Page 36 of These Immortal Truths
Anna catches whispers between the cheers.
“Thought they were dead.”
“Only eighteen returned.”
“They’re calling it a success—they say they really circled theworld.”
Anna’s not sure how to feel about it. Part of her relates to the thread of excitement winding through the crowd. The thought of the world being discovered, of someday being able to travel the same foreign lands Khiran has spun stories about for years, is enticing. But the hollow stare of those eighteen passengers, the suffering she sees etched there, makes her wonder about what price will be paid for such progress.
Pulling away from the crowds, Anna takes advantage of their distraction and enjoys a quiet walk home. She’s managed to secure a tiny flat overlooking the market. The street noise that filters in, the haggling of prices and late night drunks doesn’t bother her as it once did.
Eira once told her that Khiran chose her to put some good into the world. She still doesn’t understand why he chose her—she hasn’t found the courage to bring it up again since the last time she asked—but she still holds those words close. Still finds herself helping those she can, by whatever means she can.
This is what draws her to Seville.
Because immersed within the stories of rich architecture and booming trade, of poverty and crime, it is a city known for its many charities.
She’s still uncertain if it’s coincidence or fate that finds herself working at the San Lazaro Hospital treating those with the same disease she had been accused of centuries ago. The same disease she would be labeled with now, should anyone catch sight of the pale patterns hiding beneath her clothes.
She dresses their sores; smiles and goads them into conversation. She treats them like the people they are, and not the contagion the outside world sees them as. Anna suspects most of the other caretakers don’t go to the same efforts. Their eyes hold pity, certainly, but there’s disgust there too. If some of them weren’t trying to buy their way into Heaven’s good graces, Anna suspects they wouldn’t be there at all.
The patients see it, too. Frances has confessed that some of the volunteers are so distressed to be inside the walls of a lazaretto, that he has taken to purposefully dropping things just for the joy ofwatching how high they jump. Last week, he startled señora Luisa so terribly, she tripped over her own feet and found herself on the floor for his trouble.
All he had to do was walk up to her.
Frances told the story with such enthusiasm, his grin wide and his eyes bright, that Anna could almost believe it didn’t hurt him. Maybe, she thinks, if she hadn’t experienced that pain herself, she would have taken his mask as truth and never have thought to look deeper. Still, Anna doesn’t call his bluff. She smiles and she laughs; lets him hide behind the armor he’s fashioned. Truths are for those who can afford to live it, not for those struggling to find any bright spot of light in a world that casts them into darkness.
The market is still busy, despite the many people gathered along the river. Anna still has to duck and weave between bodies to make it to her modest flat above a clothier’s shop. She’s managed to secure the top room with some of her leftover funds and part time employment down at the dyeing vats below. The stench of the urine used to set the dye has a tendency to permeate the walls. Anna suspects the landlord has received the better deal.
Climbing the stairs, she tries to comfort herself with the thought of a quiet night in. She’s tired from her early morning at the lazaretto, and the dye vats will be waiting for her in the morning. Best to rest while she can. The rumors surrounding theVictoriaand her skeleton crew will no doubt be in full swing tomorrow. She’s certain to hear whatever she misses tonight over the vats in the morning.
Anna opens the door to her room and pauses, her grip tight on the handle.
There, tucked into her only chair, is a sleeping man she does and doesn’t recognize. Dark skin and dark hair, with clothing that exposes the lean lines of his arms and chest and the long muscular expanse of his calves and thighs. A colorful beaded collar hangs over his neck, gold glinting in his ears. There’s a single, star-shaped scar along his exposed ribs that Anna is most certainly ogling. She flushes, turning away.
She is far from unfamiliar with men’s bodies, impossible not to bewhen so many of her years have been devoted to healing them, but never has one been displayed like this. Knowing, with surety, that it is Khiran only makes the warmth—theattraction—run deeper.
She swallows, wetting her lips and closing the door quietly behind her. Keeping her eyes trained on his face, following the strong brow and square jaw he wears, it dawns on her that she’s never seen him sleep. Never seen him vulnerable. It’s enough to make the embarrassment fade into concern.
Gently, she touches his shoulder and tries not to notice how pleasantly warm his skin is. His name is on her tongue, a gentle calling, but his eyes snap open and she finds her wrist locked painfully in his grasp before she can utter a sound.
Her breath is trapped, an aching pressure in her lungs, as she watches recognition slowly light his coal eyes. His grip loosens, from a vice to a caress, his thumb brushing over the inside of her wrist in what Anna recognizes as an apology. Somehow, it only manages to send sparks across her skin. He cringes, her name a regret filled sigh. “Anna.”
She takes his hand; lets go of the breath burning in her lungs. “I’m fine,” she assures him. There’s an edge to him that makes her think he needs it. Gently, she asks, “Are you?”
He doesn’t answer. His eyes are on their hands. Anna doesn’t understand the confusion thinning his lips until he shakes his head and his form ripples, changing into the one she’s most familiar with. The clothes that fold over his body are in the Spanish style, rich in color and fit for a noble. His hand slips from hers, threading through his dark curls. “I forgot where I was,” he murmurs. “I apologize. I didn’t intend to fall asleep here.”
There’s more there, Anna knows, but she doesn’t push. Not yet. “You don’t need to apologize,” she says, fingers finding the ring at her finger and drawing comfort from its familiar touch as she takes a seat on the bed across from him. “You look like you need a rest.”
The smile that curls his lips is wry. “Are you insinuating I look haggard?”
She doesn’t let his grin distract her from speaking the truth. “You looktired.”
His laughter is a broken, serrated thing. Dark in ways that frighten her. “Tired,” he echoes, ghosts in his voice. “That must be it.” He leans forward, hunched and smaller than he’s ever looked, as he plants his elbows on his knees and buries his face in his hands. His laughter trails into a silence so thick, Anna can feel its weight with every breath.
Her teeth sink into her bottom lip, hands twisting anxiously in her lap. “That form you were wearing … I’ve never seen you wear one like it.”
“It’s nearly as ancient as I am,” he admits. “One of my firsts.”
