Part Two
Delosia
Chapter 22
Rope creaks as the rowboat I sit in is lowered down to the water joined by Lyra, Lennox, and several other crew members. The Bartered Soul has anchored in a small bay rather than at the main port for reasons unbeknownst to me, so there is no simple walk down a gangplank. Lyra grins at the pretty fish swimming beneath the waves, but I stare ahead at the beach. Sailors drift between tents and stacks of supplies on the white sands. I shiver despite the heat, imagining their eyes on Lyra’s fresh face as we approach.
Lennox’s arms slip around me, lifting me from the boat once we reach the shore and carrying me to the dry sand to keep my skirts and boots from getting wet in the salty tide. He returns to do the same for Lyra, leaving me to look around while he retrieves his niece. The men on the beach glance at me, but no one approaches. Several gather around a spit with a whole pig roasting, and I catch myself before I actually drool at the sight of the fresh food. It smells almost good enough to risk joining the men for a piece of the fatty meat.
A sigh of relief escapes me when Lyra and Lennox are back at my side, hating that I still feel so uneasy around strange men even this far from Selennia’s shores. My dagger is secreted away in my pocket, but drawing blood as soon as my feet hit the sands isn’t how I want to introduce myself to the island of Delosia.
Our footsteps sink into the sand as we start walking toward the town when Lyra’s breath catches, then she breaks into a run. Before I can lunge to stop her, squeals of delight erupt from her lips, and Lennox chuckles softly at my side. I shoot him a quick sideways glance, but my eyes continue to follow Lyra’s form along the sand until she throws her arms around an older woman walking toward us.
The woman’s silver hair is braided in small rows tight to her scalp, pulled together at her nape and twisted into a thick bun. Her rich, ebony skin is smooth, contrasting against the brightly colored linen dress that flows loosely around her slim frame — ideal for the tropical heat.
When Lennox and I are closer, laughter lines etched lightly at the corners of her eyes and lips are evident, but she seems to shine with youthful joy despite her age. Raking my eyes between her and Lyra, my mouth pops open at the shock. They have the same full, smiling lips, the same eye shape, and the same inner glow.
“Andromeda! This is my Grandmama,” Lyra announces, beaming and hugging the older woman again. I stand gaping — the stories of Celeste’s departed sailor, the murdered husband, the flight from Blackwell’s men, it all runs together. Truths and lies, covers and secrets.
“You must be the priestess Celeste sent to protect my darling Lyra!” The woman smiles and takes my hand, laying a gentle kiss on my knuckles. I start at the gesture.
“I am hardly—” I begin to deny her statement, but Lennox interrupts.
“She is, Mistress Marie. And a fine job she did. Our Andromeda is a wonder.” He smiles at me as he compliments me to the woman. A blush sweeps across my skin at his words.
“She’s been teaching me herblore, too, Grandmama,” Lyra gushes. “So I can help in town!” Her grin is broad as she clasps her grandmother’s hand happily.
“Oh, that is helpful. Let’s all head to town to catch up. I would like to hear more about you, Andromeda.” Marie speaks with authority as she smiles at me, then shoots a knowing look at Lennox.
The reunited pair walk arm in arm as we trod together through the warm sand toward the distant town. The trees here are lush and green with bursts of bright tropical flowers and fruits hanging from them, reminding me of things I saw in a hothouse when I was young. My senses are filled with the beautiful colors and textures; even the smell of the place is decadent and rich.
The heart of the town greets us with buildings in a mixture of warm colors that seem like they’re growing out of the jungle itself. Laundry hangs from lines across the alleys, presumably from living spaces located above small shops that line the street. I note public houses, taverns, and what are likely a few brothels, sprinkled in the mix.
Rough men and women of all types mingle in the streets, but all of them step from our path as Lyra and her grandmother lead the way. Some nod their heads in greeting to the older woman or Lennox as we pass, and Marie greets her friends and neighbors warmly as we stroll along.
We soon stop at a cozy pub on a side street. Lennox holds the heavy front door for all of us to pass through, and the laughter and merriment inside quiets at our entry. After a moment, my eyes adjust to the dimness of the room. Tightly packed tables fill the space, and the open shutters allow a pleasant breeze to cool the overcrowded room full of men and women drinking from tankards and goblets. A bar runs across the back of the building with a curvaceous blonde serving the customers seated along its edge. Her face is pleasant, and by all accounts, she seems to enjoy her job, smiling and joking with each customer she greets. Her grin grows wider when her eyes light on Lennox, and she steps quickly around the bar.
As she nears us, it’s evident she is at least a decade older than me, and her smile is missing a few teeth, but it doesn’t dim the warmth radiating from her. She walks up to our party and slaps Lennox in a tight hug before I register what is happening.
“You scoundrel! You left the last time without saying goodbye and here you show up with not one beautiful maid, but two! Explain yourself you blackguard,” the woman laughs, releasing him from her embrace.
“Hell, Maryanne, you were sleeping off a bender! There wouldn’t have been a way to wake you had I tried. And you know I always come back,” Lennox teases back with a bold smile on his face.
“And what have you done to your hair this time? You look far less handsome and mysterious this way,” the woman called Maryanne scoffs, rubbing the top of his head and rumpling the golden hair that has been growing out since the voyage began.
“Well, unfortunately, this is the true me — far less handsome, but far more mysterious. Blame this one here for my aesthetic changes.” He winks, gesturing to me.
“Mistress Marie, who are these two beauties? Surely you aren’t going to let them work at the bar — they’ll take all my good tips!” I glance between the two older women, not certain if Maryanne is serious, but she grins broadly at me indicating it is only a jest.
“Maryanne, my dear — this is my granddaughter, Lyra. Finally come home to me,” Marie beams as she presents Lyra to the barkeep. “And this is,” Marie steps aside to present me as well, pausing briefly, “Andromeda, a surviving Selennian priestess.”
I’m sure she assumes that Andromeda is not my true name, but I do not wish to divulge my secrets just yet. Nevertheless, I study the woman – somehow, I get the distinct impression that Marie knows far more than she lets on. The fact that she uses my priestess title is a shocking reminder of how far I’ve traveled from home.
Maryanne practically glows with joy as she hugs Lyra, holding her at arm's length to examine her beauty, but as she approaches me her smile slips. Shock stills me as she takes my hand and bows her head to me in an honor I no longer deserve.
“Priestess. Welcome,” she breathes over my hand.
Her eyes are lined in silver when she rises. I’m overwhelmed with emotion, but I quickly shove it back down before it can bubble up out of my own eyes. The reverence she shows me tells me right away that Maryann comes from our country as well, perhaps has experienced the same things my sisters and I have. I clasp her hand gently in thanks and she steps back, rearranging her face to be cheery and bright again.