Page 44 of These Godly Lies
“Oh, he’s helping some of the farmhands down the mountain. He should be home soon.”
Silas’ brow ticks, a subtle sign of skepticism. “Khiran?”
Anna understands. She had some doubts about how he would handle this part of mortal life. Labor, physical or otherwise, is not something he would have subjected himself to in the past. “It’s been an adjustment for him.”
“I am sure,” Silas murmurs.
She hears the low bubble of water, the telltale current of steam moments before the whistle, and stands. She takes a moment to add milk to the kettle, letting it come back to a boil and simmer before straining it into two cups. She offers one to Silas before returning to her seat acrossfrom him.
“Thank you.” He admires the glazing of the ceramic before taking a sip. The cup looks much smaller in his hand. “Cassius told me Khiran’s plan. To deny his magic and hide as a mortal. To be truthful, I wasn’t sure I believed him capable of it until now.”
“Then you don’t give him enough credit,” Anna says, looking down at the tea in her hands and admiring the way the steam curls. “He would deny himself of every good thing this world has to offer if it meant keeping me close and keeping me safe. Just as I would do the same for him.” A gentle smile curls her lips, and she lifts her chin to meet Silas’ stare. “It was nice to meet Cassius—to know that you have someone who loves you so deeply. I’m happy for you.”
Silas returns it, cheek dimpling and eyes softening. “We are so very different. It felt strange at first, but we fit where it matters.”
She thinks of the swamps of Louisiana—of the meager meals they shared and the simplicity in which they lived. It is a pale comparison to the marbled halls and spread of delicacies that lined Cassius’ table. She sobers, mind drifting to the last conversation they had with the blonde. “He tried to convince Khiran to fight.”
Silas sighs, the sound so deep and tired Anna can nearly feel the weight of it. “So he’s told me. I must apologize. I’m certain the conversation was held with much more animosity than what was admitted to me.”
“There was a lot of yelling back and forth,” Anna admits, the smallest of smiles kissing the corner of her lips. “I’m afraid Khiran wasn’t on his best behavior, either.”
He gives a somber hum of understanding. “They have a history.”
“So I’ve heard,” she says, an almost echo of his words.
“Have you?” Silas murmurs, his head tilting in thought as he studies her. “He tells you more now.” An observation, not a question. Anna appreciates how much he sees her. How much he cares.
“He does.”
“I am glad. The lives we lead are fuller, brighter, when we can share them completely.”
Anna agrees, wholly and without question. “What do you think of it, Silas? Cassius’ wish to fight?”
“I think it’s as reckless as it is inevitable, but it is my greatest wish that the day the war starts is far in the future.”
Anna nods. In her stomach, the truth of it coils and twists like the desperate thrashing of a viper with its head pinned, its fangs made useless. Helpless, but still fighting. “I feel the same.”
A moment of silence. Anna gathers her courage to ask the question that’s been haunting her. “Tell me, what is happening in the world? We’re so isolated here, I’m afraid most of our news is limited to what the merchants bring with their wares.” She frowns, fingers twisting in her lap. “There have been troubling stories about the state of China.”
It’s an understatement. Tensions between Tibet and the People’s Republic of China had been high since they arrived at the monastery. An uprising in the capital city of Lhasa had erupted when fears of the Dalai Lama being arrested by the Chinese government spurred protests. It ended with clashes escalating into violence, thousands of Tibetans dead, and the fourteenth Dalai Lama escaping before Lhasa was retaken. Lately, she’s been hearing whispers about the poor state of those within China’s borders.
Silas’ expression darkens. “I’m afraid they’re likely true. The famine the citizens are enduring is as vast as it is cruel. I’ve been trying to shepherd those I can, but without Eira…” His voice trails off, an old pain shadowing his expression. Anna can feel the echo of it blooming over her chest like a cage of thorns. “I’m afraid my efforts do not go as far as they once did.”
Anna’s gaze travels to the window, noting the way the colors of the sky warm into hues of pinks and oranges. “Back home, there were nights I felt so guilty, I stayed awake with the weight of it on my chest. No matter how many times Khiran assured me that I deserved to rest—that I wasn’t responsible for the lives lost.”
Silas looks at her, the depths of his gaze as ancient as he is. “Khiran is right.”
“Yes, but knowing it never erased the guilt.” She faces him, her lips turned in a somber shadow of a smile. “I suppose what I’m saying is that I expect nothing we do will ever feel like enough.”
“You’re wise to understand it. It takes strength to witness horrorsfor as long as we have and feel anything but apathy at the end of it. In this, my friend, your strength outshines us all.”
Anna laughs, the sound trembling and weak, as she shakes her head. “I’m younger. I’ve seen less.Enduredless.”
“You’re wrong,” he murmurs, bringing his cup back to his lips. “But I can forgive you for not seeing how brightly you shine.”
It’s more than two years later when Silas returns. Spring is nearly upon them, the air still cold but the snow only dusting the valley like powdered sugar. She’s hanging bits of laundry in front of the communal fire, a few of the children play a game of Sho behind her. Kipu has already roped her into agreeing to play a game or two once she finishes. The six-year-old has become increasingly aware of how easy she is to charm with a dimpled smile and sweet words.
The boys squeal, delighted when one of them has a particularly good roll of the dice. She looks up, basking in their giddy laughter, when her eyes catch sight of Silas’ tall frame in the doorway behind them.
