Page 39 of These Godly Lies
“There’s so many…” Anna murmurs, her breath fogging up the glass. She leans back, her hands fisting in her lap. It’s such a contrast to the part of the city they enjoyed last night, a study in opposites. Of haves and have-nots.
Khiran puts a hand over hers, speaking low. “You must let it go. You cannot help anymore than I can. Not anymore.” He waits until she meets his gaze, his eyes shadowed. “You can’t go back to saving others at the sacrifice of yourself, Anna. Promise me.”
Everything that she is recoils, bitterness coating her tongue in words that are better left unsaid. She swallows them down instead, looking back out the window. Khiran has sacrificed his magic—his very nature—to stay by her side and keep her safe. She owes him the same level of dedication. Even though the thought makes her stomach go sour.
“I promise.”
CHAPTER TEN
It’s not the kind of life he cares for. He misses traveling on a whim, of tasting foods from every corner of the world whenever he fancied it. He misses feeling like the world is his playground instead of his cage. It’s only her smile, her happiness, that makes his self-imposed prison bearable.
PHUKTALGOMPA, ZANSKARVALLEY
JANUARY1959
Anna is freezing.
The snow is fresh, more powder than ice. With every shuffling step, she finds herself trudging through knee-high drifts. It’s exhausting. She’s sweating in her coat from the exertion, but with every gust of wind she feels the chill. She understands now why Khiran was so eager to hurry. Wherever it is they’re going, can only be reached on foot. Had they made it a few days earlier, they would be hiking over rock instead of snow. It’s been atleast an hour since she’s been able to feel her toes, her only consolation knowing (from unfortunate experience) that she’s immune to frostbite.
“Where are we going?!” she shouts, fighting to be heard. It feels like the storm smothers the words the moment they leave her lips, but Khiran must hear enough. He points, his hand rising impossibly skyward. Anna’s gaze follows, her steps faltering.
It is nothing but a shadow in the storm, a hazy outline blurred by snowfall, but it’s enough to make out the flickering lights winking like eyes in the dark. Windows. Hidden in the mountainside, seemingly carved from the very same stone, are buildings.
“Phuktal Gompa,” Khiran says, the wind almost swallowing the words entirely. If he hadn’t leaned down, close enough for her to feel the heat of his breath on the shell of her ear, Anna’s not sure she would have heard him at all.
His hand catches her elbow, steering her closer to the cliff face. It looms over them like a guardian, blocking the wind the closer they get. By the time Anna is able to touch the rock, she’s not sure if the low whistle in her ears is real or an echo.
“There’s a small cave up ahead,” Khiran assures her. There’s a carefulness in the way he watches her, concern warring with reality. “We will rest there until the storm passes.”
Anna knows, without asking, that he came to the decision for her sake rather than his. His hair is windswept, his cheeks flushed pink, but he doesn’t tremble from exhaustion or shiver from the cold the way she does. She leans on his offered arm, happily letting him bear some of her weight as her feet fumble. The cave, to her great relief, is closer than she imagined.
Unfortunately, it’s also far smaller—barely enough room for them to tuck their bodies in. No room for a fire.
Khiran motions for her to climb in first, before following behind her. The ceiling is so low, Anna has to crawl on her hands and knees to get to the far end. She lays on her side, watching Khiran inch towards her. When he lays down, facing her, she understands why he wanted her to go first. His back is to the opening, bearing the brunt of the chill.
When he opens his arms, Anna doesn’t hesitate to fold herself into them. “Are you warm enough?”
No, she thinks, but it tastes unappreciative despite it being the truth. Instead, she says, “I’m getting there.”
“Many make the pilgrimage here, but I’ve never made the journey myself,” he confesses. “It is more taxing than I imagined.”
“I’m sure the snow isn’t helping.”
His answering hum is dark with grudging agreement.
She tucks herself fully against him, the tip of her nose brushing his throat. Her face is so cold, his skin burns in comparison.
“You’re freezing,” he mourns, reaching between their bodies to unzip his coat. He holds it open, an invitation she can’t refuse. She curls up against him, their knees knocking and her hands soaking up the warmth of him.
She sighs, cocooned in his arms and folded into his coat on top of her own. Outside, the wind whistles. Not an echo, after all. “Tell me about where we’re going,” she murmurs, trying to fight the heaviness pulling at her eyelids.
He knows her too well. “Sleep, Anna.”
She could argue, insist that she’s fine. Any other time, she probably would have. But there is a song in the way the wind whistles, a melody that feels as old as the mountains themselves. Anna lets it sing her to sleep.
It’s the silence that wakes her.
She turned sometime during the night. Her back is warm against Khiran’s chest, his coat draped fully over her. A sliver of light plays on the back of the cave wall, rising and falling with Khiran’s breathing. She knows, because she can feel it in time with the breath tickling the back of her neck.
