I jumped and whirled around, feeling unsettled, as if I'd been caught prying through someone's personal things.

Zathdar did not glance my way. He shifted around me, the crimson silk of his shirt shimmering in the diffuse light from the stern windows. The fabric shaped smoothly over the contours of shoulder and arm as he reached up and carefully took the carved tree from its shelf. "There's a spell that goes with it. You say it, and the leaves rustle. You can listen to them. Very pleasant, I assure you, if you happen to be caught windless out in the deeps, the ship wallowing and no breath of air."

He faced me, holding out the tree in both hands. I shook my head. "It's too delicate. I'm afraid I'll break it."

He turned away again and I whooshed out my breath, trying to find the cause of my absurd reaction. This was a captain's cabin, and little as I knew of ship matters, I did know it hardly constituted personal space, not unless the door was shut (it was not) and the scuttles all closed (they weren't).

He leaned a knee on the bunk and settled the tree just right, the fringes of his bandana swinging against his cheekbone. The books, the green coverlet, the precise slant of the handwriting on those maps, the tree and the silver bird. I'd seen all these the day previous, but then they'd been just things, scarcely noticeable. Now they were personal.

Rain began hissing on the deck overhead, which somehow made the space feel even more cramped. Though the rain made a steady thrum, I could hear the sound of his breathing. "Did you steal the ship?" I blushed uncomfortably. I hadn't meant to say that at all.

He grinned. "It's tradition, how pirate ships change hands. But pause and think. Where would you go if you wanted to purchase one? To a kingdom shipyard, asking the yardmaster if he happens to have any pirate ships for sale--very fast, preferably with at least one false hold? No, when navies take pirates, they tend to work the ships into their fleet, captains squabbling over who gets command. Then, er, they tend to be spotted and cut out again by people like me."

"You could have one built."

"But it can take years. If one has enough money. Easier to catch 'em, I'm afraid."

"You said pirate ships. But you claim to be a privateer. How do privateers get their ships?" I asked.

"Steal 'em from pirates." He tapped the earring glinting against his jawline. A ruby stone glittered on it. "You wear a hoop after you've survived a battle, and rubies when you've defeated a real pirate. While that won't scare off other pirates--little does--the ruby tends to ward off the would-bes. Saves effort."

He twiddled his fingers, giving me a wry glance. I laughed, as I was meant to. The moment made me feel slightly less unsettled.

"So." He thumped his elbows on the table, hands flicking open. "Before I get to my suggestion, what do you wish to do?"

"I'd like to be set on land as soon as possible, thank you."

"Even though by now there is a price on your head?"

"There is? But I didn't do anything!"

"It's not what you've done, it's who you are." He gave me an apologetic smile. "I guess what follows is what they're afraid you'll do."

Annoyance flushed through me. "Arrested for a crime someone else premeditates on my behalf? That's got to be a new one even for the local Dark Lord."

"Dark Lord? King Canardan is a king, not a lord. He also has red hair. Or would the 'dark' refer to his clothing? Except that he is reputed to dress well, and the mode, everyone tells me, is light colors."

Once again he made me laugh, and my annoyance vanished. Why bother getting mad, ranting about unfairness? Zathdar already knew it was unfair, and of course he had a price on his head too.

So I said, "There's a reward offered for laying me by the heels whether I'm on land or at sea, isn't there?"

He spread his hands.

"Well, on land, I'm my own person, so to speak. I'd rather call the shots--" The words came out in English. "I'd rather be on my own."

"To find your father?" he asked gently.

I lifted my gaze--and met his blue eyes straight on.

What is it about the mirroring of gazes? Eyes are just eyes, circles within circles. You meet people's gazes all your life. Then, one moment you look across the table out of surprise or question or maybe even a little challenge, and there are these eyes. Your nerves zing and prickle, leaving you intensely aware of your heartbeat, your breathing, your toes crunched in your shoes, your damp palms. Distance is so relative. Whether the other person is a foot away or across a crowded room, you have fallen into intimate space.

I flicked my gaze up to the glittering gold embroidery on his headband. No intimate space here, noooooo.

I said to the fringes, "I have no idea if my father's even alive. No one will tell me."

"He vanished. That's all anyone can tell you." Zathdar snapped his fingers. "The Ebans seem to think you know where he is."

"I can't help that." I shrugged and studied the map of Sartor just beyond his shoulder as if a professor was about to slap a final exam before me.

"There's another matter. Something many of my crew are in favor of, by the way, as nearly all of them are exiles for one reason or another. Far too many are new, as the unrest spreads. Sooner or later someone's going to ask your intentions, so it might as well be now, and by me."

"I'm listening." I moved away from the table and confronted the map, poring over it.

"I thank you for that." I could hear his smile in his voice. "But I was hoping you'd take that as an invitation to talk."

Now even his voice sent prickles through me. This was the last thing I needed. Second to the last, I amended, backpedaling mentally. Worst thing? Capture by Canary's goons. But the second-to-the-last thing I needed was any kind of chemistry with a pirate. Especially one who had the worst taste in colors I'd ever known, even in the mega-geek world of graduate school. That's right, Sasha, make yourself laugh. If you laugh, it's just a silly chemical thing, here today, gone tomorrow. Abso-freakin'-lutely.

"Rumors have to be crossing the country now, however garbled. If you were to raise your family's banner, many people would flock to it."

That surprised me enough to flick a sideways glance, but I stopped at the bandana. "I don't have a banner."

"You do too."

"It's just a blanket. And anyway I have no legal standing."

"You have, let us call it, a symbolic standing in the eyes of many people who want the Zhavalieshins back on the throne."

"So in place of my dad I serve as a figurehead for civil war? No, I hate that, I'm sorry. I don't mean to sound like I'm casting any aspersions here--blood and guts after all was your career choice--but if you're hinting you'd like me to join your fleet here under the Zhavalieshin banner, well, in a word, no. I won't stand by and let my family name be an excuse for someone wanting power to draw brothers and sisters and mothers and fathers and kids, even, to go marching to their deaths. Or sailing to their deaths. Because that's what civil war is, when you strip out the rhetoric about who's right and who's wrong." I winced, suddenly realizing that I was giving A-double-attitude to a pirate captain on his own ship. One who could toss me in the brig, and who would stop him?

But he did not sound angry. "Fair enough. Then you must be set down on land as soon as we can. First, though, there's a little matter of a blockade to run."