Chapter Thirteen #2
Anna frowns, shifting her hand until their fingers lace. “You have gold in the ocean?”
“Yes,” he murmurs, bringing her hand to his lips and placing a kiss to her knuckle.
“Though likely not in the way you’re thinking.
” His gaze lifts, snaring her in a stare as searching as it is gentle.
“I ask that you permit me to withhold the rest of the details. Not for the sake of secrecy, but rather to let you experience it for yourself. Some things are better when approached without expectations.”
Anna tries to smother her smile but fails tremendously. “I’m a little old for surprises, don’t you think?”
“Never,” he answers, and in that sighing breath is a reverence that attests to the truth in which he holds it. He nods toward her other hand, the one still wrapped in his crude bandages. “Let me see.”
She offers her hand without protest. As he unwraps the cloth, she’s unsurprised to see the skin has already healed over—the base of the amputation shiny with scar tissue.
Khiran runs his thumb over the stump so gently, if she closed her eyes she might think she imagined his touch. His eyes are dark with grief. “Does it still hurt?”
“No,” she answers, relieved that it’s the truth. “The pain stopped before our train did.”
He nods, gaze turning thoughtful. “You heal faster than I do.”
“Your wound was considerably more serious,” she reminds him, her own eyes drifting toward the side he’s been favoring. “If you were human—”
He doesn’t let her finish the thought. “I’m not.” He places a gentle kiss to her scarred flesh, his eyes lifting to meet hers. “Neither are you.”
It feels like an echo of his old assurances—that fear is for mortals and not for them. In this, it still rings true. Death isn’t something they need to concern themselves with. Silently, they agree not to think of the ways in which it feels like a lie.
They don’t leave the room until dusk. Which, if Anna is being honest with herself, provides a small amount of relief.
She was determined not to let her condition prevent her from going out (especially after Khiran’s assurances) but it still feels immensely easier when she knows the low light will help shield her from stares.
She thinks of her conversation with Jiro in the garden she’s homesick for—how she tried to capture in words the difficulties that come with being different. Of being other.
The world has come a long way from where she started.
A few hundred years ago, she wouldn’t have risked leaving the privacy of their room without the pale patches of her skin carefully hidden.
Maybe, she thinks, there will also come a day where she won’t have to fear the stares or the disgust. For tonight, she will trust the night to mask her differences.
Khiran seems more relaxed than when they arrived.
Anna suspects the four hour nap has helped his body heal enough to make the pain more manageable.
He’s certainly moving more like himself—less guarded as they weave their way through the crowded streets.
It helps, she thinks, that everyone seems to be going in the same direction.
A bonfire has already been lit, the flames high and as bright as the smiles of the people dancing around it.
The beating of drums fill her ears, a lively pulse, as they find a seat at the edge of the festivities.
Anna watches the flames grow higher as they feed it, her throat tightening with a pang of grief.
“They light the fires to drive out the evil spirits,” Khiran explains, the reflection of the flames casting shadows in his eyes.
Anna wonders if he’s thinking of Eira, too, then wants to shake herself.
Of course he is. How could either of them think of anyone else when the fires burn this brightly?
“And to celebrate the burning of the demoness Holika.”
“You did promise me the story,” she reminds him, leaning her head against his shoulder.
“There are different versions, different customs even, for this particular one.”
“Mm,” she hums. “Tell me your favorite then.”
The short, few seconds of hesitation make her think the one he tells her is easily his preferred version. “Once, there was an evil king who coveted power above all else. He was gifted immortality. No man nor animal could hope to kill him. Arrogant, he forced his people to worship him like a god.”
Anna scoffs. “Sounds familiar.”
Khiran’s mouth twitches into a smile. “Prahlad, his son, refused and continued to worship Vishnu. His father was furious, of course, and bid his daughter to trick him. His daughter, Holika, being impervious to fire, tricked her brother to join her on a pyre as it was lit. But in a twist of fate, Prahlad emerged from the flames unscathed and Holika was reduced to ashes.”
“And the king who believed himself to be a god?”
His eyes gleam, wicked and violent with fantasies he’ll never share out loud. “Slayed.”
Anna tips her chin to the sky, eyes tracing the familiar shapes of the constellations hiding there. “I hope our story has a similar ending.”
The frown he wears is immediate. “You sound like Cassius. Don’t let his optimism blind you to the reality of our situation.”
Anna shrugs. “Hope costs nothing.”
“Nothing now,” he grumbles. “It can cost you everything, if you aren’t careful where you place it.”
“I placed my hopes in your hands.” She turns her face away from the stars to look at him, her smile soft and teasing. “I think it’s gone pretty well, so far. Don’t you?”
Khiran is clearly not amused, but the irritated glare he answers with only makes her smile grow wider. She stands, dusting off her sari before holding a hand out to him in peace offering. “Dance with me.”
There’s a thread of laughter in his sigh, amusement in the way he shakes his head, but he takes her hand readily.
The warm light of the bonfire flickers over his face.
His eyes are dark, but sometimes they catch the reflection of the flames just right and she spies a hint of blue.
She thinks of the night they danced to Ray Charles in their living room—of how far away that life feels.
She won’t admit it out loud, but she understands Khiran’s hesitance.
A tiny part of her had hoped the peace they found at the monastery would last. It wasn’t the home she left behind, but it was home enough so long as he remained beside her.
She won’t tell him that it hurt her to leave it.
Won’t admit that, in the end, it was that shard of hope that cut the deepest.
She’d rather hold those painful truths close to her heart if it means sparing his.
Morning brings laughter.
It filters into their room from the streets, the sound stirring her from sleep.
She looks over to Khiran, but his eyes are closed and his breathing remains deep and even.
Carefully, she untangles herself from the sheets and manages to leave the bed without waking him.
She pulls the robe over her body and shifts the curtain aside to look out onto the street.
There is music and color everywhere—plumes of pink, blue, and green rising up over the street like a fog.
Laughter spills between the notes, cutting through the powdered air, like an instrument all its own.
Anna watches, fascinated, as a girl smears a handful of vibrant green powder over an elderly woman’s graying hair.
She suspects they must be related, a grandmother perhaps, because the older woman only laughs before returning the favor.
They, like everyone else, are covered head to toe in a kaleidoscope of color.
The whites of their eyes, their smiles, the only part of them that escaped.
She feels Khiran at her back, the warmth of him the only warning before his arms wrap around her waist. His chin rests on her shoulder, his eyes taking in the scene with her.
“The day changes every year,” he murmurs, his voice still stained with sleep.
“Lucky that we were able to be here during the celebrations.”
“What is this?” Her voice is breathy with her awe.
“Holi,” he answers, kissing her temple. “Would you like to join the celebration?”
She’s certain he already knows her answer.
Still, she hesitates, turning in his arms and pulling his robe aside.
Her fingers trace over his ribs, gently investigating.
She tries not to let herself dwell on how gruesome the scarred nub of her finger looks in comparison to the smooth stretch of skin of his torso.
The evidence of his wound is gone, but she knows better than to trust it.
The streets are crowded with people. She won’t let him suffer for her curiosity. “How are you feeling?”
He covers her hand with his own, bringing her palm to his lips in a fleeting kiss. “Slight pinching,” he admits. Anna appreciates the honesty. “Nothing unbearable and certainly nothing worth you fussing over.”
She looks over her shoulder, teeth sinking into her lower lip. “It’s daylight.”
“It is.”
Rubbing her arm with her free hand, over the pale patches of skin she knows will be entirely too visible. She looks up at him through her eyelashes, her smile timid. “You’re certain I won’t cause a scene?”
Khiran’s eyes soften, his palm cupping her cheek. “I’m certain the opinions of strangers weigh less than the joy you would be robbing yourself of if you let yourself fear them.”
She holds his gaze, a stubborn smile pulling at her lips. “That seems like a very roundabout way of saying no.”
“An answer so simple would have felt disingenuous.” He kisses her softly, his words a murmur against her lips. “I promised you honesty, Anna. It’s not a vow I’ve taken lightly.”
Sighing, she lets her forehead touch his. “You’re right—I know you’re right. It’s just…” she trails off, the words escaping her.