“Your memory is weak, inferior one.” She said this in the most insulting manner, the highest of the high to the lowest of the low. Erafnais, standing between them, moaned with terror, her crest flaming first red then orange as she fled below. Vaintè reeled back as though struck a physical blow. Enge was pitiless.

“You have been disowned. Your shame is upon me and I reject you as an efenselè. Your reckless ambition to kill Kerrick — ustuzou, all ustuzou, has destroyed proud Alpèasak instead. You ordered low-creature Stallan to kill my companions. Since the egg of time there has been no one like you. Would you had never emerged from the sea. If our entire efenburu had died there in the wet silence, myself included, it would have been better than this.”

Vaintè’s skin had first flared with rage when Enge spoke, but quickly darkened as her body grew still. Her anger was sealed inside now, to be used when needed — and not to be wasted on this inferior being who was once her equal.

“Leave me,” she said, then turned back to the empty sea. Enge turned away as well, breathing deeply and ashamed of herself for the unbidden anger. This was not what she believed in, what she preached to others. With great effort she stilled the movements of her limbs, the glaring colors of her palms and crest. Only when she was stonelike and as uncommunicative as Vaintè did she permit herself to speak. Below her was the crewmember guiding the uruketo through the sea; close behind her was the commander. Enge leaned down and made the sound of speaking-attention.

“From one-who-follows to one-who-leads, would Erafnais give pleasure by joining here?”

Erafnais climbed reluctantly up, aware of silent Vaintè, back turned and staring out at the sea. “I am here, Enge,” she said.

“My thanks and the gratitude of those with me, for saving us from destruction. Where are you bound?”