Tellus

by Tyffany Hackett

  My attention fixed on Andimir. I watched the careful, thoughtful way he moved his pieces and the subconscious way he twisted the rings on his fingers between turns.

  The boy I had known wouldn’t have stood up to Jyn in any capacity, or smirked in his direction every time they locked eyes.

  That Andimir would have balked at the idea, then laughed with me later.

  This Andimir had an easy laugh, a broad smile, and a crew who clearly respected him.

  Hidden shadows lurked, though, peeking through the cracks between masks. His eyes scanned each person that passed, the glimmer of the sun on the horizon, the clouds that drifted lazily overhead. A weight of responsibility pulled at him.

  He had grown up and I felt left behind.

  Camion leaned into my arm, questions in his eyes. I looped my arm through his and pressed a kiss to his shoulder while brushing my fingertips across his wrist. His lips pulled together, his eyes narrowing. But after a moment, he released a laugh and gently swatted my hand away.

  “Do you two need a minute?” Jyn crooned.

  I turned in his direction, slowly, my expression one of carefully arranged impatience. “Why, Jyn? So, you can walk in and interrupt?”

  Andimir’s eyes widened, and Meryn’s careful focus broke with a loud snort. Camion cleared his throat, blinking in my direction with a subtle shake of his head. I shot him an apologetic glance, realizing too late that a topic we hadn’t even discussed might not be one he wished to breech . . . publicly. He looked at Jyn and Andimir, then back to me, the corner of his mouth twitching. Discomfort at the thought of an interruption, then, and amusement at Andimir’s own discomfort.

  I would learn this man yet.

  But the Elf scoffed. “No thank you, the opposite in fact. Once was scarring enough.”

  “You wound me,” I teased, my tone level.

  “Let’s not pretend you didn’t enjoy at least half of the view,” Andimir purred. Surprised laughter bubbled from my throat. When it spread to the rest of the group, Jyn made an exaggerated gagging sound before disappearing again behind his book.

  I closed my eyes. The feel of warm sunlight on my skin was soothing. Meryn took several pride-wounding losses to Andimir before Camion offered to join her in a game, and I moved to the railing. A pod of dolphins splashed eagerly alongside the ship, squeaking with delight when I leaned my head over.

  “Have you forgiven me yet?”

  My elbows rested on the wooden gunwale, but I lifted my chin from its perch on my palms to face the man standing warily behind me. Jyn shuffled conspicuously closer, making a heavy show of polishing his already gleaming daggers. Andimir cast a glimpse in his direction, then took a step closer.

  “I’m still considering.” I leaned my back against the side of the ship and crossed my arms. “Would you forgive me?”

  Andimir fidgeted with one of the beads in his hair, rotating the stone between his fingers. Purple facets glinted in the light.

  “No,” he admitted finally. “Not this soon, I wouldn’t.” His hand fell and he sighed. “But I would wish that I could. Because you were closer than family, and there’s this hole . . . this gaping hole . . .” He clenched at his chest, seemingly without notice. Green eyes lifted to mine. “I’m sorry, Natylia. I can’t apologize enough.”

  I lifted a shoulder and pursed my lips together. But I thought about Camion. Meryn. Jyn. I looked to the latter, who met my eyes with an expression of dejected resignation.

  “Andimir,” I said at last, dropping my eyes to gaze to the deck. “I’m working through a lot at the moment. This included. I certainly didn’t expect to see you again, nor to need your help.” He tilted his head in acknowledgment. I continued, “Camion, Meryn . . . You have their blessings already, and that holds value to me. Jyn won’t be so easy”—the Elf shook his head in confirmation, when both Andimir and I glanced his way—“but the other two can see you without our prejudices. Meryn has a kind heart. Camion gives people the benefit of the doubt, even if I can’t. I’m considering their opinions.”

  Andimir nodded, trying to meet my eyes again. Instead, I looked at Jyn, who interrupted the hard silence with, “So, pirate, how much longer until we hit land?”

  A grin spread over Andimir’s face. “Few more days, tops. I can’t wait to show you Lytalian.”

  Chapter 12

  Lytalian was the central trading hub in the Southern Islands. Most ships didn’t bother landing anywhere but here, or Dalbran—which did encourage prosperous trading routes, even if a bit inconvenient. The city was huge, double or triple the size of Thrais easily. Though, they didn’t flaunt their prosperity. Their homes and shops were constructed simply; the structures were built from mud-coated bamboo harvested in the Twilose Forest and topped with thick thatching. Most of the buildings were stacked on tall wooden stilts with stairs and ladders leading inside—to protect against the flooding and coastal storms that ravaged their shores at least once a year.

  The white sand shoreline was littered with shells, sparkling stones, sun-dried dregs of seaweed, and stretched as far as the eye could see. A line of forest—more vivid and alive than the dark, pine-filled woods of Thrais—edged along the beach. Bright, oversized flowers sprouted from the ground with rainbow-colored birds scavenging for food between them. I jumped when a hummingbird paused in front of my face, its little wings a blur as it zipped away again.

  Jyn sniffed at the air the moment our feet touched land, his nostrils flaring comically before he slid the hood of his cloak up. Over the scent of sea and sweat, the air carried soft notes of vanilla, honey, and peanut butter, of fresh baked sweets sold nearby. I knew with absolute certainty that if Jyn hadn’t felt honor bound to stay with me, he would have already found the desserts. Still, his head turned in silent pursuit.

  Camion and I had returned to the protection of our cloaks as well. Meryn refused, and strode into town right past Andimir, looking as fierce—and as in need of a bath—as he did. As we all did, I hated to admit. Even my short locks were beginning to hold together. I winced at the thought.

  “Once my crew unloads and loads the ship, we won’t see them until we leave again. I need to go there,” Andimir said, gesturing to a large market to our left. Wooden vendor stalls were set up in a loose square, stocked with all nature of goods—fruits, vegetables, weapons that sparkled in the sun, potion bottles that swirled behind ominous labels. Several merchants were making food in small cooking fires behind their booths. Sweet and savory aromas mingled all around us and my stomach rumbled loudly. The pirate grinned. “Coming?”

  I wasn’t about to deny him, but when he shoved generous fistfuls of coins at each of us, I paused.

  “I have plenty of gold,” I murmured.

  “So do I.” Andimir shrugged, adding with a wink, “More than plenty, in fact. You can buy me lunch some time.” He shot a glance around the square. “Besides, you have time to kill. I have to find my contact.”

  Jyn stiffened noticeably beside me, his hand sliding to the hilt at his hip. “Contact?”

  “Oh Nahara, Jyn.” Andimir chuckled, rolling his eyes. “A trade contact. Part of my business.”

  “Right,” Jyn said stiffly, his fingers unmoving.

  The pirate seemed to not care and motioned toward a small stand with soft cloth adornments across its top. “You’ll take particular interest in that one, I think.”

  We followed him forward, Jyn tailing him carefully until his attention snagged on one of the plates on the indicated stall. His hood turned, locking into position. A small, wrinkled woman was drizzling a glistening white sauce over what appeared to be lemon poppyseed muffins, but that wasn’t what caught Jyn’s eye. His cloaked form swiveled in my direction.

  “Go ahead.” I laughed while eyeing the crumb-topped blueberry muffins myself. “I’m going to look around.” Slipping my hand around Camion’s, I added, “This one will keep an eye on me for you, I’m sure.”

  The grip on my fingers tightened. Camion leaned closer. “I’l
l keep both of them on you, in fact.”

  Jyn let out a sound of disgust as heat spread across my cheeks. The woman peered up from her work and smiled broadly, her white braids falling over her shoulder. That quickly, Jyn was gone, counting coins on his palm as he walked. Andimir raised an eyebrow. A small smile grew on his lips. He turned his attention to a long booth of jewelry and plucked a glittering bead from one of the displays, tucking it into his pocket. I narrowed my eyes.

  “Andimir,” I growled, keeping my voice low. “Don’t you dare.”

  Mischief glinted in his eyes. “You’re not my mother.”

  “I can’t in good conscience stand here and watch you steal things,” I hissed.

  A broad smile spread over his face. He swaggered toward us, then leaned close to whisper, “So don’t look.”

  “Andimir!” I barked.

  I frowned when he bumped my shoulder with his, almost purring as he said, “You wouldn’t be forgetting what I am now, hmm?” He chuckled, eyes falling to Camion. “Take her to lunch, my friend. You’d be remiss not to try some of this island food. Their rum is particularly splendid.”

  And he was gone with a wink, sauntering off into a crowd that greeted him with joy. He was known in these parts, I realized. Any small indiscretion he made against them he doubled in protecting their trade transports and running deals. In fact, by the time he reached the center of the square, he was laden with small gifts, each far more valuable than the tiny stone bead he’d nicked.

  “Are you hungry?” Camion asked.

  I nodded and then tugged him in the direction of the stall whose scent was testing my stomach’s unruly temper. The merchant running the stand was a tall, mustached man with sun-burnt skin and a wide smile. Without any instruction, he prepared two plates loaded with thick slices of meat, butter-kissed biscuits laced with cheese, steaming ears of corn, and piles of tiny potatoes sprinkled with salt. My mouth watered as he handed us our meals. Excited, I handed him a fistful of gold, delighted when his eyes widened.

  “This is far too much.” His thick accent blended the words together almost melodically.

  I waved off his protests and smiled as he called his thanks behind us. Camion and I sought a quieter segment of town and found a line of benches that peered out over the ocean’s waves. We were hidden from the sun beneath the shade of strange, fat trees with only a few broad, fractured leaves.

  I sat cross-legged on the stone seat, facing Camion, and for a moment I lost myself in watching him. He was meticulous in his observations, absorbing the experiences around him, the life, and appreciating the smallest of pleasures. Warmth bloomed in my chest. He didn’t see himself the same, but I saw him for what he was—a damaged soul who learned to not only survive but thrive. To see beauty in a world that had treated him so cruelly.

  After a moment, Camion glanced up and noticed my attention. My cheeks heated again. As I went to take a bite of my own food, he asked, “Are you all right?”

  “Of course. Why do you ask?”

  His shoulders rose, then fell. “You’ve been in your mind a lot lately.”

  “I know,” I admitted. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine this has been easy—not knowing what I’m thinking.” He shook his head. “Forgiving Andimir is easier than I would like. It’s almost infuriating. I think deep down I wanted him to fail, alone, while I had to take over Mother’s throne. A price for my jealousy, maybe. But he’s done the opposite.”

  “How so?” Camion rested his hand on his knee, fork twined between his fingers.

  “I waited for him, I think. Until you, I never really considered moving on. I kind of . . . existed, at least where romance was concerned. I thought I’d never find anyone else who made me feel like he did, so I convinced myself I didn’t want anyone at all. Part of me hoped he’d suffer the same. I feel juvenile for wishing it.”

  “You don’t really know what he’s been through, though. You haven’t asked him.” Camion’s voice faltered, then he said, a bit too levelly, “How do you feel? About him, now?”

  I considered. The silence ticked past, torturous I knew . . . but I didn’t want to be hasty, either. I had to get this right.

  “I think—” My voice wobbled. I took a steadying breath, then said, “I think I might like to have Andimir back in my life. As a friend. Maybe. I’m still deciding. But only as a companion, like Jyn or Meryn.” I slid farther down the bench, until my knee brushed Camion’s side. “Because I’ve found my partner, and I can’t imagine anyone making me as happy as you do. But I want you to approve of Andimir, so I don’t have to feel guilty about wanting to forgive him. I want you to know that I’ve closed that chapter of my life, and I don’t care to reread it.”

  A beat of silence passed. Then another.

  “I want to kiss you,” he murmured.

  I leaned closer. “Do it.”

  “Don’t, actually. I’m trying to eat,” Jyn said, dropping onto the bench at Camion’s far side. We both jumped. “But I’m glad to see you’re using your brain regarding Andimir. He’s trouble.”

  “So you’ve said. A couple dozen times now.” I rolled my eyes. “He was never really as bad as you thought he was, Jyn. And what if he’s sincere in his apologies?” Jyn let out of huff of disgust and I added, “Where’s Meryn?”

  “Over there,” Jyn said, biting into one of the muffins piled in his hands. “Browsing through some potion booth or other. I knew better than to ask.”

  My gaze skimmed over the marketplace, but I didn’t see the familiar pile of copper curls. Instead my attention was drawn to another figure. One who, for a long moment, stared in my direction with her icy blue eyes. As though she could see me, even through the cloak.

  A shiver ran up my spine. She looked familiar. So familiar.

  I wracked my brain, watching as the woman turned to examine Meryn. Her skin was as dark as midnight but shimmers of light reflected off her cheeks.

  Memories clicked into place. The image of the mural in my palace sharpened in my mind. Goosebumps rose all along my neck and arms.

  A complexion to match a starless night, accented with iridescent scales. Bright eyes, the color of the glaciers that sometimes slipped into Wydus’ coastline. Her hair in tight, neat braids, twisted with threading the color of the sea, shimmering with silver-cast seashells. She looked my way again.

  And grinned.

  In the second I took to blink, she was gone. An invisible fist clenched my hammering heart. I almost missed the hand on my arm. Jyn crouched on the ground in front of me, peering up into my hood.

  “Princess,” he said again, barely more than a whisper. I glanced between the two men. Camion had a hand wrapped tightly around the hilt of his blade, eyes on Meryn. Jyn scanned my face.

  “She was there,” I murmured, gesturing toward the crowd. “Did neither of you see her?”

  Jyn nodded as Camion shook his head. The latter tilted his head, confused.

  “Not Meryn,” Jyn whispered, “Eurybia.”

  Chapter 13

  Andimir steered us to an inn after we had wandered the city until our feet ached. His contact meeting hadn’t lasted long, a fact I was grateful for. I didn’t feel safe with any of the group too far away and Jyn grew restless as the minutes ticked past. The realization that I was already, reflexively, including Andimir in that statement caught me off guard.

  Eurybia was likely still on the island and, despite my indecision, I certainly didn’t want to see him harmed in any way. I couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew who I was, like she sensed my identity even through my heavy cloak. My pulse hadn’t stopped racing since she had shown herself, my eyes now skittering across every face that passed by.

  Jyn was back to his usual posturing, carrying himself in a way that dared anyone to approach either one of us. They might not be able to see his face, but one glance at the blades displayed across his back and no one could misunderstand the warning. Andimir hadn’t quite understood the severity of the situation, or that my stomach was in sh
ambles. So here we were, seated around a table in the well-to-do establishment where he had managed to get us rooms.

  Even though Eurybia had stood right behind her, Meryn seemed the least unnerved. Her appetite was good. She was the only one sipping at her wine and poking at her platter of food. When I finally asked her why she wasn’t more concerned, she shrugged.

  “She didn’t do anything to me. I’m nothing to her.” She loaded her fork, stuffing a bite of steamed vegetables into her mouth. “No sense fretting over nothing.”

  I wasn’t convinced. My eyes fell to my plate, to the fruit that I had dragged along the rim. Camion nudged my side. “I know I can handle more,” I murmured, “but I can’t help wondering if I’ll break before I’m able to admit it’s too much.”

  He slid an arm around my waist and tugged me down the bench closer to him. “I won’t let that happen.”

  I leaned into his warmth and felt my pulse settle a bit. My attention snagged on Jyn, who was attentively listening to a conversation at a table near the bar. A small group occupied most of the seats, or at least they seemed to be a group by the vague way they communicated. None of their accents sounded native to the island, though. In fact, the loudest was a tall Numyra, his grey-green skin covered mostly in heavy armor made of shimmering black scales. When he moved, the material seemed to vanish into the shadows. I shot a glance at Jyn, sure that’s what had him on edge. My friend just toyed with the hilt of his dagger, his expression unreadable under the dark of his hood.

  “And then I threw him in the pit,” the armored man laughed, his razor-sharp teeth tearing a chunk of meat from the turkey leg in front of him. His companion, the one to his immediate right, raised his tankard of ale before tilting the mug to his lips.

  “Someday, Fel,” the smaller man chortled, dragging his free hand through his shoulder-length brown hair. “Someday, they’ll appreciate us.”

  “Unlikely,” said a distinctly feminine voice at his other side, from a figure as hidden beneath her cloak as I was. She tinkered with a crossbow, adjusting the string. “All you do is kill, drink, and smash things. What heroes.”