Free Ship of Magic by Hobb Robin Page A

hold in Bingtown. Great-grandma, Father was fond of saying, had never let other folk's opinions come between her and her ship. Great-grandma had sailed the
Vivacia
for thirty-five years, past her seventieth birthday. One hot summer day she had simply sat down on the foredeck, said, “That'll do, boys,” and died.
    Grandpa had taken over the ship next. Althea could vaguely remember him. He'd been a black bull of a man, his voice always full of the roar of the sea even when he was at home. He'd died fourteen years ago, on the deck of the
Vivacia.
He'd been sixty-two, and Althea herself but a little girl of four. But she had stood beside his litter with the rest of the Vestrit family and witnessed his death, and even then felt the faint quiver that ran through the
Vivacia
at his passing. She had known that that shiver was both regret and welcome; the
Vivacia
would miss her bold captain, but she welcomed the flowing of his anma into her timbers. His death put her one life closer to awakening.
    And now there only remained her father's death to complete the quickening. As always, Althea felt a rush of conflicting emotions when she considered it. The thought of her father dying filled her with dread and horror. It would devastate her for her father to be gone. And if he died before she reached her majority, and authority over her fell to her mother and Kyle . . . she hastily pushed the thought away, rapping her knuckles against the wood of the
Vivacia
to ward off the ill luck of thinking of such a bad thing.
    Yet she could not deny how she anticipated the quickening of the
Vivacia.
How many hours had she spent, stretched out on the bowsprit as close to the figurehead as she could get as they plowed through the seas, and stared at the carved wooden lids that covered the
Vivacia
's eyes? She was not wood and paint like the figurehead of any ordinary ship. She was wizardwood. She was painted for now, yes, but at the moment of Ephron Vestrit's death aboard her decks, the painted locks of her tumbling hair would be not gilt but curling gold, and her high-boned cheeks would lose their rouge of paint and glow pink with her own life. She'd have green eyes. Althea knew it. Of course, everyone said that no one could truly know what color a liveship's eyes would be until those eyes were opened by the deaths of three generations. But Althea knew. The
Vivacia
would have eyes as green as sea lettuce. Even now, thinking of how it would be when those great emerald eyes opened, Althea had to smile.
    The smile faded as she recalled Kyle's words. It was plain what he hoped to do. Put her off the ship and bring one of his sons aboard. And when her father did die, Kyle would try to keep command of the
Vivacia,
would keep his boy aboard as his token Vestrit to keep the ship happy. It had to be an empty threat. Neither boy was suited: the one too young, the other given to the priests. Althea had nothing against her nephews, but even if Selden were not too young to live aboard ship, he had the soul of a farmer. As for Wintrow, Keffria had given him over to the priests years ago. Wintrow cared nothing for the
Vivacia,
knew nothing of ships; her sister Keffria had seen to that. And he was destined to be a priest. Kyle had never been much enthused about that, but last time Althea had seen the boy, it was plain that he'd make a good priest. Small and spindly, always staring off into the distance, smiling vaguely, thoughts full of Sa: that was Wintrow.
    Not that Kyle would care where the boy's heart was, or even about backing out on dedicating his eldest son to Sa. His children by Keffria were no more than tools to him, the blood he'd claim in order to gain control of the liveship. Well, he'd shown his hand a bit too plainly this time. When they got back to port, she'd see to it that her father knew exactly what Kyle had planned, and how badly he'd treated her. Perhaps then her father would reconsider his decision that Althea was too young to captain the ship.