Before she could lock it down, a silent sob escaped her lips with a cloud of misty condensation.
“Are you alright, miss?” a female voice asked from behind her tensed shoulders. Tethys wiped the salty sadness from her cheeks and straightened.
“Yes, my apologies,” she said, turning to face a crone-like woman. The elder, buried under wrinkles, stood on frail legs. Her draping wool shift nearly devoured herwhole as she approached the goddess.
“During my youth I often traveled with my husband. Could never stomach the chariot rides, though,” she said. The old crone’s dialect was thicker than Tethys had ever heard. Her cheeks heated as the ancient, old thing stared at her, awaiting a response.
“Oh…um, I don’t think I ever will either, I’m afraid,” she said, smoothing back her golden curls.
“Peppermint tea helps,” the woman sniffed, hobbling toward a stack of aged wooden crates. She struggled on cracking knees to take a seat and retrieved an unfinished orange scarf, woven along two wooden needles. Tethys watched the frail woman’s hands as she twisted a loose strand of yarn around her left needle with shocking fluidity only years of practice could achieve.
“Is this your shop?” she asked, gesturing to the open-windowed cottage behind the woman.
“Why yes, although can’t say we’ve gotten many a customer since the war. Perhaps I can entice you, though,” the woman replied, not glancing up from her knitting. Her casual demeanor disarmed Tethys. Maybe the woman didn’t realize who stood before her wares. Or maybe she did, but was too ancient to care.
Age dulled the power of authority. Many a Venian elder hadn’t batted an eye in crossing paths with their goddess, and, Tethys supposed, this woman witnessed far too much throughout her lifetime to bristle in the presence of immortality. Nonetheless, it was a refreshing reprieve from her typical interactions with the humans.
“What do you sell?” she asked.
The woman’s eyes lit beneath their sagging lids. “Secrets,” she whispered.
Tethys straightened. Had she heard the crone right? “I beg your pardon?” she asked, closing the space between them.
The woman merely continued with her scarf, pullingslack from the ball of working yarn in her shift pocket.
“I’m only kidding, dearie. We sell a variety of wares. Ointments and salves primarily, but also knitted hats and shawls. Husband’s a root farmer, but the herbs native to the region make for wonderful medicinal balms. See that jar on the end there…” she pointed to the shelf of various amber-glass bottles and bowls. “Peppermint. It’ll aid the nausea for the rest of your travels.”
The goddess unscrewed the lid and wafted the herb’s sharp scent. The old woman hadn’t lied; it was peppermint. The herb, an invasive plant, grew in vast patches of woods behind their familial home. Thriving in shaded, moist undergrowth, it practically took over the forest floor in spots. Even now, the full-nosed scent brought Tethys back to simpler times when Polaris would collect peppermint stems and midnight irises for their mother.
Tethys, dusting off the cobwebs of memory, offered the woman a sad smile and produced two gold coins from the leather pouch she’d tucked into her trouser pocket. The woman grinned with two gaping holes where her front teeth should’ve been as Tethys placed them in her outstretched hand.
“Keep the difference,” she said.
The woman dipped her chin in thanks and pocketed the coins.
“I’d only been half joking earlier, you know,” she said as Tethys started for the transit chariot. The goddess paused.
“What do you mean?” she asked, giving in to her curiosity.
“I mean, dearie, our wares vary past what is seen on these shelves. Pay us a visit after dusk, maybe you’ll find something you didn’t realize you were searching for,” the old woman said, her beady umber eyes starkly bright against the dense morning mist.
Before Tethys could ask what the crone’s cryptic wordsmeant, a certain broad-shouldered lieutenant approached.
“My lady, if you’d like to browse Algola’s marketplace, you require an escort.” His voice was clipped and gruff from hours on horseback.
“I assure you, Lieutenant, I do not need an escort to go a couple of paces away from the convoy,” Tethys replied, her lip curling into a scowl. The intrigue of the crone’s words, however, still held strong as she reluctantly followed Araes back toward the bustle of chariots unloading their luggage and stores for resupply. Procyon, having deemed Algola a sufficient stop, returned to the continental chariot and now discussed the itinerary with the drivers.
“We’ll stay for the night, and push on to Canissa on the morrow,” he commanded. The drivers nodded promptly at each order and disappeared down the convoy line.
“Lieutenant Araes, it’s good to see the convoy didn’t leave you to dust. You must be exhausted,” Procyon said, inflating his chest. The current of power h drew hummed in the very ground itself. Tethys fought the urge to roll her eyes. Clearly her husband was putting on a show.
“It was tiresome, my king, but I’ve traveled worse distances. During the war there were many times our unit had to ride through the night to arrive at our new post in time,” Araes replied, his voice unflinching amidst the rumble of power. Tethys knew he wouldn’t recoil in Procyon’s presence.
Over the last few weeks of their time together, Tethys came to learn that Araes was insufferably skilled at reading people. Even she, who took pride in her ability to mask herself, felt as translucent as glass in his presence.
“Excellent news, Lieutenant. While we’re in Canissa, your services won’t be necessary. I shall escort the queen myself,” Procyon stated. His words, although simple, thickened Tethys’s blood until it slithered through her veinslike sludge.
“With all due respect, Your Highness, my orders are clear. Remain by the queen’s side at all times,” Araes replied, standing his ground with stiff shoulders. Tethys clicked her tongue. This back and forth power struggle was growing tiresome. What next? Would Procyon demand to see Araes’s cock and insist his was larger?
