Page 24 of These Immortal Truths
“The conversation was over, anyway.” She pats his cheek fondly, the way she did when he was a child. “Come now, it’s your wedding! Let’s have a dance.”
Piers doesn’t seem convinced, but he lets her lead him into a dance. Anna forces a smile and pretends it isn’t their last.
She should have known he wouldn’t let it rest; should have known he’d come find her the moment he saw her missing.
Piers’ voice is soft with accusation, a shadow in the doorway of the home they’ve made together. “You’re leaving.”
Anna jumps, hand flying into her chest and covering her racing heart. She needn’t have bothered. Seeing his expression stops it cold. “It’s not—”
Except she can’t bring herself to finish the excuse, because she’s certain it’s exactly what he thinks. The only difference is in the details, but what does it matter when the outcome is the same?
She swallows, tries again. “Why aren’t you with Maria? It’s your wedding night.”
Carefully, he closes the door behind him. There’s a shadow of hurt in his eyes, but no hint of anger. It only makes the pain in Anna’s chest double. “You were acting strange. I was worried.”
Over the years his pale curls have darkened to a light brown, but in his face she still sees the little boy in the forest with dirt and tears streaking his face.
Khiran’s words come back to her, an echo over her heart.
You could always tell him the truth.
It feels too hard and too easy all at once, but the hurt shadowing Piers’ eyes is so much worse than any kind of judgment he could cast on her. “Come sit,” she says, voice as fragile as she feels. “I have a story to tell you.”
She starts from the beginning, tells him of the smoke that stung her eyes and the taste of ash on her tongue when she was stolen away from a home she can’t remember. She tells him of the years of servitude, of exile and solitude, before a beautiful sun-kissed stranger handed her a warm golden fruit that tasted of summer and honey. Of the fire and the pain she felt at the stake; the fear and wonder when she rose from the ashes unharmed.
She tells him of the day she found him, nearly two-hundred years later, abandoned and hungry, waiting for a mother that would never come. Of the shape shifting god that came in the night, gifting them with everything they needed to survive the winter so they could thrive in the spring.
The ring on her hand is cool against her fingers as she turns it, round and round, an anxious habit she’s had too long to forget. “I love this life with you in it,” she whispers, throat tight. She thinks of the pity in Eira’s face the moment Anna realized carrying a child was out of reach—how the old god had warned her that some costs were mercies.
There is no pain like outliving a child.
Staring into Piers’ face, Anna believes her. Because he isn’t even gone, but nothing has ever hurt so much as telling him, “But I have to go.”
“Go,” he echoes, before the furrow in his brow smoothes and alarm replaces the worry. “Maman, no. You can’t—”
She cuts him off before he can finish, because he’s wrong. It’s not that she can’t, it’s that shemust. “I’m not aging, Piers. I will never age, never die. People are beginning to notice.”
There is a horrified realization lighting his brown eyes, and Anna can see him tracing her face with newfound understanding, but it only feeds his panic. “Then we’ll travel with you. Go somewhere new.”
Anna shakes her head. “No, your life is here.” She takes his hand in hers and remembers how small it once felt. Now, it feels large. Strong. “You’re not alone anymore, Piers.”
“But you will be,” he murmurs, jaw clenching. “How can you expect me to stay knowing you’ll be out there all alone?”
“I won’t be. Not always.”
His lips part, an argument ready to fly off his tongue, but understanding reaches him first. “Your old friend.”
Anna nods, squeezing his hand. “My old friend.”
“He’s a god?” He shifts, uncomfortable. Anna knows he’s probably thinking of all the things he should have said—thinking of all the sermons that preached of one god and one god only. Of the damnation that would come to any soul who believed anything different.
“He’s complicated,” she says, smile weak. “We both are.”
Piers swallows, tension in his shoulders and red staining the whites of his eyes. “We could still go with you.”
“No.” She presses her palm against his cheek, catches his gaze in time for him to see the tears spilling over hers. “I can’t watch you die. Please don’t ask me to.”
She watches her words sink, settling over his heart with the same kind of aching horror she feels. Sees the pain that comes with knowing she’s right. “I’ll never see you again, will I?”
