"Don't even speak of such things," Amber said faintly. Distractedly, she added, "I should put the mussels on to cook now." He heard her scratching at her fire, then the sizzle of wet seaweed steaming on hot coals. She was cooking the mussels alive. He considered pointing that out to her. He decided it would only upset her, not sway her to his cause. He waited until she had come back to him. She sat on the sand, leaning against his canted hull. Her hair was very fine. When it brushed against his planking, it snagged and clung to the wood.

"You don't make sense," he pointed out genially. "You vow you would stand and fight for me, knowing you would lose. But this simple, sure mercy you refuse me."

"Death by flames is scarcely mercy."

"No. Being chopped to pieces is much more pleasant, I'm sure," Paragon retorted sarcastically.

"You go so quickly from childish tantrums to cold logic," Amber said wonderingly. "Are you child or man? What are you?"

"Both, perhaps. But you change the subject. Come. Promise me."

"No," she pleaded.

He let out his breath in a sigh. She would do it. He could hear it in her voice. If there were no other way to save him, then she would do it. A strange trembling ran through him. It was a strange victory to have won. "And jars of oil," he added. "When they come, you may not have much time. Oil would make the wood burn fast and hot."

There followed a long silence. When she spoke again, her voice was altered. "They will try to move you in secret. Tell me how they would do it."

"Probably the same way I was put up here. They will wait for a high tide. Most likely, they would choose the highest tide of the month, at night. They will come with rollers, donkeys, men and small boats. It will not be a small undertaking, but knowledgeable men could get it done quickly."