Chapter Twelve
There are so many words for her and yet they’re never enough. He could list her virtues, point out every gleaming triumph, and she still wouldn’t understand. So when she asks, he doesn’t tell her the answer. He shows her.
LONDON, ENGLAND
Anna didn’t have any intention of coming back here.
England doesn’t hold any special place in her heart—doesn’t carry fond memories the way someone’s homeland should—but somehow she felt a pull anyway.
Europe is changing. The world is changing.
And suddenly Anna feels the need to see how the country of her youth has changed, too.
Part of her expects to see the same misery she left, but it’s different.
There are still plenty of poor conditions, but there are other things, too.
Brighter things. Music and art, theatre and poetry.
Things that Anna knows must have been there before, but she can’t remember ever really experiencing for herself.
Art was for the walls of nobility, music for their parties.
Not for her. In some ways, it’s still like that, but there’s more and more filtering into the lives of the everyday people.
Anna spends her time off seeking it out.
She looks at the beautiful wares the market offers, plays a game with herself in which she tries to name their origins.
There is still much of the world for her to see, but she’s picked up information along the centuries by taking up conversation with the merchants and the travelers.
Has listened to their stories, drawn maps in her mind, knowing someday she’ll discover if they’re true for herself.
Once she has enough money saved, she hopes to board a ship and see what lies across the Atlantic for herself.
It will be her first time off the continent—an immersion in a culture so completely different from the ones she’s lived.
The thought of it brings a thrill of excitement.
She is ready for something new. Ready to start seeing the world in its whole and not just parts.
For now, though, she settles onto the narrow wooden bench and waits while bodies fill in the empty spaces on either side of her.
One of the maids she works with had suggested the theatre, urging her to visit.
Charlotte was one of the few that enjoyed a good story; they traded them over the silver as they polished.
As such, Anna trusts that her coin will be well spent.
Her trust was well placed.
The Globe Theatre is impressive. With its domed roof and sheer size, it’s capable of accommodating thousands of people from all walks of life.
Shakespeare is a name that’s been circulating ever since Anna arrived a year ago, but she’s only now understanding why.
There is poetry in the deliverance, an aching rapture that urges the audience to hang on to every word and watch as tragedy unfolds.
This isn’t one of his more popular productions—people seem more interested in the historical rather than the tragic—but Anna can see the artistry in every line.
When it ends, she stays seated as everyone else rises, soaking in the experience.
She’s unsurprised when her neighbor does the same.
Raising her brows, she gives the old woman an expectant look.
Khiran chuckles, shedding the wrinkles for his usual form without any care for who might be looking.
Anna wonders how nice it must be to never have to worry about unwanted eyes.
“Here I thought you wouldn’t recognize me without my beauty to give me away.”
She smiles, soft and lined with memories. “I think I’d recognize you no matter the face you wore.”
“Is that so?” His full lips curve into a grin. “Sounds like an interesting challenge. What makes you so confident? Have I developed a tell?”
“Not a tell,” she says, shaking her head.
It’s something she can’t quite describe—a shift in the air, a hum in her bones.
Once, she only recognized his forms by the devastating beauty they possessed, but it’s different now.
This form has proved it. She turns to him, traces the soft line of his jaw and the arch of his dark brows. “It’s a feeling.”
His head tilts, amusement softening into something different. Something tender. “And how do I make you feel, Anna?”
A loaded question, too complicated for words to do it justice and too dangerous to name the one that feels like it might come close. Instead, she turns back to the stage, the actors already starting preparations for their next performance. “Have you seen this one?”
He allows the change in subject, but his light huff of laughter doesn’t escape her. “I have. I quite enjoyed it. You?”
“I wished more for Ophelia. She was innocent in all of it. She deserved better.”
Khiran hums, but it’s more neutral than anything. “I believe that may be why it’s called a tragedy.”
“I think I may have seen enough of those.”
“In that case, I would recommend staying far away from Romeo and Juliet.”
She hasn’t seen that one yet, but she’s heard enough to catch his thinly veiled jest. “Do you think he’ll ever write something lighter?” She enjoys the stories, just not the heartbreak.
The afternoon light is a wink in Khiran’s eyes. “I have it on good authority that he has a comedy in the works.”
“Good. The world could use a bit more laughter.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
Her gaze slides to his, curious. “How did you stumble on that bit of information?”
“Anna, you insult me. I do not stumble. I wished to know, so I found out. He’s making quite a name for himself, this Shakespeare. I was intrigued.”
“I hear he’s incredibly secretive. What did you do?”
“I think you forget that my forms aren’t limited to human.”
“Ah.” She had forgotten. The only time she has ever seen proof of it was in those brief moments before she was engulfed by flames—a raven watching from the skeletal branches of a tree. “So that’s how you go about your spying, then.”
He shrugs. “It’s effective. No one looks twice at a common song-bird perched beside an open window or a stray cat on the street.”
He stands, offering her a hand. “Come, it’s your day off, is it not? Let us see what else the city has to offer us.”
She accepts, his hand warm and soft under her palm. Once, she would have seen his lack of calluses as a testament to an easy life. She knows better now. Her hands, like the rest of her, have not changed through the centuries. The scars they earn, they carry, hidden, on their hearts.
She studies his profile as they walk. He seems far more content than he had when he visited her in Spain, but there’s still a weariness haunting the corners of his eyes. “Do you do that often? Hiding in plain sight?”
“When I’m gathering information? Certainly. There are far less lies to untangle by listening in on a conversation than to be part of one.”
The streets are busy, the market in full swing. “Is that how you knew it was my day off?” She doesn’t recall any new faces making an appearance among her fellow maids, certainly none that she recognized as him, but she isn’t so observant that she wouldn’t overlook a stray animal.
His brow rises. “Would I have found you in the theatre house if it wasn’t?”
“True.” She steps carefully around a foul smelling puddle, not wanting to dirty her skirts. “I suppose I suspected that you might have been spying on me as well.”
“While that does sound infinitely more entertaining …” Anna shoots him a dry look, and his teasing edge in his grin softens.
“But no. I do try to be respectful of your privacy. For the most part.” His gaze dips, too fast for her to pinpoint the object of his attention.
It could have been anything from the hand lifting her skirts to the tips of her shawl.
“So long as you’re not in any sort of danger, anyway. ”
Anna breathes a laugh. “Interesting logic. And I suppose you wouldn’t ever know whether I’m in danger if you didn’t look in on me in the first place. Is that right?”
“It’s not a riddle, Anna.” He shakes his head, a crooked smile teasing the corner of his mouth. “I have my ways of knowing without doing you such a disservice.”
“Oh? Will you ever care to explain them to me?”
He picks an apple from a stall, turning it in his hands appraisingly before handing the grocer a coin. “Maybe someday.” He offers the fruit to her, eyes glinting. “Apple?”
The smile he gives, the red coloring of the fruit cradled in his palm, takes her back to a different face, a different time.
A different fruit.
“Is this one cursed as well?”
His brows rise in challenge, but there’s a softness to his mouth that leads her to believe he’s more invested in her answer than he’d like her to know. “Do you still believe yourself to be cursed?”
Anna goes quiet. Thoughtful. In a busy, noisy street, she feels like perhaps they are the only ones who remain still. Two fixed points in a sea of chaos.
Today, she watched a tragedy that entertained instead of tormented.
The job she secured as a chambermaid is far from glamorous, but it lets her admire the artwork on the walls and hear the music filtering in and out of the rooms. She has tasted flavors, seen sights, that most can only dream of.
“No,” she says, a smile in her voice. “I suppose I don’t. ”
Khiran’s grin widens, lighting his eyes. He holds his hand higher, the apple in his grasp ripe and inviting.
Anna plucks it from his hand and takes a bite. It’s crisp and light, but there is no magic. An ordinary apple for a not so ordinary woman, and yet she still enjoys its sweetness.
Not a gift or a curse. Just a taste of the ordinary. Somehow, there’s beauty in that, too.
She takes another bite, teeth sinking into the firm flesh. Chews. Swallows. There is a question sitting on her tongue that makes it taste momentarily sour. She looks down at the apple in her hand, at the pale, fragile flesh beneath its green and red-flushed skin.