Page 1 of These Godly Lies
CHAPTER ONE
Once, he kept his memoriesclose—shielded them with a fierceness that betrayed their value. Now, he wraps each one like a gift and watches her face as he peels back the layers of who he is. Only she could make feeling exposed feel like relief.
CALIFORNIA, UNITEDSTATES
1955
He tells her stories.
The kind woven with truth and fibers spun from memories so old they’ve faded. For her, he knits together his past and delivers every dream, every fear, one story at a time—tells her everything she’s always wished to know, even when it’s the answer to a question she never knew to ask. Anna holds each one close, the patchwork of his life growing stitch by stitch until it becomes something she can wrap aroundherself.
At night they curl up together, sometimes in the bed, sometimes on the couch. Occasionally in the meadow, where the native wildflowers tickle her skin, closed petals kissing her cheeks, as she stares up at a blanket of stars and traces the ones that carry his names.
Tonight, they’re in the living room sprawled beneath a quilt of Anna’s making and nothing else. The fire crackles in the hearth, flooding the room in warmth and light while the wind whistles through the trees, autumn rain pelting her windows as if the storm were trying to force its way in. She’s curled up against his chest, her breath whispering over his heart as his fingertips trace the curve of her shoulder blade lazily, each pass slower than the one previous.
“I used to love sitting in front of the fire as a child,” he murmurs, the words teasing her hair before he shifts, placing a kiss to her crown. “I used to lie in front of the hearth and watch the flames dance until the warmth of it lulled me into sleep.”
“It’s hard to imagine you as a child.” The confession is as soft and languid as the fingers now playing with the ends of her hair.
“Most days it’s hard to remember,” he admits. “I suppose that happens when you become too busy to reflect on things. The memory of it fades until the only thing left is the bones.”
Anna thinks of all the things she’s lived through; all the connections she’s made. The only ones she fully remembers are the ones she’s held on to. Her early years in England, the hardships she faced in France, the only parts of it she remembers clearly are the moments that involve him and Piers. All the hurt, the things that ate at her, have rotted away until all she recalls is that, at one point, it wasthere.
Time changes everything. Sometimes, it erases things too.
“My earliest memory was of being taken—the smoke and the fear. I don’t remember so much as know it, now.” She tilts her chin, meeting his gaze. “It’s strange to realize such a crucial event in my life stopped being important enough to carry.”
Khiran’s hand leaves the small of her back to coax an errant curl from her face. His touch lingers, tracing her brow. “We have mirrored beginnings. Your story starts with being stolen and mine with being abandoned.” He leans in, their noses brushing. If she wanted to, Annacould count every one of his eyelashes. “I came into Eira’s care because I was unwanted. I never knew why—I was too young to understand. I’m not sure Eira did, either. I just know I was alone and then I wasn’t.”
Anna’s brow creases, her mind replaying the words as she lifts her head, leaning on her elbow and hovering over him. “You were a child when you met Eira?”
He’s never talked about his life frombefore. She had never even thought to ask. In the beginning, she looked to him the way mortals look up to the sky and find their gods in the stars. He was ancient and powerful, the idea that he was ever anything other than that seemed impossible. Later, after she had experienced dozens of lifetimes, her own beginnings had become so distant that she never thought to wonder abouthis.
“Did you not know?”
“How would I? You never told me.”
He shrugs a shoulder. “I expected Eira to take great pleasure in sharing embarrassing stories of my youth, if I’m honest.” His nose wrinkles in irritation. “She certainly enjoyed makingmesuffer through them.”
Anna scoffs, her hair spilling over the rug as she lays back down beside him and folds her arm beneath her head as a pillow. “She avoided talking about you. I think she was afraid she’d slip and say something you wouldn’t want me to know.”
“Like embarrassing stories of my youth?”
She kicks his shin, but there’s no strength behind it. More a scolding than a punishment. “Maybe if you hadn’t kept so many secrets, I would have had the pleasure of hearing some of those.”
Khiran’s smile wanes, sobering. “Does it still bother you?”
“Yes.” There are a dozen things she wished he would have done differently, but none of it changes the end result. He will always believe he was acting in her best interest the same way she will always believe he was wrong. What matters is that it’s done—that he trusts her to bear the burdenswithhim going forward. “Does it scare you? Not having secrets with me?”
“No,” he murmurs, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Youwere right to demand it. It feels… freeing. Not having to measure my words with you.”
She bites her lip, a poor attempt at smothering her smile. “That’s a good answer. Almost perfect.”
“Only almost? Perhaps I should have rehearsed it more. Added in some poetic musings on your superior judgment and divine beauty?” He grins crookedly.
“Mm,” she hums. “It couldn’t have hurt.”
“I will make a note for next time,” he promises.
