Chapter Ten #2
Children run around the garden after dinner, catching crickets and searching for frogs while the adults talk late into the night.
Anna’s blood hums pleasantly under the wine’s spell as she shares her own stories and her own travels.
The entire time, she waits for them to accuse her of lying—her entire existence feels more impossible the more she speaks.
Their attention never wavers, the accusations never leave their lips.
The faith Piers’ children had in him was strong enough to pass down, generation to generation. She should have been nothing more than a character in his story, as real as mermaids and stars that grant wishes. Instead, they accepted it in their hearts as truth.
She tells stories about Piers growing up, about the way they’d mark his growth in the doorway of his room.
Maria—Franco’s sister—laughs and tells her they’re still there.
Only now it’s decorated with their measurements as well.
They laugh and drink until, one by one, they excuse themselves.
Franco’s rough, callused hand grasps her shoulder on the way out.
Despite the dark, Anna can still make out the glassiness of his eyes when he tells her, “I’m so happy you came, Bisnonna. ”
Anna has no other answer than, “Me too.”
She stays in the garden long after everyone has said their good nights; the last one seated at a long and empty table.
Anna swirls the wine in her glass and tries not to think about the metaphor staring back at her from their empty seats.
“You could stay, you know.” From behind her, the words quietly unfold like the soft whisper of an old, treasured letter in the night. “Nothing is stopping you.”
Anna sets her drink down, her knuckles white. He’s wrong. “Everything is stopping me.” Looking at him over her shoulder, she offers a small smile. It’s tinged with sadness and acceptance. “This isn’t my home now anymore than it was then. Just another house I’ll someday need to leave.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the time you have.” Khiran sits beside her, their shoulders brushing as he settles into his chair. “This is an opportunity, Anna. Don’t pass over it out of fear.”
Anna’s lips thin, defensive. “Who says I’m afraid?”
He looks at her in that way she’s growing to hate—like he’s seeing into her instead of through. “You do. You’ve been swinging between happiness and terror for hours.”
She cringes, beneath the tightness in her chest, her heart hasn’t stopped racing for the past hour. “I wish you wouldn’t do that. It doesn’t feel fair.”
Sighing, he looks up at the sky. “I wish I could tell you it was in my control, but it’s not. Some things can’t be helped.”
“How am I to believe that,” she whispers, not unkindly. “You, who can travel the world in the space of a blink and change your form as easily as it pleases you? But something like this is what you have no control over?”
“I don’t make a habit of lying to you.”
She scoffs. “You once told me that the God of Lies was one of your titles.”
He shrugs, unoffended. “It is. I’m as much in a position to tell the truth to mortals as they are to hear it. The influence I have on this world is only achieved with trickery and lies. A whispered suggestion here, an accusation there. It’s annoyingly indirect, but it gets the job done.”
Frowning, she asks, “The job?”
Khiran gives her an amused, but puzzled glance. “Did you think you were the only one trying to better the world?”
Did she? For so long she has only ever seen him on the edge of tragedies without ever having a hand in it.
She’s not sure it ever occurred to her that he might be plucking at the strings of kings and emperors—influencing those with power without them ever knowing the difference.
She never considered the lives he must be saving on such a grander scale.
The shadow of a smile curling the corners of his mouth, dims. He looks disappointed. “Ah, I see.”
“I didn’t,” she blurts, face flushing. She tries again. “I’ve only ever seen things as they are, I don’t—I’ve never stopped to think about the larger picture.” She catches his eyes, hopes he understands. “I’m just … trying to help the people around me survive.”
“It’s ok, Anna. I can’t blame you over something I’ve never bothered to explain.
I suppose I assumed Eira—” He laughs under his breath, the sound more honest than she would have expected.
Taking her abandoned cup, he helps himself to the wine she’s forgotten about.
“But, no. I suppose she wouldn’t. Would she? ”
Anna watches as he takes a measured sip. “She didn’t seem very fond of you.”
Over the cup’s rim, his grin is sly and full of secrets. “Oh, she’s fond of me. She just goes through periods of time where she doesn’t particularly like me. Easier to hold a grudge when your years are without limit.”
Anna frowns. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Stay here—spend time with your lovely, large extended family—and I can assure you there will come a time where you know precisely what I’m talking about.” He looks out over the house she once called home. “It’s impossible to get close to someone without disliking them every now and then.”
The crease in her brow smoothes over with understanding.
Raising Piers, she had learned that loving someone deeply doesn’t always mean getting along.
During his older years, there had been a time where they struggled to connect—to bridge the gap between her instinct to protect him and his desire for independence. Love—family—is a tricky thing.
It’s just another reason why letting herself get too close is a recipe for more heartache.
“If you’re trying to convince me to stay, you’re doing a horrible job of it.”
Sighing deeply, he takes a final drink before setting the cup on the table.
Anna can tell by the sound alone that it’s empty.
“The only thing I would ever dare to convince you of, is to give yourself a chance to be happy. Tell me that it won’t, Anna.
Tell me that staying, living with the descendants of the son you loved so fiercely, won’t bring you happiness.
Tell me that, and I won’t utter another word about it. ”
Anna looks away, knowing that he’s right. There would be beauty in staying; happiness found in even the most mundane laughter. What he doesn’t seem to understand is that it’s not the staying that scares her, but the leaving. “It will hurt.”
“Goodbyes always hurt,” he says, fingers folding over his knee. “That is the nature of them.”
Anna’s lips thin. “Again, you’re doing a terrible job convincing me.”
She expects his laughter, perhaps even irritation, but all she receives is a knowing smile. “Was he worth it? Your son? Was knowing him worth the pain of saying goodbye?”
Behind her ribs, her heart stutters and her lungs ache for the breath she can’t bring herself to take.
She has no doubt that he knows the answer as surely as she does.
She can see it in the curve of his smile; the soft understanding in his gaze.
Anna swallows the emotion tightening her throat, blinks away the tears before they can fall. “Always.”
She stays.
Only for a little over six years, but it’s enough to fill the emptiness that saying goodbye to Piers had left behind. Long enough to heal.