Page 6 of The Bartered Soul

Chewing on the inside of my cheek in contemplation, I quickly decide to separate several blends to leave for the girls in case of cramps or other feminine ailments while I am away. On each one, I write a brief recipe and leave it with the teas, in case I don’t return. The thought brings goosebumps to my flesh, but I push it aside and continue to pack.

The small compartment in the trunk I fill with the almost empty jar of gold dust from the temple and a few select silks, jewelry, and hairpins that favored clients have gifted me over the years. Hopefully, the lock holds to keep out prying eyes or sly fingers.

From my vanity, I pack the small number of cosmetics I keep — kohl for my eyes, stain for my lips and cheeks, and the cheap brush and hand mirror provided by Celeste to all her girls. I am still not certain what form of entertainment the Captain expects me to provide, but these will help me keep the mask I wear firmly intact for the voyage.

My eyes scan the room as I check to make sure I haven’t missed anything vital, but nothing stands out, anything that remains are pieces of a life I am content to leave behind.

Packing done, I slip into a simple shift and ghost down the hallway to check on the few girls that have needed my aid in the past week. Lily has recovered from the worst of her loss, although she is still low in spirits, and I cannot leave in good conscience until I am certain of her mindset. My worry for the girl eases when she smiles up at me, clutching my hand in thanks. I can only hope she will pull through this without me guiding her.

One of the other women has delivered a new babe. Both appear healthy, but the new mother is struggling with pain when she nurses the child, so I offer her an extra jar of salve for her nipples to aid in pain relief and healing the cracks in her skin. If she can keep her milk flowing, she will have the option of working as a wet nurse for a noblewoman, and that could help her leave this place.

The rest of the herbal mixtures I prepared I leave with the cook and explain to her how to steep them in the boiled water like she has seen me do. Worry eats at me — I hope she will remember the details while I’m gone — but there is no more I can do.

As I walk back to my room cocooned in the din of soft voices and piano notes drifting from the salon, I glance around one last time at the House of Starlight, illuminated by the candles and oil lamps burning dimly. The gilded trims, plush carpets, and silver stars are everywhere, as if I am supposed to feel like I’m outside instead of trapped within four walls. Emotions war in my breast — I’m torn between the fear of the unknown duties Lennox has planned for me, and the kernel of excitement blossoming in my chest at the idea of being free again. Soon, I will be back under real stars.

When I pass by Lyra’s room, soft female voices intermixed with the sound of crying drift through the door — Celeste must be in with her daughter, then. My eyes drift closed for a moment as I say a silent prayer for the girl, asking the Goddess for a safe passage for us both as I pad back to my room. After one last rummage through my chest of drawers, I close the lid of the chest over my belongings — new and old — and curl up in my feather bed for the last time.

Chapter 4

Huddled under my blankets to protect me from the crisp air, I watch the early morning light seep through the transparent curtains on my window. They blow lightly in the chill breeze as the odor of fish and sea mist wafts in from the docks while the gulls cry for their breakfast. The knot in my stomach has tightened since I finished packing last night. Sleep did not come easily knowing today is the day I might escape this place and start a new life, or I might be walking headfirst to a watery grave.

Unable to stand making small talk with the other girls over the rough wooden table downstairs, I requested to have my breakfast brought to my room. I said my goodbyes to the ones who matter last night; I don’t need to draw out my departure this morning. When the kitchen girl knocks, I let her in and she carefully places my tray on the vanity before curtseying and running back out. She is one of the ones who are still afraid of me, or of what I once was.

I choke down the boiled egg and dry toast and wash it down with too strong tea, then begin to dress. Once I slip into the charcoal dress, I admire it anew in the light of day, running my hands over the skirt to smooth it. Thick warm stockings and the new leather boots chase away any remaining chill before I comb through the dark waves of my hair. Today, I braid it all back into a tight plait at my crown, wrapping the ends into a tidy chignon at my neck.

Forgoing any cosmetics, I stare at my wan reflection in the mirror. Dark blue eyes framed by thick lashes look back at me without emotion – a mask I have mastered over these past years. A faint crescent moon with the horns pointing upwards still rests between and just above my dark brows — the last outwardly visible sign of my life at the temple.

A small amount of balm for my full lips is all I add, only enough to enhance their natural color, but not to add any other shade than what the Goddess gave me. I am a study of contrasts, vivid features painted on pale parchment. My cheekbones are more pronounced than in my youth and I know I am thinner than I was when I lived at the temple, but I stand straight and remind myself that even now, I will bow to no one.

As the bells toll noon in the distance, wagon wheels and the beat of hooves stop outside my open window overlooking the street below. A small wagon with a large man driving a team of two mules stands on the cobblestones when I peek outside. A younger man, a wiry boy halfway through his teens from the looks of it, hops lightly from the passenger seat and rings the front bell. Our carriage awaits.

By the time someone knocks at my door, I am wrapped in the dark blue cloak, so close in color to my eyes that it cannot be a coincidence. My dagger is secured in one of the deep pockets of my skirt and I don soft kid gloves in anticipation of the crisp air outside.

Celeste awaits me at the door when I open it, Lyra at her side. The girl is more beautiful than I remember, dressed in a cloak similar to my own, hers a bold saffron compared to my deep sapphire. She is a beam of sunshine in the darkness of the hallway. Her hazel eyes show only a brief flicker of fear when they meet mine before she smiles and reaches out for my hand. A bracelet similar to mine wraps her wrist, stamping her as Captain Lennox’s property.

From what I've heard, her father was a sailor from one of the Southern continents and she has a beautiful warm, brown skin tone, a wide, full mouth, and thick, tight curls that I know reflect red and gold tones in the sunlight. I take a deep breath and, despite not being very affectionate, allow her to clasp my hand as I look at Celeste. The Madame gives me the barest of smiles before turning to lead us down the stairway to our waiting transport.

It only takes a few minutes for our trunks to be loaded into the wagon. Lyra’s is similar in style and size to my own, and I wonder if it holds similar pieces in different shades like our cloaks. The young man offers me a hand to step into the back portion of the wagon where a bench lines one side while Lyra hugs her mother goodbye. As I settle in and arrange my skirts, the boy helps Lyra up with a crooked smile.

Celeste walks to my side and whispers so softly only I can hear, “Goddess be with you, Andromeda. Thank you.”

I’m stunned at the statement — Celeste has never mentioned the Goddess directly to me before. Before I can reply, the driver cracks the reins and the mules have walked on. Lyra and I both stare back at Celeste who wipes her eyes, squares her shoulders, and walks back into the House of Starlight.

* * *

Lyra is silent the entire way to the docks, looking around and taking in the sights of the city. Although I rarely step into the streets unless I have to visit the apothecary, Celeste kept Lyra sequestered in the House of Starlight for most of her life and despite the fear in her eyes, I can feel excitement ripple off her, as though this has the potential to be a grand adventure.

The boy in the passenger seat of the wagon has been chattering away to the driver who answers in noncommittal grunts, but I tune them out, my heart beating faster with each hoofbeat closer to the ship. For distraction, I admire the different vessels in their berths and examine their figureheads: mermaids, unicorns, dragons, and other fantastical beasts.

When the wagon stops abruptly, the cheerful young man continues to prattle away about nothing in particular as he helps us down from our perch.

“Oy! You two! Get these trunks to the ship!” he calls out to two men loading barrels, indicating they do the heavy lifting in his place. Then he gestures with a wave that we should follow him down the quay to our awaiting vessel. I avoid the eyes of the sailors along the docks and read the names of different ships as we pass. A shiver crawls along my flesh when the words Bartered Soul comes into view.

The ship is a large brigantine with numerous men carrying crates and barrels up the gangplank in preparation for our impending departure. I stop completely as we near the bow, my eyes drift upwards, transfixed on the figurehead of the ship — a woman with her breasts bared to appease the sea; full red lips smiling, hair a deep black, the mark of the Goddess on her brow, and… they can’t be real… sapphires for eyes. She wears an ornately carved black lace mask around her eyes.

A priestess of the Goddess.

And, despite the mask, she looks just like… me.

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