Chapter Five #2
She thought his offer of friendship was only born from an attempt at pleasant conversation, but the following weeks prove him to be honest. If he sees her in the street, he walks with her to her next house call.
If she’s shopping in the market, he’s there offering to carry her bag.
For all his shyness, there is a chivalry in him that Anna admires.
An innate kindness. It’s a tentative thing, the trembling start of something that could blossom into more, but he makes it feel easy.
It’s more than Anna asked for.
A joy she’s already afraid to lose.
Summer’s end feels too close, and even though Anna went into this with eyes wide open, she still feels the sting.
Their time together is held up by fraying rope over a flame.
For every day she enjoys his company, she spends another night watching another fiber snap and burn away. The flinch before the fall.
Giovanni doesn’t seem to share her dread.
Perhaps that’s the difference between traveling alone and being alone.
No matter where he goes, there will be family waiting for him.
Even when his father retires and his travels take him far, Giovanni will always have someone to miss him.
When he leaves, he will remember her with fondness.
Anna will remember him with regret.
“You are sad,” he notes, bumping her shoulder with his own.
The buildings on either side of the street tower over them, no doubt housing at least one pair of curious eyes beneath their thatched roofs.
Anna knows the whispers have already started.
Last week, Mrs. Fairweather asked if she had any plans to marry.
Anna’s unbothered by the rumors and the gossip; can’t bring herself to care if walking besides a young, traveling merchant from foreign lands tarnishes whatever reputation she may have had. It will be time for her to move soon, anyway.
She bumps him back.
“I’m sorry. I lost myself in the future for the moment. What were you saying?”
His thick brows furrow. “I do not understand.”
Anna picks at a loose thread on her sleeve. She’ll have to mend it before it begins to unravel. “I’ll be leaving soon, I think. Perhaps in the spring.”
“But … this is your home?”
The laugh leaves her before she can stop it. Norwich may be where she lives, where she works and where she sleeps, but in no moment has it ever felt like home. Not the sort he speaks of with such fondness, anyway. “I don’t stay in any place for too long.”
Her admittance only seems to deepen his confusion, but he doesn’t question her further. Giovanni quietly adjusts his hold on her bag, follows her down the cobbled streets to the butcher’s household before bidding his farewell.
That night, as Anna readies herself for bed, she can’t shake the contemplative expression that crossed his face and wonders what thoughts could have warranted such a faraway look.
When she looks back, Anna sees the warning signs were always there.
The tension, the heated words volleyed between locals and the priory over rights and boundaries.
Still, when the shouting begins to fill the streets, when Anna hears the violence in them, she still doesn’t fully understand the implications.
Never in her lifetime has she heard of anyone daring to riot against the church.
In the streets, everyone seems to be running either to or away from the rioting.
She stands, watching the chaos unfold with a numbness rooted in disbelief.
The community that has risen to violence in response to taxes is the same one Anna knows would have no qualms casting her out for the patterns on her skin.
A hand wraps around her wrist, their hold urgent. Anna pulls away on instinct, but their grip only tightens. Giovanni’s dark eyes stare, wide and fearful, back at her. “Come.”
His fear shocks her into moving, trailing behind him as he weaves through the streets and alleys.
His legs are longer than hers, and Anna struggles to keep up and make sense of the words spilling from his lips.
It takes her longer than it should for her to realize she can’t understand because his mutterings are in his language and not her own.
“Where are we going?”
“The river. My father is gathering his wares and will meet us there. He has hired a boat to take us away.”
Us.
The word rings.
He means to take her with him. Wants to take her with him.
It’s enough to make Anna stagger, her toe catching on a cobblestone and sending her sprawling.
She catches herself on her elbows, a quick shock of pain traveling up her arms and drawing a gasp from her lungs.
The ground smells of urine, filth streaking her dress.
She stands, too eager to be away from the filth that she doesn’t notice that the seam in her sleeve has given way—the stray thread she never got around to mending sabotaging the integrity of the rest. The river is in sight, the bridge arching over its waterways like a beacon.
Giovanni takes her hand, his fingers wrapping around her own, and pulls her from the shadows of the alley and into the open air. Into the light. A smile pulls at his lips, a picture of relief, as he points to a small boat docked on the other side. “There! Do you see?”
He turns to her, and Anna watches as his smile slips. Watches as it falls.
Her sleeve is flayed open at the seams, the skin underneath on full display.
Giovanni drops her hand as if she burns. His expression twists, an accusation in his voice and betrayal in his eyes. “You are sick?”
No. Not sick. It’s not a sickness, it’s just her. But the words stick, a poison in her chest. He won’t believe her. They never believe her. “Giovanni––”
“Me, my father,” he hisses, stepping back. “You would hide this? Let us catch it?”
“I––”
“No.” The word cuts. The way he holds up his hands and takes two steps back for her one step forward is damning.
Anna pulls her arm against her chest, hand clutching the flayed seam closed. When Giovanni shakes his head, when he turns away and crosses the bridge without her, Anna’s feet remain rooted.
It’s better this way. Him discovering her secret now instead of later. Better their friendship sever now, when the wound is only skin deep. A mercy really.
But she still can’t seem to help the tear that slips down her cheek.
Hastily, she wipes it away. Forces herself to turn away instead of searching him out across the water. She follows the river upstream, crosses at the next bridge and walks until she finds a quiet grassy hill to perch herself on.
In the distance, she sees smoke rising from the cathedral.
“Not going to storm to their rescue?”
A man’s voice, one she doesn’t recognize. When Anna turns her head to look, the body beside her is one she only barely recognizes as the same face that escorted her to Eira’s forest so many years ago.
She turns back to the chaos. There are flames licking at the roof now. “They’re the same ones that would see me burn.”
Khiran shrugs. “I suppose it’s deserved, then?”
“Not deserved.” Anna thinks of the tension and squabbles that lead up to this moment. “Just not unexpected.”
Khiran hums. Anna can feel his gaze, feel the way he measures her. She refuses to meet it.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Your dress is filthy and you haven’t stopped clutching at your sleeve.”
“It’s nothing,” she says, but she sounds as unconvinced as he looks. When his brow rises, she wets her lips and tries again. “Nothing new, anyway.”
“Ah,” he sighs. “I see.”
A whisper of cloth, his sleeve brushing against her shoulder, and she feels him sit beside her—a shadow in her peripheral she isn’t ready to face. “It’s my fault, really. I shouldn’t have let myself get too close.”
“A bit of a pessimistic take, but I won’t fault you for it.”
“Not if it’s true.”
“Have you considered the other side of things?”
Anna frowns, finally bringing herself to face him. She doesn’t bother hiding her confusion. “What?”
He looks across the river and makes a sweeping gesture to the smoke and flames. “Whose fault is it? It must be someone’s, right? Is it the priory for pushing the citizens too far? Or is it the citizens for picking up the torch?”
Anna shakes her head, a small shrug lifting her shoulders. “Both, I suppose.”
Khiran takes her hand, unfolding the cloth away from her skin until the pale patches beneath are open to the air.
It takes everything Anna has to resist the instinct to flinch away when his thumb traces the longest edge.
“Two people means two sets of choices. You are not responsible for anyone’s actions but your own. ”
She swallows, her eyes falling to the ring resting on her right hand. Her hand is clenched in the fabric of her skirts, her fist so tight her fingers are nearly as pale as the engraved bone. “I should have known better.”
He huffs, releasing her hand. “If you’re going to blame yourself for not predicting the future, at least do yourself the service of casting it on others for committing the same.”
Anna says nothing. If there are any words that could help him understand, she can’t find them. Instead, she picks at her nails and stares as she scratches away at the mud drying at the beds. She hears his sigh as clearly as she feels his disappointment.
“Do you plan to stay?”
It’s an obvious change of subject, an olive branch. Anna grasps onto it with both hands. “It was nearly time for me to leave, anyway.”
“And where will you go now?”
She thinks of Marco and Giovanni, remembers the love in their voices when they spoke of home. “Have you been to Venice?”
There’s a small smile hiding at the corners of Khiran’s mouth. Belatedly, Anna realizes how ridiculous the question must sound. His feet have probably touched everywhere. Still, he does her the courtesy of answering. “I have.”
Anna looks over Norwich. “Is it as beautiful as they say?”
“There is beauty everywhere—ugliness too.” Khiran’s eyes meet hers. “But yes. I find it to be quite beautiful.”
Anna nods, a strange sort of thrill humming beneath her skin. “Then that’s the direction I’ll travel.”
“It’s a long journey.”
The words sound less like a warning and more like a private joke that Anna isn’t quite ready to laugh at. “I have the time.”
The smirk staining Khiran’s mouth is crooked. “That you do.”