Chapter Two
Doubt is a cumbersome thing; a sickness. He feels its cold fingers creep up his spine, hears its whispers in his ear. A mistake, it croons, she will be the end of you.
THE MEADOW
She doesn’t know how long she sits there, knees buried in the same ashes she should have become, but it’s long enough for the sun to dip below the horizon. Anna shivers, the ocean wind tugging at her cloak. She pulls it tighter against her body, but it only does so much to ward off the chill.
A set of folded clothes lies in front of her. “The tide is coming in.”
Anna hears her, understands the implication, but she’s more focused on the graceful hands than the clothing. “The designs are gone.”
There’s a moment of pause, then a grudging respect. “Observant.” She regards her fingers, shrugs, and gives a flick of her hand. The artistry reappears as if it had never left. “Sometimes I forget the details.”
Anna swallows, licking her lips and tasting salt. They should be cracked and dry—bloody ashes—and it’s just another testament to how terribly, wonderfully, impossible her existence has become. “You’re not human.”
She sits on one of the rocks protruding from the sand, the winds whipping at her silks. Somehow, her hair doesn’t move with the same force. “No.” Her eyes flit to the folded clothes between them. “But there will be time for questions later. We shouldn’t linger here any longer than we have.”
Anna pushes her chestnut hair from her eyes, a small truth taking root in her heart. She can feel it slowly blooming into panic. “I have nowhere to go.”
She can’t risk going back to her tiny shack in the woods. Can’t risk being seen alive by the same eyes that watched her burn.
A wave of her hand, another dismissal. “Impossible. The world is too big for nowhere.” She rests her chin in her cupped palm, dark eyes bright despite the fading light. “Dress.”
It’s either a suggestion or a subtle command.
Maybe both. Anna heeds it, reaching for the clothing.
It’s just a simple long tunic and a leather belt, but it’s clean and made more finely than anything else she’s worn.
Beneath it is a pair of shoes that look like they’ll fit her far better than the worn-out pair that burned.
She turns her body toward the ocean, dressing beneath the heavy cloak on her shoulders. The tide has just touched the edges of the scorched sand. Another few hours and it will have washed away all the lingering ash that proved too heavy for the wind to take.
When she finishes, she turns to find the stranger’s spot filled by another. In place of sun-kissed skin and bright silks, of graceful curves and long dark hair, is a man. His hair and eyes are just a shade lighter, but his complexion is light. He could have been anyone from town.
He tilts his head, and the motion combined with the intensity of his gaze is so similar to the woman that sat there only moments before, it’s staggering. “There’s more than one way to be invisible.” He stands, gesturing to the path leading off the beach. “Shall we?”
If it weren’t for all the other impossibilities she’s faced today, Anna’s not sure she would believe it. Ashes and sand sift beneath her feet, the tide kissing the soles of her new shoes. Right now, impossible feels as distant as nowhere.
Anna doesn’t know where he’s leading her, but she follows blindly and without complaint. Even when the road gives way to uneven terrain, the forest she called home a shadow at her back. Moss and rock slips away into soft, open fields she’s never known.
He leads.
She follows.
What other choice does she have? Her old life is in ashes, and imagining the future is like trying to see through smoke. Perhaps the shapeshifter knows, because he doesn’t try to lure her into conversation until the sun dips behind the horizon and they make camp.
Anna stares into the fire between them, watching the bark curl and blacken and tries not to think of how her skin should have done the same.
“You haven’t eaten.”
Anna looks down at the strip of dried venison in her hand and her stomach sours. “I’m not hungry.”
“A lie,” he says, prodding the fire. “You haven’t eaten since, what? Yesterday?”
Was it only yesterday that the soldiers kicked down her door? It feels so much longer. Her last meal—
Her thoughts stutter, remembering the taste of syrupy sweet flesh rolling on her tongue and how it seemed impossible for anything to taste like the divine. How, in the moments before the fruit was offered, the promise was made.
Death will not come for you.
Anna’s mouth goes dry. “It was the fruit, wasn’t it? The tao? That’s what did it.”
“Táo,” he corrects, eyes gleaming. “I told you it was a gift.”
Except, her whole life, Anna has learned that no gift comes without strings. Not for her. “Why?”
“Why not?” He leans back, hands resting on his knee as he regards her closely. “Do you regret accepting it?”
Anna closes her eyes, trying to interpret her feelings without the flames licking at the edges of her vision. “I don’t know.”
Admitting it feels like spitting on a gift from the gods, but instead of being met with anger, he hums approvingly.
“An honest answer. You’ll lie about your hunger, but tell the truth about this.
You certainly are a refreshing change of pace.
” His fingers lace over his knee. “Worry not. You’ll have plenty of time for it to grow on you. ”
She doesn’t have much choice but to take his word for it.
There is no regret in living through what would have been a horrible death, but the idea of forever is so fathomless she can’t wrap her head around it well enough to tell how she feels.
It’s like asking her opinion on a place she’s never seen, or a song she’s never heard. Time will tell.
She shifts, eager to steer the conversation elsewhere. Something nags at her—something one of the soldiers said before they lit the kindling and watched her burn. “Why were they after you?”
His brows draw in, a fleeting moment of confusion, before understanding smoothes it away. Anna’s not sure if it’s the warmth of the fire or the flickering shadows, but she swears she catches a satisfied smirk playing at the edges of his mouth. “They believed I poisoned their lord.”
She never knew the lord, not personally. Everything she did was out of sight and out from underfoot. Still, the news that he was murdered makes her stomach stir uncomfortably. “Did you?”
“Of course not,” he scoffs. “I only told his eldest son what to slip into his drink and where to find it. He’ll do a great deal better job than his troll of a father.”
His eyes slide to hers. “You wouldn’t know this, but his people were nearly as hungry as you were.”
It seems impossible. The ache in her belly was so strong for so long. Anna winces. “The crops?”
His lips thin. “His lordship’s expensive tastes.”
She thinks of the bright silks and glittering jewelry—the tragically beautiful face—he wore when she first found him in the woods and doesn’t dare ask more. Some truths are too hard to hear.
His stare is unnerving. Measuring. Anna wonders if he’s regretting his choice yet.
She tears the venison into smaller strips, just to keep her hands busy and give an excuse to look away from him. “Where are you taking me?”
“A dear friend’s,” he answers, voice warm. “You’ll suit each other.”
Anna doesn’t know what he means, but she’s too afraid to ask. She hasn’t lived with anyone since she was exiled—the thought of her suiting anyone is almost laughable. “So you won’t keep me.”
“Keep you?” he echoes, amusement flirting at the edges of his lips. “Are you something to be kept, Anna?”
She shrugs, nibbling at a corner of the jerky. “I was, once. Until they no longer wanted me.”
The hint of a smile dims, turning thoughtful. “I do not keep you because you’re not mine. You belong only to yourself.”
Anna doesn’t understand the difference. For the past decade, exile and freedom have meant the same thing. It was the hunger in her belly, the quiet loneliness that made her itch for the touch of something real.
He must see the uncertainty in her face, because his next words are soft. “Time can heal, and it can break. Learning to recognize both will serve you well.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I know. It’s why I’m leaving you with someone who can teach you.”
She doesn’t like the idea of being handed off to a stranger—it feels too much like being uprooted all over again—but she feels helpless to do anything else.
The world is too big, too unknown, for her to venture into it by herself. She doesn’t even know where she’d start.
She tries to remember if there was ever a time she felt so hopelessly lost.
“If you’re not going to eat, then perhaps you should at least get some sleep. You’ll need it for the journey.”
Anna nods, setting the strip of food aside in her pack for tomorrow.
She curls up on the ground, pulling the blanket he provided her up to her chin, and turns away from the fire.
On the pale bark of the trees, shadows dance.
Once, she would have found it hypnotic. Now, it’s just another reminder of the impossible. “What’s your name?”
“I told you, I have many names.”
The answer is as infuriating as it was the first time. “Which would you like me to use?”
He is silent for so long, she almost gives up on the hope of him answering. Then, as her eyes grow heavy, she hears his voice over the crackling fire. “Khiran. You may call me Khiran.”
It’s a strange name. She tests it silently; lips parting around the syllables and tongue curling around the ‘r’. It tastes of things she has no hope of understanding—of old magic and uncertain futures.
They travel for five more days.