And she had Leo’s eyes, exactly.
When she caught sight of him, her expression seemed to fracture, revealing pain, raw and jagged. Then she blinked and it was gone.
“You must be Leo,” she said, stepping forward. “By the goddesses . . . she has indeed been born again in you.”
“W-who are you?” Leo stammered, but the answer was as plain as his face.
“I’m your grandmother,” the woman said. “Ambrosine Byrne.”
Rahel let out a whimper. “You can’t be here,” she said. “This is my ship, mine! You aren’t sup—”
Leo’s grandmother turned to Rahel with an expression reserved for unwanted vermin. “Rahel, do us all a favor and shut your mouth,” she said. “Your ship has no cannons, a skeleton crew, and my Misarros are better than yours. And before you even think to say it, yes, of course I know who your mother is, you pitiful little fool, and as you can see, I do not care. I’m taking my grandson and that’s all there is to it. Your guard has been subdued and your ship crippled. Now do be a good girl and sit down.”
To Leo’s shock, Rahel plopped herself down on the chaise, eyes filled with tears, lips pressed together, cheeks red.
“Come, Leo,” Ambrosine said, and Leo followed, half dazed, until he came to his senses.
“Where’s Sera?” he demanded, turning on the princess. Rahel raised a hand and dumbly pointed to the left. Leo turned to his grandmother. “I’m not leaving without my friend.”
Irritation flashed in Ambrosine’s eyes, but she gave an elegant shrug. “Very well.” With a snap of her fingers, the Misarro was sent off down the hall, kicking in door after door until Leo heard Sera’s shocked cry. His bones melted with relief.
“It’s all right, Sera, it’s me, we’re safe!” he called, and the next thing he knew Sera was flying out of the room and down the hall. She was unharmed, as Rahel had promised.
“You’re all right,” she said, throwing her arms around him. Her warm softness and flowery-starlight scent engulfed him and he felt a stirring in the pit of his stomach. “I was so worried about you.”
Leo realized then that Ambrosine and her Misarro were staring at Sera, the way everyone stared at Sera.
“She’s not Saifa,” Leo began, almost wearily, but then he remembered Sera could speak Pelagan now. Probably Kaolish too.
Ambrosine held up a hand. “Explanations can wait,” she said. “We must be off at once.”
Wherever Rahel’s guard was, Leo didn’t know—the decks were streaked with blood and smoke poured out of the hole where the mast had once stood. Destruction lay in the wake of where it fell across the ship, splintered wood and crushed golden rails. There were more Misarros, all with gold disks sewn into their collars, which Leo took to mean they were in the service of Ambrosine.
They crossed the deck to a large plank-like footbridge, that extended from a huge galleon, two cannons on its deck still pointing at the ruined mast.
Once aboard, Ambrosine shouted orders, her voice like the crack of a whip, and the footbridge was raised as the ship was readied to set sail. She turned to Leo and Sera as a servant in a blue tunic hurried up with a tray of ice-cold cucumber water. Ambrosine waved her off.
“I heard my grandson had been taken along with a companion,” she said, looking Sera up and down. “Aren’t you magnificent.”
“Thanks for saving us,” Leo said, but the words felt clumsy, inept. Ambrosine wasn’t at all like he’d pictured her. He’d imagined someone matronly, with a hunched back and horrific taste in footwear. Not this sleek woman in an expertly tailored suit with her own contingent of fierce warriors.
He hoped he wouldn’t be expected to call her “Grandmother.” That would be altogether too strange.
She looked at him and he was once again seized by the bizarre sensation of seeing his eyes in someone else’s head. Ambrosine had his curls too, black like his except for the bits of gray. But her chin was squarer, her cheekbones more pronounced, and her nose was slightly beaked.
“You are my blood,” she said. “Of course I would come for you. I wish the circumstances of our meeting were different. But once I read in the papers that the Triumvirate had taken a young Byrne in Arbaz . . . I knew.”
“Knew what?” Leo asked.
“I knew that my daughter’s children had returned to Pelago at last,” Ambrosine said. “But where is your sister?”
“I don’t know,” Leo said honestly. “She could still be in Arbaz. We made friends with a sailor, though, so she might be coming to Ithilia. She was there when Sera and I were taken. This is Sera, by the way.”
Something about his grandmother made him feel like everything he said was just a little bit stupid, as if her presence scrambled his thoughts.
“I am a Cerulean,” Sera said, pushing her shoulders back bravely, and Leo felt his chest melt a little. “Leo has been helping me get to Braxos so I can get back home to my people. We heard you have cut off the ways to the island but we hoped you might allow us to get through.”
Leo thought that was rather valiant of her to declare all at once. Ambrosine raised an eyebrow.
“Braxos,” she said, then smiled. It was a startling change, like the sun coming suddenly out from behind a cloud. Her whole face softened into a kinder version of the woman who had shut Rahel up earlier.
Ambrosine snapped her fingers and two sailors appeared as quickly as if she had conjured them out of the air. “Gather a crew, take one of the stowed boats, and make for Ithilia. Half will search the city, the other half make for Arbaz. I must find my granddaughter before the Triumvirate does.”
“We’re not going to Ithilia?” Leo asked.
“Ithilia is far too dangerous right now,” Ambrosine said. “But don’t you fear; my people will find your sister. Now, look at the two of you,” she said, clucking her tongue. Another snap and two young servant girls in blue tunics rushed to her side. Leo could not help but be impressed—even his father did not command such immediacy. Though he could tell the girls were fascinated by Sera, they were doing a decent job of hiding it. “Take my grandson and his friend below. I want hot water prepared for them to wash, and find some fresh clothes.”
“Yes, mistress,” one of the girls said, and gestured to Sera as the other motioned for Leo to follow her. Ambrosine took his hand as he passed, and there was surprising strength in her grip.
“We will speak once you have had a chance to bathe and change,” she said. He nodded and watched her take in his face once more, but this time her eyes revealed nothing.
The servant he was following opened a hatch and Leo descended a steep flight of stairs after her. She led him down halls carpeted in crimson and gold, miniature chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and then into a small room with a claw-foot tub already filled with hot water.
“Your stateroom is right next door,” the girl said shyly. “I will lay clothes out for you.”
Leo started to thank her but she was already gone. The bath felt like heaven after being locked up for three days, no matter how opulent his prison. Once he had scrubbed the travel and sweat and dirt from his skin, he padded next door to his room. A four-poster bed was hung with pale blue curtains and laid with a navy comforter and pillows; there was a thick carpet that swallowed up his bare feet and a leather armchair with a small table beside it next to a large porthole. Simple garb was laid out on the bed, pants and a shirt and vest much like what the sailors on the deck had been wearing. The pants were an inch too short, the vest a hair tight, but the clothes were clean and Leo was grateful for them.