Page 37 of These Godly Lies
“That’s not what I’m doing,” she grumbles, but in her chest her heart gives a traitorous squeeze. The truth is they’ve been so busy running—so busy trying to determine their next step—she hasn’t dared study the lingering grief hiding in the shadows of her heart. Even now, safe in the hull of a ship sailing far from Marcia’s reach, she still can’t bring herself to pull it into the light. If she looks too closely, she’s bound to feel it too deeply. Khiran’s words have become a mantra, something she holds so desperately it’s become an imprint on her soul.
It can’t be for nothing.
She can’t afford to let the grief swallow her, and she can’t trust herself to be strong enough not to let it. Not now. Not yet.
Khiran hums, a low sound full of more understanding than she deserves, his nose tracing her own. “Must be my mistake, then.”
Anna’s throat goes tight, her eyes burning the longer she holds his stare. Sometimes she hates that he sees her so thoroughly. “She was your mother,” she whispers, the words strangled and hoarse.
“Yes,” he agrees. “And she was your friend. The pain is different, but one does not outweigh the other.”
She wants to argue, but the ache in her chest has grown so heavy it’s suffocating. If she speaks now, she’ll be left breathless. Instead, she curls into him, her head tucked under his chin and his arms wrapped firmly around her body. They fall asleep, the rocking of the ship lulling them through their shared grief.
It’s raining when their ship docks inKarachi.
The dark clouds hang low in the heat, the air so humid Anna feels like her skin is damp before she even sets foot in the light rain. Beside her, Khiran looks all too relieved to disembark. Anna can feel the rain sliding down the collar of her coat as they follow the line of people off the ramp and onto dry land. He murmurs a few choice words under his breath.
Karachi rises up to meet them. Wide, clean streets host a variety of different modes of transportation. The bell of a trolley car trills, ringing high over the noise of car engines. In the middle of the intersection, a policeman directs traffic from a pedestal with his arms. Anna spies a camel pulling a cart. She has only ever seen one in a zoo. On the sidewalks, the people seem to be just as varied. Some wear western styled collared shirts and slacks while others wear long tunics with their heads covered with turbans or small hats in what Anna imagines must be the traditional style.
Khiran’s hand hovers over her lower back, guiding her forward and into the crowds. She hadn’t realized her steps had slowed as she took it all in. “Do you know where we’re going?”
“Karachi sees a lot of tourism. We’ll have no problem finding accommodations.” He adjusts his bag over his shoulder, frowning up at the rain. “I’m afraid we’ll need to stop by the bank before anything.”
She nods, understanding. They had taken stock of their supplies during a lull in Khiran’s seasickness. While Cassius had been kind enough to include cash along with food, the lira doesn’t do them much good in a country that deals in rupees.
Khiran leads her down the street, his eyes scanning the store-fronts as if filing the knowledge away for later. Anna suspects she’s not entirely wrong, and she takes in the shops and the advertisements. There seems to be a mix of the local dialect and a smattering of English decorating the signs and posters. “How long will we stay?”
“Just the night. We’ll take the first train in the morning.”
Anna frowns. “Is that necessary? I thought she couldn’t track us so long as you withhold your magic?”
“I’d prefer to avoid testing her capabilities. Besides,” he winces,glancing at her. “Pakistan only recently gained independence. Tensions are still high and its future still uncertain. Without my magic, I am as blind to what could be coming as anyone else. I won’t risk the possibility of you getting caught in a conflict.”
Anna sobers, threading her arm through his. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve lived through one,” she says softly, a gentle reminder.
“No,” he agrees, expression dark. “But it would be the first time I couldn’t use my magic to save you if things became too dire.”
A breath, short and strangled, passes her lips, because he’sright. Over the centuries, she had come to rely on the knowledge that he could rescue her if she ever came into too much trouble. It hadn’t dawned on her, until this moment, how much she took comfort in his unspoken promise to never leave her to suffer—that safety was always just a blink away. Now, fleeing by anything but mortal means could cost their lives.
Swallowing, Anna finds the courage to ask the question despite dreading the answer. “How long would it take her to find us? If you had to use it?”
Khiran’s lips thin. “Moments.”
The word lands like a bomb, shrapnel rattling in her lungs.
Moments—not even minutes.
Moments.
Khiran sees the way she pales, must feel the echo of her fear in his chest. He stops, hands settling on her shoulders and bending to meet her gaze. “We will not give her a scent to trace. We will live by mortal means, and we will be fine.”
Anna searches his face. It’s been so long since he’s lived a life without magic. She’s not entirely sure he understands what it will look like, but there’s a determination honing the green in his irises and sharpening the line of his jaw. And Anna knows, with everything she is, that it doesn’t matter how ill prepared he is.
He would throw himself to the fire before leading The Huntress to their steps.
The hotel room Khiran secures for them isn’t lavish, but it’s clean and within the city center. After they drop off their bags, he leads her to a shop to purchase clothing in the local style. While Karachi seems to host people in all sorts of dress, Khiran insists they’ll want something more traditional to blend in where they’re going. He speaks in Urdu to the clothier, haggling the price down, as Anna trails her hand over the colorful cottons. Outside, the sun is beginning to dip below the horizon and the sound of jazz music is filtering from the clubs while the casino slot machines ring with the sound of coin.
Khiran touches her elbow, distracting her from her thoughts. In his other hand is a bag full of clothing—mostly long sleeved kurta and kurtis with some traditional trousers called churidars. “Come, we’ll find something to eat and return to our room.”
