Ship of Magic

In the blink of an eye, Kyle went from discomfort to irritation. He stood abruptly, flinging his napkin to the table. “I see. Perhaps I should simply live aboard the ship, to avoid inconveniencing you while you determine the fate of our family! You seem to forget that Malta is my daughter as well as yours. If she is twelve and had not yet been taught dancing and manners, perhaps you should rebuke yourself for that! First you sent my son off to be a priest, now you behave as if I shall have no say in how my daughter is raised either.”

Keffria was already on her feet, grasping at his sleeve. “Kyle! Please! Come back, sit down. That is not what I meant. Of course I want you to help raise our children. It is simply that we must be careful with Malta's reputation, if we want her to be seen as a properly raised young woman.”

But Kyle was not to be appeased. “Then I suggest you see to her manners and her dancing lessons, instead of sending her off to work embroidery. As for me, I have a ship to attend to. And a young man to straighten out. And that through a decision I had no say in at all.” He shook her off as if shooing away a fly and stormed from the room. Keffria was left standing with her hand clutched over her mouth.

After a time, she sank slowly back into her chair. She took a deep breath, and then lifted her hands to her throbbing temples. Her eyes were scratchy with unshed tears. So much tension, so many quarrels lately. It seemed as if there was never a moment of peace in the house. She longed suddenly to return to the days when her father was a healthy man, and he and Althea sailed while she and her mother stayed home and cared for the house and children.

Then when Kyle had come into port, it had been like a holiday. He had been the captain of the Daring in those days. All had spoken well of him, how handsome, how dashing he looked. His days at home they had spent either dallying late in their bedchamber or strolling arm in arm about Bingtown. His sea chest had always brimmed with prizes for her and the children, and he had made her always feel like a newly wed bride. Ever since he had taken over the Vivacia, he had become so serious. And so, so ... she tried to think of a word. “Grasping” came to mind, but she rejected it. He was simply a man in charge, she decided to herself. And with her father's death, he had extended that to everything: not just the family ship, but the household, the holdings, the children, and even, she thought woefully, her sister and her mother.

They used to talk late at night, long conversations about nothing. Kyle had liked to open the draperies and let the moonlight stream in across their curtained bed. He had spoken of the fury of the storms he had seen, and the beauty of the full sails when the wind was right, as he had touched her with hands and eyes that said he found her as fascinating as the sea. Now he spoke of little, save what cargo he had sold and what goods he'd taken on. Over and over, he reminded her that the foundering or the thriving of the Vestrit family fortunes rested on his shoulders now. Over and over he vowed to her that he would show the Bingtown Traders a thing or two about sagacious management and shrewd trading. The nights they spent together brought her neither release nor rest. The days in port he spent with his ship. And now, she admitted bitterly, what she was looking forward to was his sailing. When he left, she could at least reclaim some of the peace of regular days and routines.

She looked up at the sound of footsteps, both hoping and dreading that they heralded her husband's return. Instead her mother drifted into the room. She looked at Keffria and the remnants of food on the breakfast table as if they were less than shadows. Then her eyes roamed the room as if looking for something else. Or someone else. “Good morning, Mother,” Keffria said.

“Good morning,” her mother replied listlessly. “I heard Kyle leave.”

“So you came down,” Keffria supplied bitterly. “Mother, it pains me that you avoid him. There are things that must be discussed, that must be decided. ...”

Her mother's smile was tight. “And while Kyle is present, that is impossible. Keffria, I am too tired and too grieved to speak tactfully. Your husband leaves no room for discussion. There is no point to my trading words with him, for we do not agree, and he will admit to no reason save his own.” She shook her head. “It seems I have but two thoughts these days. I can grieve for your father, or rebuke myself for the muddle I have made of what he entrusted to me.”

Despite her own recent anger with Kyle, the words stung Keffria. When she replied, it was in a low voice, freighted in hurt. “He is a good man, Mother. He only does what he believes is best for all of us.”