Page 38 of These Immortal Truths
“Let’s go somewhere.” An invitation and a plea.
A dark curl brushes her cheek as he lifts his head to look at her. Too close. He’s too close. She can see every fleck of green in his blue irises, can make out every eyelash. If someone were to walk in, they’d think them lovers a breath away from a kiss. Except there’s no warmth in her veins—no lust. The intimacy of the moment is more than that, more than fever and flesh.
Sheseeshim.
His forehead kisses her own, their noses touching, with a reverence that feels weighted—a tradition she doesn’t know but canfeel. His words brush against her lips, an ember of warmth and gratitude lighting the depths of his eyes.
“Anywhere.”
They go to the roof.
It’s one of Anna’s favorite spots, quiet and private. No one looks for her here. People are so busy looking at the world in front of them, it seems like they never take the moment to look up. They share the bottle of wine between them and, when it runs empty, Khiran replaces it with something new.
The city looks different from here—bigger and smaller all at once. It’s easy to forget how many lives touch these streets. The market is a flurry of people; a collage of color and movement. So small they become more insects than people—no faces or features to pull at the instinctual recognition of another living soul. From here, Anna can see how kings find it easy to play god with people’s lives when they never bother to get close enough to see their faces.
Khiran offers her the wine, his hands draping in his lap as he looks over the city she’s called home for the past two years. Her fingers wrap around the neck of the bottle. The glass warm from the shared touch of their hands. She takes a slow sip, enough to feed the pleasantly relaxed hum in her body, but not enough to push her under.
It’s nice—the quiet that settles between them. There’s no strain, no push for conversation or for questions that don’t want to be answered. Together, on that rooftop, they are just two people with a millennia between them looking over a city that will never know.
The sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in reds andoranges and washing the city in warm hues, and Khiran speaks. “It’s beautiful.”
And Anna knows what he really means, hears thethank youbehind each and every syllable. They watch as, one by one, stars emerge in a darkening, ageless sky, and remind themselves that every nightmare has an end.
CHAPTER TWELVE
There are so many words for her and yet they’re never enough. He could list her virtues, point out every gleaming triumph, and she still wouldn’t understand. So when she asks, he doesn’t tell her the answer. Heshowsher.
LONDON, ENGLAND
1601
Anna didn’t have any intention of coming back here.
England doesn’t hold any special place in her heart—doesn’t carry fond memories the way someone’s homeland should—but somehow she felt a pull anyway.
Europe is changing. Theworldis changing. And suddenly Anna feels the need to see how the country of her youth has changed, too. Part of her expects to see the same misery she left, but it’s different. There are still plenty of poor conditions, but there are otherthings, too. Brighter things. Music and art, theatre and poetry. Things that Anna knows must have been there before, but she can’t remember ever really experiencing for herself. Art was for the walls of nobility, music for their parties. Not for her. In some ways, it’s still like that, but there’s more and more filtering into the lives of the everyday people.
Anna spends her time off seeking it out. She looks at the beautiful wares the market offers, plays a game with herself in which she tries to name their origins. There is still much of the world for her to see, but she’s picked up information along the centuries by taking up conversation with the merchants and the travelers. Has listened to their stories, drawn maps in her mind, knowing someday she’ll discover if they’re true for herself.
Once she has enough money saved, she hopes to board a ship and see what lies across the Atlantic for herself. It will be her first time off the continent—an immersion in a culture so completely different from the ones she’s lived. The thought of it brings a thrill of excitement. She is ready for something new. Ready to start seeing the world in its whole and not just parts.
For now, though, she settles onto the narrow wooden bench and waits while bodies fill in the empty spaces on either side of her. One of the maids she works with had suggested the theatre, urging her to visit. Charlotte was one of the few that enjoyed a good story; they traded them over the silver as they polished. As such, Anna trusts that her coin will be well spent.
Her trust was well placed.
The Globe Theatre is impressive. With its domed roof and sheer size, it’s capable of accommodating thousands of people from all walks of life. Shakespeare is a name that’s been circulating ever since Anna arrived a year ago, but she’s only now understanding why. There is poetry in the deliverance, an aching rapture that urges the audience to hang on to every word and watch as tragedy unfolds. This isn’t one of his more popular productions—people seem more interested in the historical rather than the tragic—but Anna can see the artistry in every line.
When it ends, she stays seated as everyone else rises, soaking inthe experience. She’s unsurprised when her neighbor does the same. Raising her brows, she gives the old woman an expectant look. Khiran chuckles, shedding the wrinkles for his usual form without any care for who might be looking. Anna wonders how nice it must be to never have to worry about unwanted eyes.
“Here I thought you wouldn’t recognize me without my beauty to give me away.”
She smiles, soft and lined with memories. “I think I’d recognize you no matter the face you wore.”
“Is that so?” His full lips curve into a grin. “Sounds like an interesting challenge. What makes you so confident? Have I developed a tell?”
“Not a tell,” she says, shaking her head. It’s something she can’t quite describe—a shift in the air, a hum in her bones. Once, she only recognized his forms by the devastating beauty they possessed, but it’s different now. This form has proved it. She turns to him, traces the soft line of his jaw and the arch of his dark brows. “It’s a feeling.”
His head tilts, amusement softening into something different. Something tender. “And how do I make you feel, Anna?”
