Lyra.
My eyes fly open as I relax back onto the bed, the fear of only moments before leaving me gasping for breath. Lyra grips my shoulders with a frightened look on her face, her thin fingers digging into my shoulders. My hands claw across the bed, reaching for the dagger I almost always keep nearby — the one that saved me that night – for reassurance. The memories of that night have always haunted me; each time I ventured into the streets in Artemisia alone, each time a red and black uniform caught my eye, each time a man gave me the wrong kind of look, but the stress of our journey seems to be pulling my old life to the surface in many ways.
My body trembles as she wraps her arms around me delicately, stroking my hair as if I am a child waking from a bad dream instead of the older woman in the room.
“Andromeda, are you all right?”
“Yes,” I gasp. “I survived. I’m all right,” I reply quietly.
The salt of tears settles on my lips as they fall of their own volition, and my body shakes as I try to hold them in.
“Were you dreaming of Crewes’ attack?” she asks gently.
“No,” I whisper.
“Ah, before, then?” I pull back in shock, searching her face. “I was eight when they came. Mother and I had already left for the city, but they killed my granny and my father. Just because of what they believed – because they wouldn’t give in. They loved the Queen, and they loved the Goddess. They gave everything for them.” Her face is somber, but her eyes are angry, and I find myself continually surprised by the young woman I always dismissed as just a pretty face.
“You said before that you killed a man,” she trails off.
I hesitate for a moment before replying. “Yes.”
“You’re brave. I wish I could have killed the man who hurt Charlie,” she says fiercely. “The men who hurt my family.”
“I hope you never have to do such things,” I tell her, holding her hand as she sits with me, “but I understand the desire.”
“I loved her,” she whispers sadly.
“I know, Lyra. I know. I’m so sorry.”
We sit together quietly in our sorrows, holding hands with our shoulders pressed together. The sun sinks outside our little porthole – the creak of the hull and the crash of the sea beyond a requiem for our losses.
Chapter 20
Late that evening, Lyra and I make our way to the mess area, ready to join the crew for our evening meal. The sound of laughter and merriment only heightens the melancholy feeling clinging to me, and I am ready for my share of alcohol tonight — wine, rum, whiskey, I don’t care. I haven’t seen Lennox since I left his cabin earlier in the day, and am unsure whether he will be present for dinner or if he will dine in his private chamber.
A hush falls on the area as we enter, and the eyes of many of the crew fall on us, appraising our masculine ensembles. We almost blend in with the other female crew, except our hair is longer, and we haven’t spent as much time in the sun.
I feel the Captain’s gaze upon me before my eyes find him sitting at the table in the front of the group, where he has joined his crew for the evening. Lyra and I walk to take our places where we ate before, but the Captain is frosty at best.
My hand drifts to the pitcher to my right, and I quickly pour a glass of whatever is in it into my glass, drinking it down quickly, then gagging after I swallow. Grog, as the crew calls it — a blend of several different alcohols, guaranteed to get one drunk quickly. Swiping my sleeve across my mouth, I pour another glass, ignoring the hard stare the Captain passes my way.
“Feeling better, Uncle?” Lyra whispers to him from my left.
“I am, thank you, Lyra. Andromeda is well-skilled,” he replies, pointedly ignoring me.
A laugh escapes into my glass as I continue to drink, pouring one glass and then another into my cup, choking down the burning liquor. I secretly long for the fine wine or brandy in the Captain’s cabin, but I will be damned if I speak the words to him to say so.
The liquor sloshes in my stomach, reminding me to dig into the ration of salted beef and beans that was placed before me. In the weeks we have been at sea, the variety of food has diminished and become repetitive. I had hoped the captured ship might have more supplies, but based on tonight’s meal, it seems that it’s more of the same.
I can’t quite explain the anger simmering under my skin, but anger has been a familiar companion over the past eight years, and tonight I am restless with it. Since departing Athene, I thought the Captain and I had become close. The nights we’ve spent together, plus the confession of his true identity — the memory of our night together at the rites all those years ago — made me assume that the feelings I have tried to stave off were mutual. But based on his current actions, it seems like those words were the final regretful statements of a dying man, and now he wants to dismiss me, returning to my lowly status: a bartered soul.
Scraping the last of my meal from my plate, I pour another full cup before standing, swaying slightly from the movement of the ship and the alcohol coursing through me. Without a word, I walk out of the room and back into the hold.
If he wants me to know my place, I will make sure he sees that I understand completely.
I continue to drink as I stumble to my cabin, pulling the door open with far more force than is needed. Clumsily, I kick out of my boots and pants and rifle through my trunk, tossing the fine clothing aside until I see the few pieces I brought from my time at the House of Starlight.
My hands slide across a gauzy dress the color of smoke that barely reaches below the curve of my backside, and I separate it out, stripping my shirt from my body. I wear the chain Lennox gave me to wear with my priestess robe, clasping it around my neck and waist, and then slip the dress on over it. The front is cut deep, almost to my navel, so the chain connecting my neck and waist is visible on my exposed skin.