Chapter Nine
It is harder than he expects, living without his magic.
The instinct is there, stitched into the fibers of his soul with thread strengthened by time.
There are moments where he finds himself blindly reaching for it, flinching away just before he can grasp it.
Fear is a tangible thing. He coils it around his wrists, binds his hands with it.
He will gladly live in shackles, if it means she remains free to fly.
KARACHI, PAKISTAN
They waste no time.
Once the letter is sealed, purple wax bright against crisp folded paper, they gather their supplies and leave without looking back.
Cassius doesn’t see them off, but Anna’s not surprised.
There was a finality to the words he left them with in the dining room.
The kind that makes her suspect that goodbyes were an art he never bothered to learn.
She wonders if that’s because he’s said far too few of them over the centuries or because the ones he’s been forced into still carry scars.
Their bags are heavy with clothes and food as they purchase boat tickets to take them to the Port of Karachi.
Khiran has already warned her that they won’t stay there.
Cities may offer a level of camouflage, but they’re easier to travel.
He has no doubt, Marcia will jump from city to city searching for a trace of them to hunt.
Seagulls squawk overhead as the small passenger ship pulls away from port. A group of young men throw day old simit high into the air and watch the birds swoop and dive for the bits of bread, their yellow beaks snatching it up before it hits the water.
There’s salt on the wind, tangling in her hair. Anna unties the scarf at her neck to wrap it over her head, the knot sitting under her chin. The breeze nips at the exposed collar, but it’s better than combing through matted hair.
A glance proves that Khiran is facing a far more troubling battle.
His knuckles are bone white with how tightly he grips the rail, his skin sallow and jaw tight with stubborn determination. He looks a breath away from heaving his meager breakfast into the churning waters below.
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 the woman 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.”
“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 in Karachi.
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.