little gleeful to have scored a Falcrest woman.

But she wasn’t proud.

Baru rubbed her aching face. Well. She had made—not a mistake, it hadn’t cost her anything, and at least she’d gotten laid. But she’d embarrassed herself. She was glad that she’d let Shao Lune make the advances, so she didn’t feel like a filthy rapist. Still, Shao was a prisoner, there was an inequity of power between them. Had Baru considered that carefully enough before she let herself be seduced?

Or was this another principle compromised?

She gathered her clothes and stumbled up to middeck to wash herself in brine and a little precious freshwater. She felt like frozen shit. But no one seemed to care about her condition. The crew had gathered into whispering clots, and everywhere there was talk of plague ashore on Kyprananoke.

*   *   *

BARU glared against the sunlight. Through the canvas crowd of the mooring swarm she could see Sulane, red of sail and dark of purpose, moored far enough from them to avoid trickery, close enough to watch.

Ormsment was waiting for them to leave their ship before she struck. Baru would oblige.

At the center of the maindeck the Prince Tau-indi Bosoka held court beneath a canvas awning. Under their mayorage the Cheetah crew did Helbride’s laundry, arranged for fish and bird-catch, and scrubbed the deck. Tau was, Baru thought, the happiest person on the ship.

Tau met her with level, worried eyes. “Your Excellence. I was told you felt unwell.”

“I’ve been resting,” Baru lied. She saw Tau’s fine nose wrinkle at the smell of drink on her, and seized by embarrassment she scooped up a smoky candle in a brass cup and held it between them. Candles were terribly expensive: Cheetah had carried boxes and boxes of them. “I, ah, Your Federal Highness, I need your help.”

“You do. You’re very sick.”

“This? It’s just a hangover.”

“The drink is bad medicine, Your Excellence, but it’s not the sickness.”

Baru squinted against the sunlight. “How would you like to get off this ship and find your friend?”