Page 77 of These Immortal Truths
“No,” she answers, despite knowing it confirms everything he accused her of. She heard the call for help. She heeded it.
The details don’t matter.
He leans his forehead against their clasped hands, his sigh a quiet whisper between them. It sounds like worry.
He stays for dinner.
Eira doesn’t inquire about their conversation, only about where they’ve been and what they’ve seen. It doesn’t take Anna long to notice that for every story she tells, every moment of history she’s lived through, Khiran offers one from the other side of the world. She finds it odd at first, but brushes it off.
Then, when the hour grows late, she stands and announces she’s going to bed and his only response is to wish her goodnight.
No mention of joining her later. No kiss or a bid for sweet dreams. His gaze is pointed away from her curious eyes, his finger tapping anxiously around his cup in a small tell that she’s not sure he has even noticed. It dawns on her, the subtle shift in him since Eira rejoined them.
He doesn’t want her to know.
Anna isn’t sure how she feels about the secrecy, but as she pulls the quilt to her chin, she finds that she understands it. She hasn’t seen Eira in centuries, but the memory of her face the morning after she received Khiran’s ring is as clear as the etching on the band—subtle, but visible in the right light. If she knew, she wouldn’t approve.
Anna just doesn’t understandwhy.
She lays, staring up at the ceiling. She can find no answers there, only hairline cracks spreading like spiderwebs over the plaster. Anna falls asleep knowing that one good push would be enough to send it crashing down on her.
She wakes to the sound of a hushed argument on the other side of the bedroom door. She sits up, arms wrapping around her knees, as she strains to hear.
“You shouldn’t have done it.” Khiran’s voice, thick with frustration. “She doesn’t need to be here.”
“I need help,” Eira responds shortly.
He scoffs, the edge in his voice sharpening. Anna can hear his steps pacing the room. “Her heart is too soft for this, Eira. This kind of suffering—thesehorrors—they are too much to ask of her.”
A bark of laughter, raspy and brimming with skepticism. “You say this as if she has not already lived through war and famine—through plague and cruelty. Do you think I would ask this of her if I believed her unprepared?”
“This is different.”
“Of course it is. It’salwaysdifferent. Every war, every sickness. Time changes everything. If it didn’t, we would be far more successful in our efforts.”
“But this—”
Eira cuts him off, sharp and scolding. “Is this not why you saved her? To serve as your hand where you cannot?”
“Have you no mercy left or do you just refuse to understand?” he hisses. “She will destroy herself trying to save them all!”
“Then it will be one for the survival of many. Why would this rule bend for her?”
There is a pause, heavy enough for Anna to feel it through the door. Her hand curls up against the wood, her breath shaky as she peers through the crack. Khiran’s back is to her, but she can clearly see Eira’s face darken with a mixture of disappointment and horror.
“What have you done?” Dread drips from each word, her aged hand reaching behind her to grip a chair as if suddenly overcome by weakness.
“Eira—”
“How could you be so foolish?” she snaps, but there’s more worry than anger sharpening the words. Khiran’s answering silence is suffocating. Eira sits, her hand at her temples. “Why do you never learn?”
“I didn’t intend for it,” he murmurs, taking the seat opposite of her. In the firelight, his expression is soft. “But I can’t bring myself to regret its happening, either.”
She laughs, the sound rasping and hollow. “This could spell the end for you.”
“It could.”
“I told you from the beginning that it’s dangerous to care too much.”
