She steps around the desk and gently lays a painted miniature in my hand. My heart speeds to a gallop in my chest, and my dinner threatens to make a reappearance when I look down. The painting is of the former queen — Adelaide — as a younger woman, likely my age or a few years younger. Her sable waves frame milky skin and deep-set sapphire eyes. It’s like looking in a mirror, not a painting of my aunt.
A shallow, shaky breath leaves me and I can’t hide the tears on the edge of my lashes as I stare at the painting. I wish I could hold on to it to keep her close, but I hand it back to Marie.
“I don’t know anything about it at all,” I reply as I rise from my seat. With a small curtsy, I turn and walk steadily from the study.
* * *
As I breeze past the captains who are gathered drinking whisky and brandy in Marie’s parlor, they all turn to watch me, surprised at my brisk pace. Lyra calls my name as I stride through the door, but I cannot stop. I will not look back.
I have not looked back in eight years until this damn voyage, and I am done remembering the past. The girl Marie is looking for died at that temple, and I refuse to stay for further questioning.
The quick step of boots on the verandah follows me before clomping down the stairs as I continue stomping down the sandy street. Pleasant songs and laughter drift from the houses surrounding me on both sides, but neither of those exist in my future if I don’t keep moving. It only takes a moment before Lennox is at my side, matching my pace, barely out of breath.
“Why do I always seem to be chasing you through the streets?” he asks, a smile evident in his deep voice. The smile fades when he looks at my face, his arm shooting out to still my hurried steps.
“What’s wrong? What did Marie say to you?”
“Why did you bring me here?” I demand, trembling slightly with frustration. “Did you know?”
He shakes his head in confusion at my words, glancing over my face. His hands drift to my shoulders, but I shrug out of his grip. “I knew it was you when I saw you at Celeste’s, knew you were the girl I shared the rites with that summer. I’ve never cared about anything else. What are you upset about?”
“Why is Marie asking questions about Adelaide’s niece? What is it to her? What is her standing on this island?” I can’t stop the questions from falling from my lips. “Did you tell her my name?”
“Your name? You mean— ”
“Don’t. Don’t say it.” I start walking again.
“Stop. What are you saying?” Lennox tries to grab at me again, but I pull my arm from his grasp. The armor I rebuilt around myself when we entered the bay cracks as I edge toward panic.
“Nothing, she is dead. Queen Adelaide’s niece died at the temple. Never use that name again. Do you understand?” My eyes burn with tears as I stare into his. “Please, please just take me back to my room.” I hate the plea in my voice, but cannot mask my distress.
Instead, he pulls me into his arms, holding me in the middle of the sandy street as the moon shines down on us.
“I understand. None of that matters to me,” he says, a quiet growl in the night. His hand runs gently down my back as he holds me, comforting the ache in my chest, but he doesn’t take me back to my room.
We walk through the moonlit street until we reach the tavern from earlier. Laughter and music pour through the open shutters, and the flicker of lanterns and candles illuminate the small, cozy space. Maryanne leans against the bar, this time accompanied by another younger woman who seems to be doing all the work at this hour.
“Lennox! Andromeda! Come have a drink!” Maryanne cries when we approach.
She is deep in her cups, but I can tell she is a happy drunk, not a vicious one. I accept another rum punch from her, and Lennox does the same. Maryanne is oblivious to the tension between us while she continues to laugh with the men that line the bar, more carefree than I have ever been. Lennox pulls me into the alcove from earlier and allows me to sit in silence, sipping the strong drink as I drown my thoughts.
“Can I ask you something?” I finally break my silence halfway through my second cup.
“Of course,” he replies. I am not sure if he is on his second or third glass, but his cheeks are ruddy in the candlelight. The heat in my cheeks surely means I am similarly colored.
“Why a wolf?” I ask. He quirks a brow at me as if he doesn’t understand, so I continue, “You have called me a she-wolf several times, even if you don’t think I heard you.” When I cut my eyes to him he looks abashed at the observation, but I go on. “Your black flag has a wolf’s skull on it, does it not? Why?”
“You’re far more astute than anyone realizes, aren’t you?” He smiles from behind his cup.
“I was taught that symbols mean things. What does the wolf mean to you?”
“Well, the wolf can be a symbol to strike fear into men's hearts. They’re vicious, wild, and free. But… they’re also loyal. They work together and they protect the pack. The females are fierce, sometimes more fierce than the males, but they’re nurturing.” He cuts his eyes to me as he explains, “In some cultures, the Goddess of Battle can shapeshift into a wolf.”
I huff into my cup. “I assure you I cannot shapeshift into anything, let alone a wolf. Don’t hold your breath, Captain.”
“Can you not? Have you not worn multiple masks these weeks? Priestess, healer, hand of justice, friend?” He leaves out a few glaring descriptions, but continues, “You inspire loyalty. You’re the fiercest creature I’ve ever met. You care for Lyra as if she was your own blood, and cared for my entire crew and myself for the past weeks at sea.”
His eyes are guileless as they take me in from across the table. I finish my drink, and he tips his cup back to down the rest of his as well.