Page 17 of These Immortal Truths
Giovanni doesn’t seem to share her dread. Perhaps that’s the difference between traveling alone andbeingalone. No matter where he goes, there will be family waiting for him. Even when his father retires and his travels take him far, Giovanni will always havesomeone to miss him. When he leaves, he will remember her with fondness.
Anna will remember him with regret.
“You are sad,” he notes, bumping her shoulder with his own. The buildings on either side of the street tower over them, no doubt housing at least one pair of curious eyes beneath their thatched roofs. Anna knows the whispers have already started. Last week, Mrs. Fairweather asked if she had any plans to marry.
Anna’s unbothered by the rumors and the gossip; can’t bring herself to care if walking besides a young, traveling merchant from foreign lands tarnishes whatever reputation she may have had. It will be time for her to move soon, anyway.
She bumps him back.
“I’m sorry. I lost myself in the future for the moment. What were you saying?”
His thick brows furrow. “I do not understand.”
Anna picks at a loose thread on her sleeve. She’ll have to mend it before it begins to unravel. “I’ll be leaving soon, I think. Perhaps in the spring.”
“But … this is your home?”
The laugh leaves her before she can stop it. Norwich may be where she lives, where she works and where she sleeps, but in no moment has it ever felt like home. Not the sort he speaks of with such fondness, anyway. “I don’t stay in any place for too long.”
Her admittance only seems to deepen his confusion, but he doesn’t question her further. Giovanni quietly adjusts his hold on her bag, follows her down the cobbled streets to the butcher’s household before bidding his farewell.
That night, as Anna readies herself for bed, she can’t shake the contemplative expression that crossed his face and wonders what thoughts could have warranted such a faraway look.
When she looks back, Anna sees the warning signs were always there. The tension, the heated words volleyed between locals and the priory over rights and boundaries. Still, when the shouting begins to fill the streets, when Anna hears theviolencein them, she still doesn’t fully understand the implications.
Never in her lifetime has she heard of anyone daring to riot against the church.
In the streets, everyone seems to be running either to or away from the rioting. She stands, watching the chaos unfold with a numbness rooted in disbelief. The community that has risen to violence in response to taxes is the same one Anna knows would have no qualms casting her out for the patterns on her skin.
A hand wraps around her wrist, their hold urgent. Anna pulls away on instinct, but their grip only tightens. Giovanni’s dark eyes stare, wide and fearful, back at her. “Come.”
His fear shocks her into moving, trailing behind him as he weaves through the streets and alleys. His legs are longer than hers, and Anna struggles to keep up and make sense of the words spilling from his lips. It takes her longer than it should for her to realize she can’t understand because his mutterings are in his language and not her own.
“Where are we going?”
“The river. My father is gathering his wares and will meet us there. He has hired a boat to take us away.”
Us.
The word rings.
He means to take her with him.Wantsto take her with him.
It’s enough to make Anna stagger, her toe catching on a cobblestone and sending her sprawling. She catches herself on her elbows, a quick shock of pain traveling up her arms and drawing a gasp from her lungs. The ground smells of urine, filth streaking her dress. She stands, too eager to be away from the filth that she doesn’t notice that the seam in her sleeve has given way—the stray thread she never got around to mending sabotaging the integrity of the rest. The river is in sight, the bridge arching over its waterways like a beacon.
Giovanni takes her hand, his fingers wrapping around her own,and pulls her from the shadows of the alley and into the open air. Into the light. A smile pulls at his lips, a picture of relief, as he points to a small boat docked on the other side. “There! Do you see?”
He turns to her, and Anna watches as his smile slips. Watches as it falls.
Her sleeve is flayed open at the seams, the skin underneath on full display.
Giovanni drops her hand as if she burns. His expression twists, an accusation in his voice and betrayal in his eyes. “You are sick?”
No. Not sick. It’s not a sickness, it’s just her. But the words stick, a poison in her chest. He won’t believe her. They never believe her. “Giovanni––”
“Me, my father,” he hisses, stepping back. “You would hide this? Let us catch it?”
“I––”
