“How ‘bout a drink to welcome you and celebrate?” she offers to us, surreptitiously wiping her eyes as she walks back to the bar.
She pours five glasses of something from an earthenware pitcher and expertly carries all of them between her two hands to a table in an alcove near the bar. As I move through the space, I allow a ghost of a smile to grace my face; comparing it to the House of Starlight is like differentiating between night and day.
The people here are happy and full of life. The women join the men in their drinking and gambling because they want to, not because of the coin that they might scrape from them with favors. Everyone is sunkissed and smiling, drunk of course, but not angry or hateful when I walk past. Maybe it’s the warm weather and sunshine, or perhaps because we are out from under the King’s thumb and constant scrutiny, but the atmosphere altogether is lighter than I have experienced in many years.
Freedom washes over me anew, and I take a deep breath before following the group to have a seat. The drink is some sort of punch made with rum and spices, and it burns pleasantly in my chest as I taste it with the rest of the group. Sipping along with us, Maryanne flits between our table, and the bar, where she doles out more of the punch or harder liquor from casks to the clientele.
“Is this her place?” I ask, gesturing toward Maryanne with my cup.
“No, my dear. It’s mine,” Marie replies with a small smile. “Most of the establishments on this street are, in fact.”
I sputter a little, surprised that the older woman has so much property. Across the sea, women no longer have the luxury of owning properties or businesses unless they are inherited or owned by their husbands.
“Have you been here long then?” I wonder out loud. “That’s quite the accomplishment.”
“Yes, for the past ten years. I owned several places across the sea. I believe you might know one, I passed it to my daughter-in-law when I departed for warmer shores,” when she escaped Dargan Blackwell’s approach, she means, “ –the House of Starlight.”
So she is how Celeste acquired the House. Loose ends begin to knot, and I start to get a more complete picture of Lyra’s family tree and history.
“Yes. I am quite familiar with that establishment,” I reply softly, taking a long pull of my drink.
“Lennox tells me you hail from the Western Temple at Athene, near the village where he grew up. Are you originally from that area as well?” Marie prods gently.
Hesitating, I swallow another sip of the strong punch, hoping Lennox can feel the daggers in my eyes when I look at him. I’m not ready to revisit a past that I have spent almost a decade trying to escape, especially at a table with a stranger.
“Um…” I stumble, trying to find a polite way to tell our hostess to mind her business. “I’m so sorry, I think the heat and this punch have gone to my head,” I redirect, “Is there a room where I might lay down and cool off a bit?”
“Of course,” Marie graciously allows the subject of my past to drop, even though the look she gives me from the side of her eye makes it clear she knows more than she is telling. This topic will be revisited. “I forget you and Lyra aren’t used to this climate. Lennox, take her across the way. I had the suite prepared adjacent to your usual accommodations.”
She turns to me before continuing, “If you need anything, my dear, ring for one of the servants to assist you. I believe the crew has already brought your things from the ship.”
I give a weak smile in response, trying to look the part of someone overcome with the heat, and allow the Captain to take my arm as we walk out of the tavern.
Across the sandy street is a beautiful boarding house with an open courtyard in the center and another bar in the back. Stairs lead to rooms above with doors that open to overlook the shared space. Vibrant colors of corals, blues, and yellows dazzle my eyes after living in the dark House and then the unembellished hold of a ship for so long. Trees grow in the courtyard, and tropical plants are scattered in large pots arranged around the open room to add more pops of color and beauty to the space.
“Are you all right?” Lennox asks when I stop in the center of the courtyard to look around.
“Yes. Yes, of course. I just needed some air. I would rather my past… stay there,” I try to explain. I swear there is a flicker of hurt in his eyes, but it’s gone as soon as I blink.
“Of course,” he replies, leading the way up the stairs to one of the rooms and handing me a skeleton key. “This space was set aside for you the last time I was here. When Marie heard I was bringing you with Lyra. If it isn’t to your taste, please tell a servant and they will do whatever you need. I am right here,” he points at a door next to mine. “There is a door that connects our room inside as well, but I understand you may not wish to leave it open.”
I clench my jaw at the insinuation that what happened between us on the ship was purely for pay, but hold my tongue.
“How long will you be staying this time?” I question, hoping it sounds like curiosity, not because I can’t quite fathom being in this strange place without his now-familiar presence. “You mentioned you were here before you returned to pick up Lyra; do you come here often?”
“I’m usually here for a week or so, depending on the cargo and the crew.” His hand reaches up to his neck, rubbing across the skin exposed above his shirt. “I need to go check on the crew and take care of some things. Just ring for a servant if you need anything.”
He moves as if to touch my hand, but checks himself, then dips his chin once before taking his leave without so much as a kiss on the cheek. My breath catches in my throat as I watch him descend the stairs, his broad shoulders passing through the door of the courtyard before disappearing into the streets. With a sigh, I turn to open the door to my new quarters.
The suite is nothing like the plain, dim room I shared with Lyra the past several weeks, nor does it compare to the dark velvet- and satin-lined quarters I haunted at the House of Starlight. Louvered shutters cover the large windows on the back wall, giving the space a fresh and airy feel. I walk to one and push it open to a view of the lush jungle beyond, sunlight streaming across the brightly tiled floors.
Trailing my fingers across the light-colored wood furniture and the soft off-white linens, I can’t help but appreciate how the yellow walls make the room feel like the sand and sun of the island. A vase of fresh flowers sits on the table in the center of the room – orchids and blooms I don’t know the name of, but recognize from our walk from the beach – add a sweet and fresh fragrance to the space. A new silver-backed hand mirror and comb as well as a pitcher of fresh water to freshen up with wait for me on a nearby vanity as well.
My trunk sits between the vanity and an armoire, but I can’t bring myself to unpack it. Even though the space is beautiful and light, a part of me misses hiding in the shadows of the House.
From the line of questioning that began this afternoon, I feel as though my carefully crafted façade may start to crack on this island, like the plaster on some of the buildings near the shore, battered by the salty air and Marie’s knowing stare. I’m not sure I am ready to face what that means.
I won’t even think of my traitorous heart, which nearly stopped when Lennox said he might be leaving as soon as a week from now. Can I say goodbye and start over here?