The Goddess by Robyn Grady Page B

were on the move, eager to
     welcome their sovereign home from his important time away. And as the boat docked
     and Darius waved to the gathering crowd, more cheers filled the air, and hats flew.
     When the gangplank lowered, Darius turned to her.
    “Wait here. I’ll have someone fetch you.”
    Rather than give her a kiss, he squeezed her arm and, before she could respond, he
     was off and heading down that gangplank. As he stopped on the dock before the crowd,
     a uniformed guard advanced to cover his back with their rifles at rest by their sides.
     A middle-aged man—bald with wire-framed glasses and a tailored white suit—appeared.
     With a discreet move, he relieved Darius of the case and its precious cargo. Yanni Kostas , Helene decided—Darius’s right-hand man.
    Darius spoke in Yanni’s ear and the older man flicked a covert glance her way. The
     two men exchanged more words. Finally Darius nodded, the man moved off, and an elderly
     woman came forward to hold her monarch’s hand. Next, a girl, perhaps eight and dressed
     in her Sunday best, offered a bouquet of wild flowers. Others came forward, too, but
     while excitement undulated over the crowd, no one overstepped their mark. There was
     no hint of a crush.
    Helene noticed a woman in the crowd—a tourist or possibly a backpacker like herself.
     The woman’s focus was fixed upon Darius as she angled this way and that snapping endless
     shots. For an instant, Helene imagined she was that woman, just part of the crowd enjoying the moment rather than the person
     waiting well back from that deck rail and feeling way out of her depth.
    From her vantage point, Helene watched a magnificent ceremonial carriage weave down
     from Sangros Hill. As the clop of hooves grew louder, the crowd parted, and the carriage
     reined in close to Darius. With another wave to the crowd, he ascended the open carriage
     step and made himself comfortable behind the uniformed driver. When Darius was well
     on his way back up the hill and to the palace, the crowd dispersed.
    Helene, however, stood frozen. Darius had asked her to wait. He’d said someone would
     fetch her. Who? When? Perhaps he’d meant Alexio, although she hadn’t spotted her friend or his family in
     the crowd. Now, with everyone returning to their business, she felt strangely out
     of place— invisible —as if she were standing on the other, darker side of a giant gilded mirror.
    Her attention drifted to the crew, who disembarked at the same time as the man in
     the tailored white suit made his way up the gangplank with Darius’s case in hand.
     He stopped to speak briefly with the crew before crossing over to where she stood.
     With a thin-lipped smile, he introduced himself.
    “I’m Prince Vasily’s Chief Aide, Yanni Kostas. He asked that I escort you to the palace.
     We’ll leave shortly. Tradition decrees the prince’s carriage must be climbing the
     hill before anyone follows.” Shifting the spectacles higher upon his long nose, he
     glanced around. “Do you have luggage?”
    Breathing a little easier knowing that Vasily hadn’t forgotten her— well, of course he hadn’t —she gestured to the knapsack nestled between her feet. With those protected pages
     resting in the front compartment, more than ever she didn’t want to misplace it.
    “I’m good,” she said. “Thanks.”
    He gave that non-committal smile again. “A carriage is waiting.”
    Following the man down the gangplank, Helene evaluated her guide. Obviously he was
     an intelligent person of high standing. And while Yanni Kostas was reserved, he wasn’t
     exactly cold. Darius trusted him and, right now, she felt as if she needed a friend.
    While chestnut horses hitched to a closed carriage were brought over, she noticed
     some locals eyeing them. Then Mr. Kostas opened the carriage door, and they settled
     inside with her knapsack beside her and the case beside him. As they pulled out of
     the city and the horses started their