Page 39 of These Immortal Truths
A loaded question, too complicated for words to do it justice and too dangerous to name the one that feels like it might come close. Instead, she turns back to the stage, the actors already starting preparations for their next performance. “Have you seen this one?”
He allows the change in subject, but his light huff of laughter doesn’t escape her. “I have. I quite enjoyed it. You?”
“I wished more for Ophelia. She was innocent in all of it. She deserved better.”
Khiran hums, but it’s more neutral than anything. “I believe that may be why it’s called a tragedy.”
“I think I may have seen enough of those.”
“In that case, I would recommend staying far away fromRomeo and Juliet.”
She hasn’t seen that one yet, but she’s heard enough to catch his thinly veiled jest. “Do you think he’ll ever write something lighter?” She enjoys the stories, just not the heartbreak.
The afternoon light is a wink in Khiran’s eyes. “I have it on good authority that he has a comedy in the works.”
“Good. The world could use a bit more laughter.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
Her gaze slides to his, curious. “How did you stumble on that bit of information?”
“Anna, you insult me. I donotstumble. I wished to know, so I found out. He’s making quite a name for himself, this Shakespeare. I was intrigued.”
“I hear he’s incredibly secretive. What did you do?”
“I think you forget that my forms aren’t limited to human.”
“Ah.” She had forgotten. The only time she has ever seen proof of it was in those brief moments before she was engulfed by flames—a raven watching from the skeletal branches of a tree. “So that’s how you go about your spying, then.”
He shrugs. “It’s effective. No one looks twice at a common song-bird perched beside an open window or a stray cat on the street.”
He stands, offering her a hand. “Come, it’s your day off, is it not? Let us see what else the city has to offer us.”
She accepts, his hand warm and soft under her palm. Once, she would have seen his lack of calluses as a testament to an easy life. She knows better now. Her hands, like the rest of her, have not changed through the centuries. The scars they earn, they carry, hidden, on their hearts.
She studies his profile as they walk. He seems far more content than he had when he visited her in Spain, but there’s still a weariness haunting the corners of his eyes. “Do you do that often? Hiding in plain sight?”
“When I’m gathering information? Certainly. There are far less lies to untangle by listening in on a conversation than to be part of one.”
The streets are busy, the market in full swing. “Is that how you knew it was my day off?” She doesn’t recall any new faces making an appearance among her fellow maids, certainly none that she recognized as him, but she isn’t so observant that she wouldn’t overlook a stray animal.
His brow rises. “Would I have found you in the theatre house if it wasn’t?”
“True.” She steps carefully around a foul smelling puddle, not wanting to dirty her skirts. “I suppose I suspected that you might have been spying on me as well.”
“While that does sound infinitely more entertaining …” Anna shoots him a dry look, and his teasing edge in his grin softens. “But no. I do try to be respectful of your privacy. For the most part.” His gaze dips, too fast for her to pinpoint the object of his attention. It could have been anything from the hand lifting her skirts to the tips of her shawl. “So long as you’re not in any sort of danger, anyway.”
Anna breathes a laugh. “Interesting logic. And I suppose you wouldn’t ever know whether I’m in danger if you didn’t look in on me in the first place. Is that right?”
“It’s not a riddle, Anna.” He shakes his head, a crooked smile teasing the corner of his mouth. “I have my ways of knowing without doing you such a disservice.”
“Oh? Will you ever care to explain them to me?”
He picks an apple from a stall, turning it in his hands appraisingly before handing the grocer a coin. “Maybe someday.” He offers the fruit to her, eyes glinting. “Apple?”
The smile he gives, the red coloring of the fruit cradled in his palm, takes her back to a different face, a different time.
A different fruit.
