The waxing gibbous moon illuminates the palms and other lush trees that line the back of the buildings, casting a pretty glow on the night. The full moon is not far away, and my heart swells at the thought of another ceremonial night. The thought makes me briefly wonder if anyone on the island celebrates in the old way now that I know many of the residents fled persecution from Selennia. Maybe there are even other priestesses that hold ceremony, or at least mark the passing phases. My heart warms at the possibility as I stand another few moments in the street gazing at the stars as they blink to life, then continue my trek to the boarding house.
When I step through the doors of the boarding house, I survey the courtyard, but again find no familiar faces to greet me. In need of liquid courage to sit with my thoughts tonight while I gather ideas for how to handle Marie and decide my next moves, I stop by the bar to request a bottle of wine and a fresh pitcher of water for my room. I have to fight the urge to ask the bartender if the Captain has returned, but restrain myself and ascend the stairs in silence. Reaching the door to my room, I pause, glancing longingly at Lennox’s room next door.
Did he ever come back? Will he say goodbye before he departs for good again?
I shake my head at my foolishness and enter my chambers. The room has been tidied, and two notes wait for me: one from the servant girl letting me know that she has sent all of my soiled items to the laundress and that they will be returned tomorrow, which is good since I have no other options to wear besides what’s on my back. The other note bears a deep purple wax seal and unfamiliar handwriting on the outside. I carefully open it, suspecting the heavy paper is Marie’s before breaking the seal. I’m confident she won’t be opposed to another meeting, but my heart still skips like a nervous child performing for an audience as I read:
Andromeda,
I am sorry if I upset you at dinner last night. I won’t make excuses — I was trying to test your mettle. I fear my approach has backfired, but I was so pleased when Lyra told me you wished to speak again. I would be honored to have you for lunch tomorrow. Please visit me around noontime. -Marie
With a sigh, I place the note on my vanity and open the bottle of wine — tonight I will drown my worries. Tomorrow, I will confront my past, and, hopefully, make a plan for whatever future I might have left.
Chapter 27
Anxiety rolls through me as I hurry through the streets towards Marie’s home, but hopefully, it isn’t written across my face. Luckily, the laundress was able to return my clothing with a short turnaround, but she was late enough that I was afraid I would be wearing a sweat-stained shift and a days-old dirty dress to my lunch with the head of the entire island.
As it is, I selected a navy dress of soft breathable linen for the occasion. My hair is braided into a coronet with the back free to my waist, the same as it was all those years in the temple and the House of Starlight. Old habits are hard to break, and the reminder of my identity brings comfort, even if my old memories do not.
I skip up the stairs to the verandah, tapping lightly with the knocker to announce my presence. The same butler who attended us at dinner opens the door quickly and escorts me inside. I catch my reflection in a mirror in the entry hall, noticing the color high in my cheeks, either from the heat or my nerves, and my eyes shine bright against my pale reflection. Forcing myself to breathe evenly, we approach the dining room.
At the head of the table sits Marie wearing bold purple and bright green, silver hair wrapped in a beautifully printed swath of fabric. The contrast between her and I is not lost on me — she is like a brilliant bird or hothouse orchid compared to my midnight skies and shadows. I dip into a small curtsey in greeting as she stands.
Once again, she seats me in the chair to her right, and the butler pulls it out for me to sit at her indication. He returns to my side momentarily, quickly filling my goblet with wine once I am settled in my place.
“Wine midday? Should I be worried already?” I give a smirk to my hostess as she raises her glass to me. I clink my goblet with hers, and we both take ladylike sips. She asks me idle questions about my room, what I think of the island, and how I’m faring with the temperatures while the servants bring in a light meal, but they leave it on the table for us to serve at our leisure instead of plating the meal for us — Marie must have told them this was to be a private meeting.
Once alone, Marie turns to me. “I would like to calm your nerves, even though I know that is unlikely to happen, my dear. You do not need to fear harm from me, truly. Don’t you think if I had wished to hurt you, I could have already done so in the past years you’ve been employed in one of my establishments?” Marie asks, and although my blood chills, there is no malice in her words, only truth.
“What is it that you think of me, Marie?” I ask, toying with my food with the fine silver fork from my place setting. “What is it that you want?”
“The real question is: what do you want? You have been working as a prostitute for many years, but also healing the women you come across without recompense. Celeste writes that you haven’t outwardly celebrated the Old Ways since she met you, but then I hear a rumor that you performed both a Full Moon and Death Ceremony on the Bartered Soul as if you’ve been doing it for centuries. And we won’t discuss the justice you served in front of an entire crew that causes your name to be whispered like a nightmare in the streets. Who are you, girl? What do you want?” Marie is direct, which I appreciate. She doesn’t allow passion to cloud her statements, even if I am having trouble controlling my own roiling emotions.
“I want what everyone wants — to be free. To not live in fear. To worship as I please. For actual justice to be served.” I stop myself. Have I ever been asked what I truly want before? Has it ever mattered? “To find love, and to help people,” I finish quietly.
“And?” Marie presses, staring at me with her head cocked slightly to the side, like a cat considering its prey.
“And?” I mimic, unsure what she expects. I have been honest and already offered her far more than I’ve ever admitted to myself.
“And what of your heritage? Your rightful title? The King?” she prods.
My expression flattens at her words. “I don’t see what difference it makes at this point,” I reply sternly. “I would love nothing more than to see Dargan Blackwell burning on one of his own pyres if I am truthful, but I don’t know what that wish, or my title, has to do with it.” I pause, taking a sip of my wine while I try to control the rage I feel at the words that tumble from my tongue. At her questions.
“It’s not as if I can march to the castle steps and ask him to leave — he murdered my —,” I catch myself, not quite able to fully admit the relation out loud. “The Queen… to steal her throne. I have no army. No siege weapons. I have no way to demand the justice that he deserves.”
“Do you not?” Marie asks, raising a silver brow, before taking another sip of her wine.
“I am a displaced priestess of an outlawed religion, a former whore, and I’m at the mercy of a pirate lord to pay me the money he owes me in order to make my new life. How can you think I have any power or forces to wield? The only power that has gotten me anywhere the past eight years is the power between my legs and the stubborn will to survive.”
Disgust fills me at my admission, but it's all true. I have used my beauty and my talents to eke out the existence I’ve lived, burying the hatred and rage I feel amongst my fear and sadness. I’ve sought numbness instead of wallowing in my true feelings out of necessity.
“Oh child, is that truly what you think?” Suddenly, Marie’s eyes are full of pity, and I cannot understand why. Maybe my words were harsh, but they weren’t untrue. My experience, however terrible, is still far less depressing than those of many of the women that still work in the Houses I escaped from, or who find themselves on the streets I left behind.
“Love, fear, and respect are the greatest powers in the universe, and you, my dear, command all of these. I thought when I met you that you knew that? But perhaps you are a better actress, or have been far better trained, than I ever imagined.”
I study her face, trying to root out the cunning I’m certain is hiding there, but all that looks back is the gentle face of a grandmother, schooling a child in the ways of the world. For a moment I can’t come up with the proper words to respond with, so I take another drink of the wine while I collect myself.
“Explain.” I finally invite her to continue.