Breathing in the sweet-scented ocean breeze, I sigh deeply. For the first time in quite some time, I have the freedom to relax and think about what I want — free of the yoke of servitude of the House and the terror of King Dargan Blackwell. No matter, there is part of me that can’t let go of the past, and that sliver of fear stays wedged deeply in my soul as I ring the bell for a servant to help me with a proper bath.
Chapter 23
After what may have been the most refreshing bath of my life, I stand wrapped in a soft linen cloth staring out the window. The sun sinks in a deep pink and red sky, and the golden-hour light colors everything it touches in flame. I smile thinking of the old saying: Red skies at night, sailors delight. The sailors on the island, and aboard the vessels anchored offshore, are sure to be in a good mood tonight.
My long hair drips onto the floorboards behind me as I step away from the window, using the soft towel I clutch to dry my clean tresses. Rummaging through my trunk, I remove one of the last clean shifts, thankful that I thought ahead to save one for our adventure on land. Shrugging it on, I pull out the other various articles of clothing and lay them in a pile.
Many pieces need to be laundered, so I make a note to hand them over the next time a servant appears. One of the lightweight pieces calls to me; a cotton dress with a simple floral pattern, but still in my usual darker palette. I will never be bright and cheerful like the other women I see on the island, but the purple tones and flowers will suit just fine, and the fabric is light and breathable for the warmer climate.
Slipping into the dress, I notice this one has added boning for structure built in. Somehow, Lennox knew I would continue to fight against wearing stays, even here. This way I am still able to dress without assistance, even though assistance is readily available, and I cling to that sliver of independence. The other women I have seen so far on the island dress simply, nothing like what fashionable ladies across the sea wear. The heat and lack of the King’s judgment make everything more relaxed, it seems. My fingers run across the soft fabric, thinking of the day it was given to me so many weeks ago, and the thought of the Captain brings my mood back down. I must speak with him plainly at some point soon.
As I stand at the vanity, pinning my hair back, a light tapping echoes at my door. “Come in,” I respond, my back turned to the sound.
The door opens and Lyra’s reflection shines brightly in the mirror as she stands by the door. She glows radiantly in a bold turquoise dress I have never seen before; perhaps her grandmother had it waiting for her. Her unruly tight curls aren’t pinned back neatly like she usually styles them, so they create a dark halo around her pretty face.
“Hello, Lyra. Are you well?” I ask as I finish my hair and turn to her.
“Oh yes, Andromeda. I’ve been so excited to see Grandmama again and to see Delosia. Isn’t it beautiful?” she asks, excitement making her bounce in her dainty shoes.
“It is beautiful. What brings you to me tonight?” I am not unhappy to see the girl, but I assumed I would be on my own for the evening.
“Grandmama wanted to invite you to dinner at her home. Will you come?” she asks hesitantly. “Uncle Billy will be there, too!” she adds, like bait on a line. My ruse of feeling faint earlier must not have been as convincing as I had hoped.
“Of course. I would be honored to join you.”
Slipping my feet into the boots that I have grown accustomed to wearing, we head toward the door. I forego any slippers or other delicate footwear like Lyra favors; the ability to run quickly without thought as to whether I’m going to stumble or roll an ankle remains a priority for me.
I follow Lyra out of the boarding house, winding down several different streets until we end up in a residential area. Small houses neatly line the sandy street, and locals sit on open porches or sing through open shutters as the refreshing briny breeze flows through the wooden slats. At the end of the street sits a much larger house, not ornate like the aristocracy has back in Selennia, but understated and elegant.
Lyra’s turquoise dress swishes with each step as she leads me up the steps and onto the verandah before opening the front door. I was expecting this to be a small dinner with Lyra and her family, but several other men I don’t recognize also wait inside, and my footsteps falter. Even though I was raised around nobility, and have dined in mixed company in the past, my most recent history has taught me to be wary of strange men.
Several moments pass while I lurk in the open doorway, Lyra oblivious to my hesitation as she is halfway down the hall, before Lennox’s eyes land on me. His smile calms my nerves, and I curse my body at the reaction he draws from me. The sight of him breaking free of the group he stands in to approach me nearly undoes my careful restraint. Without pause, he gently lifts my hand like a gentleman and leads me into the group for introductions.
While I try to focus on each of the other captains as they are introduced, my eyes are drawn to the man at my side and my heart flutters from his hand resting on my lower back. Lennox wears yet another finely constructed coat for tonight’s dinner, this time in dark blue linen instead of emerald wool, with his cutlass still at his side. His golden hair is a tousled mess as if the wind has run her fingers through it just to spite me, and light stubble covers his jawline.
He’s beautiful, I think to myself, studying the way he moves among the group. They are cordial, but somewhat wary of him, and give me a wide, respectful berth. And dangerous, I add silently at their reactions.
A boisterous man wearing a flashy patchwork coat laughs with Lyra’s grandmother, and I recognize him as Captain Jackson from our voyage into the bay. Erik is also present, a looming comfort in my periphery, along with five other men I do not know. Both the varied colors of their skin, ranging from ice pale to deep ebony, and their different wardrobe choices lead me to assume they appear to hail from different places around the globe. I swallow my nerves as I plaster a smile on my face, hoping it looks as if I’m excited to be there, not like I’m going to be sick.
“Ah, our guest of honor, Mistress Andromeda.” Marie smiles broadly at me, her straight white teeth all still present despite her age. “Savior and avenging goddess of the Bartered Soul.”
“I don’t understand,” I insist to her as she approaches. “I didn’t save anyone.”
“You nursed this one back to life.” She nods toward Lennox with a smile. “And you helped anyone you could while you were at sea. And you served justice better than I’ve ever heard anyone do before, man or woman,” Marie replies, eliciting grimaces from the men present.
She takes my arm and leads me toward the large table. The seat she indicates for me is at her right hand, with Lennox across from me, and Lyra to my right. I happily accept a glass of wine from the servant, sipping it as I try to determine why exactly I am here. Sweat pools at my back as I sit perfectly straight in the cane chair, staring across at Lennox while the other men file into the dining room and take their seats. A low murmur of male voices washes over me as the men settle into their places, the din of old friends becoming reacquainted after their respective journeys.
“Gentlemen. And ladies,” Marie begins once we are all seated and served drinks. “I welcome you all to my home for this meal, to mingle and to discuss life, loyalty, and, dare I say, politics?” Marie smirks toward the men and they chuckle, sipping their drinks. Lyra smiles as well, and I feel like I am the only one not in on the joke.
A rich-smelling seafood stew is brought to the table and ladled into our bowls while Marie talks. I can only focus on the smell of the spices and the soothing taste of the broth while I take in snippets of conversations. No part of me wishes to discuss politics, or anything else, with these people; I took this voyage for my freedom, not to be trapped at a table of strangers to talk idly.
Despite my best attempt to tune everyone out, my hearing focuses on Marie’s words. “We all loved Queen Adelaide, may the Goddess bless her. The King’s defeat over her is still a bitter pill, but there may be hope.”
My head snaps up at that, and her eyes find mine. The sweat that has been dripping at my back turns cold.
I glance back at my empty bowl, searching for something to be distracted by, but there is nothing; I must heed her speech or appear dreadfully rude.
“We have hope that an heir to Adelaide’s throne may be found,” Marie continues to no one in particular. “Although she had no consort or children of her own, it was rumored that she had a sister. And through that sister, a niece.”