Page 36 of These Godly Lies
Gently, she covers his hand with her own, his name a question on her lips. “Khiran?”
“Is it always this miserable?”
Anna hesitates, casting a look over the relatively calm waters. “Are you certain you still love my honesty?”
Khiran groans, the stiff line of his spine bowing. “I think—” He doesn’t finish, interrupted by his own body.
Anna rubs his back as he heaves, frowning at the way he quivers under her touch. She waits until his stomach is empty and the only thing passing his lips is his trembling breath. “I didn’t know you could get motion sickness.” The way he travels, lurching himself from one end of the world to the next, felt far more violent than the seawater breaking over the bow. Her brow creases, thinking of another boat in another sea. “You didn’t seem affected on Ching Shih’s ship.”
“Magic,” he groans, leaving it at that. “To think I was impressed by these metal monstrosities. Can make steel float but they can’t make it comfortable? Absolutely ridiculous.”
She doesn’t have the heart to point out that he seems to be the only one struggling—or that her journeys across the ocean have fared far worse. Instead, she gently folds her arm into his and coaxes him away from the railing. “Let’s get you inside. Sometimes these things don’t feel quite so bad below the deck.”
He lets her steer him towards the stairs. “My mouth tastes disgusting.”
Anna presses her lips together, a poor attempt at smothering the smile threatening to break. “That’s part of it, yes.”
“We’re never traveling like this again.”
One of the crew steps aside in the hall, his bearded face blossoming into a huge grin. He laughs, full-bellied, and claps Khiran on the shoulder with enough strength to make him stagger. Anna can’t understand what he tells them, but she can tell his amusement comes at her lover’s expense.
The glare Khiran shoots him is sharp enough to kill, but with the pallid look to his skin, Anna thinks he’s more likely to curdle milk. As they open the door to their room, he grumbles under his breath. “If you ever loved me, you’ll push that man overboard at the earliest opportunity.”
“Don’t be petty. It’s not his fault you’re sick.” She gets him into bed and brings the covers up to his shoulders. The material is scratchy and stiff, far from the silks they slept in last night or the luxuries he would have provided for himself. It dawns on her that he has never looked so human as he does now—brow damp and face pale with seasickness while laying in a cot he wouldn’t have been caught dead in.
It’s a sobering realization.
For all her amusement at watching him suffer the menial labors of mortals, Anna can’t help the twinge of sympathy for him. It’s hard, having to reinvent yourself. She knows, perhaps more than anyone, the struggle that comes with having to hide the parts of oneself.
First, her skin. Then, her immortality. Later, her knowledge.
It must be so difficult for him, denying himself the power he’s wielded for over a millennium. And now, to be brought down by something as mundane as a rocking ship…
“Scoot over,” she says, more a request than a demand. He shifts until his back presses against the wall, his arms open in invitation. She curls up next to him on the cot, their knees knocking and their arms draping over each other to fit. She tucks her head under his chin, fingers playing with a loose thread dangling from the blanket’s hem.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs.
He sighs into her hair. “It will pass.”
The seasickness will. Even if his stomach never settles, they’re meant to reach port in a week. That’s not what she’s apologizing for. “Is it difficult?” she asks. “Not reaching for your magic?”
For a moment, only the subtle groaning of steel and the clumsy set of footsteps traversing the hall fills the silence. If it wasn’t for the tightening of his arms around her, she would almost believe he hadn’t heard the question. His throat moves as he swallows. “Yes.”
Anna’s fingers trail over his wrist before lacing with his. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I don’t know if I could explain it properly,” he admits. “I have the world at my fingertips, but now I can’t use it.” He flinches, shooting her an apologetic look. “How spoiled I must sound, mourning privileges you never had.”
“No,” she murmurs, squeezing his hand. “Not spoiled.” The look he wears is skeptical and lined with resignation, and she chokes on a laugh. “Well, maybe a little, but not in a way I find offensive.”
He sighs, bringing their clasped hands to his lips so he can place a kiss to her knuckle. “If you weren’t so difficult to offend, I might take comfort in that.”
The smile she gives him is soft. “You lost a lot this week, Khiran. You’re allowed to mourn.”
His eyes are searching, heavy with heartache and sharp with understanding. “My grief doesn’t outweigh yours, Anna.”
She shakes her head, recoiling. “Of course it does.” He lost thewoman who raised him. Lost his home. Lost his power. How could she possibly feel sorry for herself when she lost so little in comparison?
A gentle kiss to her forehead, his lips whispering against her skin. “No, Anna, it doesn’t. We both lost. Don’t let my pain prevent you from treating your own.”
