Page 89 of These Godly Lies
Anna tilts her head, thoughtful. “Jiro has offered to check in should we need it.”
“He’s only human.”
Brows rising, she reminds him, “So are we.” When his only answer is silence, she takes a sip of coffee as she studies him. “You think it needs protecting?”
He shrugs. “Is that not what it chose you for?”
“No,” she says, her answer swift and sure in ways that only the truth can be. Her connection to The Tree is gone, but she still carries the echoes of its memory. Its wishes, herpurpose, are as clear to her as if they were imprinted on her heart.
She shifts, facing him fully and settling herself more deeply into the cushions. “Silas told me a story once.Hisstory.” Khiran’s gaze sharpens, curious despite his dark mood. “He thought he was dying until he followed a fox out of the desert and found his feet cradled by The Tree’s roots.”
“What’s your point?”
“The First didn’t choose Silas. The Tree did,” she says, holding his stare. “Don’t you think it’s strange? That he refused to leave his throne?”
Khiran scoffs, the sound bitter and dark. “He couldn’t be bothered.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “He couldn’t risk not being able to find his wayback.”
She offers him a smile. “The Tree doesn’t need me for protection. It will hide itself and us until it’s ready to help those who need it.” She reaches over, takes his hand. “So, where should we go? Whatwonders will you show me? We should start planning now so we can go in the summer.”
His eyes drift to the window, pulling the quilt more firmly around his shoulders. A grin pulls at his lips, crooked in ways that are so familiar, her heart stutters. “Somewhere warm.”
Anna wakes moments before dawn.
Beside her, Khiran still sleeps, his breathing even and his expression lax. Spring has finally brought warmer weather and a reprieve from the pain that haunted his nights. Everything is as it should be, but Anna has the strange sense that she didn’t fall out of sleep on her own.Somethingwoke her.
She slips out from under the covers, careful not to wake him, and threads her arms into her robe before slipping out the front door. The birds chatter from the branches in the gray predawn as she stands on the porch, eyes searching for something she can’t place.
There’s a feeling in her bones, a gentle nudge on her heart, telling her tolook. Her bare feet lead her into the center of her garden, the ground damp beneath her toes. It’s only as the sun peeks over the mountains in the east, bathing everything in dawn’s warm glow, that she understands.
Hanging from The Tree’s lowest branch, plump and ripe andgolden, is a peach.
The breath leaves her lungs, her eyes tracing the gentle curve, admiring the morning dew clinging to the fuzz. Slowly, carefully, she steps closer. There are no whispers, no roots tangling and prodding at her heart. It is only her, standing in the garden she cultivated, in front of the tree she has dedicated the rest of her mortal life to nourishing. She cups her hands, wanting to feel the fruits of her labor.
It drops into her palms.
A message she doesn’t need the whispers to understand. A gift.A nudge.
Anna sucks in a breath, her heart beating so fast it feels more like the humming of wings. She looks up at The Tree. The fruit in her hands feels as fragile as a bomb.
One. There is only one.
She swallows, regret sour on her tongue. “I won’t do it without him. I can’t.”
A breeze whistles through the branches, sunlight glinting off the leaves. All Anna can think about is the shattered mirror on the bathroom floor casting blood-tinged reflections on the walls. Her fingers curl, fuzz tickling her palms. “I need him the way you needed me,” she murmurs. “Please.”
She receives no answer. She never will. Not until she accepts.
Teeth biting into her lower lip, she dips her head and tries to breathe through the heaviness weighing on her chest. That’s when she notices it. The peach in her hand, the one she thought to be flawless,isn’t.
A seam runs down the middle, splitting it into two perfect halves. Two buds, two peaches, grown so close together they’ve fused into one.
A gift, not just for her, but for them both.
A laugh escapes her, watery and bright as she holds it close to her heart. “Thank you.”
She brings the peach into the kitchen, cutting it down the middle without resistance. When she pulls the halves apart, the center is hollow.
