Page 47 of The Wicked Lies of Habren Faire
She loves me. She’s loved a great many people. Half of them are dead now, or they left her behind. And still she loves. She lived through all that, andstillshe loves me.
“Aging can be a privilege sometimes,” I say.
Neirin stares at me blankly. He can’t see the life lived beneath the paper-thin skin or the stories etched into the wrinkles.
Imagine your gran, I want to tell him, but I don’t know if he ever knew his gran. So I will tell you instead.
Imagine your gran. Imagine her favorite chair and how she bleeds into it, book or knitting or teacup in hand. Think of how big her eyes are behind her glasses, of how they grow even bigger when she sees you. Remember the costume jewelry around her thin neck, and how it rattled in your fist when you were small.
Remember everything she told you about herself: the street she was born on, the shop where she worked, the name of her own gran, the weather on her wedding day.
Then remember the things she never told you. Never told her husband, her children. The things she carries in the cloud of her hair and ties up in her string of beads. How the bad things happened, andhow she lived through it all to have you sit in her lap—think of how happy she was to have you there.
Imagine it. Just for a moment.
I let out a rattling breath, and any resistance left in my body goes with it. I lie down beside Neirin, my hands flat to the blanket, one brushing against his. We turn our heads at the same time, staring at each other across the small divide we keep. His black hair is stark against the white sheet.
“It’s just something I’ve been thinking about since meeting you,” I say instead.
Neirin nods, oblivious. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to age.”
“Of course you don’t; because you don’t have to. The rest of us just make do.”
“You can have forever, too,” he reminds me, his voice a dim light in the gloom.
I’ve only thought as far as rescuing Ceridwen. Ceridwen would ask for immortality. It’s simple for her—but I know little about how it works. When I look at Neirin, as beautiful and fascinating as he is, I can’t ignore the storm of worry that covers me as I wonder what such a gift as immortality might do to me.
I don’t know what a normal life will do, either.
“I’m considering my options,” I lie.
In reality, I can’t think about the challenge or the reward any more. Let it stay an idea for as long as it can, and I’ll deal with the choice when there are no other paths left. Mere days ago I’d have taken any road to get away from Llanadwen, but now that the dream is almost real, I realize there’s no way I can abandon Gran, forget about Dad, leave the house empty for him to return to when—if ever—his sentence is up. I’m not Ceridwen. There’s no Sabrina at home to pick up the pieces if I run away. That makes me sound terribly selfless compared to my sister, and I wonder what all the gossips at home would think of me if they heard it. I almost feelsmug, but I know it would change no one’s opinion. Somehow, I’m sure I’m still in the wrong.
“What’s there to consider?” he says. “Your forever is my tomorrow.”
I laugh. “Then I’ll see you in the morning, Neirin.”
He laughs too, low and sweet, and we fall silent, lying side by side, staring at shadows of tree branches cast on the ceiling. My eyes start to droop, and my body sinks into the mattress.
“You’re really not going to offer the bed?” I say, just to be a nuisance.
He groans and chucks an arm over his eyes. “You’re the one being difficult, Habren.”
“You, sir, are no gentleman.”
He scoffs. “I never professed to be.”
“Well,” I say primly, “I’m not moving.”
“Neither am I.”
I snort. “So, we’re both going to stay like this all night?”
“If needs be.” Neirin shrugs.
“I thought you were terribly concerned for my human fatigue?” I counter.
“And I thought you had a sister to catch. Can’t do that tired.”
