I can’t think of anything else, I thought to myself. But the words stayed trapped there, scared, in my mouth.
“May I see you again, Sevan?” he asked softly. “Soon?”
“Yes,” I answered him in a breath.
* * *
I laid there, my eyes staring at the ceiling. The bed underneath me was soft, I was warm and comfortable, but I did not sleep. I counted the knots in the wood above my head. I listened to the sounds of my parents preparing for bed. For an hour after they lay down, I stayed still and quiet.
When they both breathed heavy and deep, I silently climbed out of the bed. Without making a sound, I crept to the door. I glanced back, seeing that they both still slept, and I slipped outside.
The air was still warm. The street was dimly lit by a half moon, and I navigated my way without any difficulty. Down the road. Turning at the grove of olive trees. And then toward the field.
A lone figure stood in the center of the field. His back was turned toward me, he stared off, toward the one lone tree that stood toward the back end of the field.
My heart fluttered as I watched him. A smile curled on my lips and I just stood there for a moment, observing him.
The line of his shoulders. The assurance in his stance. How intent he was, even when just looking over a field.
He looked over his shoulder then, and even through the moonlight; I could still see his eyes.
A smile pulled on my lips. One mirrored on his own face.
The wheat rustled around my dress as I stepped forward. Cyrus watched me the entire time as I came to him, his eyes never once left me.
“I’m glad you came,” he said as I stopped in front of him.
I felt my face flush. But I didn’t look away.
He took a step closer, lessening the distance between us. Gently, he reached out and took my hand. He just held it for a long moment, brushing his thumb over my knuckles, looking at it.
“It was difficult to get anything accomplished today,” he confessed. “When all I could think about was you.”
He looked up then, those eyes grabbing me. I saw such honesty in them. He’s laid himself bare and open before me, for me to ravage him as I want.
“My grandmother spoke of love and obsession before she died,” I said. “We don’t know hardly anything about one another. But I…” I hesitated, because I wasn’t sure how to put into words what I was feeling. “The way I feel when I think of you. How am I supposed to know the difference? How am I supposed to know what this is?”
He studied my face, and for the first time, I saw uncertainty there. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “The two don’t feel very different right now. But I don’t think it’s the way it should be. I hardly know you, Sevan. But I feel this…pull. But I won’t lie.” He shook his head. “Obsession can feel a lot the same way.”
A sad smile crossed my lips. I took a step away, holding his hand, in the direction of the tree. Slowly, I guided us on a walk.
“Then tell me,” I said, “about your family. About where you came from, Cyrus.”
In the moonlight, Cyrus looked infinite. He looked supernatural. Like something from a far away star.
He looked like someone who would change the rest of my life.
“I came from a family of star worshipers and mud healers,” he said. And I tried to interpret his tone. There’s a connection in his voice. This is his history, those were his family. But there’s also doubt. Maybe a hint of shame. “We always lived on the outskirts of the city, where no one would throw rocks at us or curse our name.” He looked out at the horizon. “Only a certain kind of people came to see my parents. Those who wished to know their fortune, to ask the stars what the future held for them. And those who did not believe a priest could heal them. Those that trusted the dirt of the earth and the herbs of the bush to heal them.”
“Was it true?” I asked, my brows furrowed at the story. “Did they heal people? Did the stars speak to them?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps. But I also believe in the power of the mind. How many of those people only felt they were healed because they wanted to believe my parents had special abilities? How many made their fates come to pass because they thought it was written in the stars?” He shook his head. “I think there was a little bit of both.”
Goosebumps flashed across my skin, causing all the little hairs on my arms to rise. It’s incredible. Whether or not any of it was true, it’s fascinating.
“I always wanted to become a physician, to study the human body,” Cyrus continued. “But because of my family’s reputation, no one would take me on as an apprentice. No one would take a chance on me that I was different from my parents. So I have been learning on my own. Studying, researching. It’s slow. But despite my family, I will become a physician.”
“You said they died four years ago,” I recall.
His eyes cast about, not truly searching for anything. “They both grew ill just as I came of age. They worked and worked on one another. But all the mud in the world, all the herbs they could drink, did not stop whatever ravaged their bodies from within.”
He takes a deep breath, and I can see the conflict he feels about his family. “I buried them behind our home. And I never looked at the stars the same again. I never trusted the earth again.”
I looked over at him, seeing the pain and betrayal in his face. “But what if some of it was true, Cyrus? Surely it wasn’t all for show?”
He met my gaze. “None of it is quantitative, Sevan. None of it can be proven.”
I sighed, but my eyes rose to the stars. “I don’t know. I suppose I’ve always believed that there is so much more in this world than we will ever understand. I don’t believe anything is black and white, or that there is only one side to anything. But I do believe there are lines. Lines that must not be crossed.”
“And how do we know when we have arrived at those lines?” Cyrus asked.
We reached the tree, and underneath the huge boughs, we stopped.
I looked into Cyrus’ face. He searched mine, begging for the answer to his question.
“I think that is when we have to rely on our own instinct,” I said. I took half a step closer toward him. “That is when we have to know right from wrong. I think there’s something inside each of us that whispers that truth.”
My heart jumped into my throat as Cyrus raised his other hand and brushed his thumb over my cheek. “Mine tells me this, Sevan. That you are inherently good. That you are meant for a life that is so much more than the one fate put you into.”
I stared up at him.
“That’s interesting,” I said quietly. “Because from the moment I looked at you, I knew the same to be true for you.”
Cyrus leaned in slightly closer, his palm resting against my jaw, his fingertips touching my hair. “I do not know if it is love or obsession, Sevan,” he said. “But I do know that the thought of not seeing you tomorrow, or the day after that, or the one after that makes me feel tight and exhausted.”
I leaned in slightly closer and nodded.
“I want to speak to your parents, Sevan,” he breathed, only a small amount of space between our lips. “I want to ask their permission to officially court you.”
My chest tightened and my heart flew with the sparrows.
I nodded again.
And slowly, as if our hearts had orchestrated it before, we each leaned in.
And as our lips met for the first time, I knew this was it. This was the one place my heart would always belong.
Chapter 18
I watched in horror as, with defeated eyes, Cyrus walked out the door.
Fracturing, my heart surged and broke.
“No,” I breathed, shaking my head. “No. You cannot just tell me that I cannot be with the man I want!”
“Stop acting like a child, Sevan,” my father dismissed me. He had already returned to the scroll in front of him as if this was only a conversation about the wind outside. “You understand how these thin
gs work.”
“Cyrus is a good man,” I begged. “He works harder than anyone I’ve ever known. He is smart and driven and he is going to do wonderful things someday. He only needs to be given a chance!”
“Perhaps so!” my father bellowed. “But no one in this town is going to sully their reputation by making ties with the likes of him and that family! And it will be a cold day in hell before I give him permission to court my daughter.”
Tears welled in my eyes as I turned to my mother.
“I am sorry, my dear,” she said. “But we love you. And we cannot allow you to be with a man who can give you nothing. No future.”
A tear slipped down my face, forced out by anger. I shook my head. “And what about love? Does it not matter that I love Cyrus?”
Their expressions were taken aback. They did not expect such a strong declaration.
Cyrus and I had been meeting in secret for weeks and weeks. But I had only introduced him to my family today.
Love.
Even though it had only been weeks, I knew it with everything in me.
I loved Cyrus.
“I never loved Kevork, and he certainly did not love me,” I said, my voice hard. “But that does not matter to you. You would rather see me married to him, even if he tried to rape me, than see me with someone who cared enough to step in, someone who treats me as if I am treasure.”
My father’s expression showed hesitation. But no shock. No remorse.
“I am sorry, Sevan,” he said, but I knew he was not apologizing about Kevork, or the fact that he would have raped me. “But the answer is no. You may not see that boy again.”
I looked over at my mother. Her expression told me the same.
I shook my head. My fingers balled into fists.
Without another word, I bolted out the door.
People crowded the street outside. I darted into the middle of the road, looking up and down it, scanning. My heart grew frantic, panicked as my mother called my name from the door.
“Don’t do this, Sevan!” she yelled, sounding panicked. “Do not turn your back on this family and go after that boy!”
It was a threat.
I didn’t know if she meant it or not.
But I didn’t care.
Down the road, I spotted the dark hair, the strong, set shoulders.
I took off running, pushing my way through the bodies, shoving my way through. Tears spilled down my face, a sob cutting past my lips.
My eyes fixed on the back of his head, I pushed through the crowd.
“Cyrus!” I cried out when only a few people separated us.
He turned, his eyes red and glistening. His brows rose as his gaze locked on mine.
I collided into his chest, circling my arms around him, burying my face in the crook of his neck, sobbing.
“I don’t care,” I sobbed. “I don’t care what they say. I don’t care what they think about me. I’m tired of being treated like coin and traded for whatever they need. I won’t let them send you away. I won’t let them keep us apart.”
Cyrus hands came to my back, clinging me to him hard.
I felt safe. Secured. Wanted.
Loved.
“I cannot let you throw away your life on me, Sevan,” he said quietly. His voice trembled. I knew how difficult it was for him to say it. “I cannot give you anything but a life of shame and dirt.”
I shook my head, my brows furrowed as I looked back up at him. “I don’t care,” I said, adamant. “About the status. About the dirt. All I want is a life where I feel valued. Where I mean more than an advantageous trade. All I want is a life with you, Cyrus.”
The tears streamed down my face, but I’d never felt surer about any words spoken in my life.
Cyrus’ eyes sobered as he looked at me. And I saw it there, reflected in his eyes: everything.
The doubt in himself at being able to give me a life.
But the feelings that had been there since the first day we met.
“I don’t know that I will ever be enough for what you deserve, Sevan,” he said quietly. “But I will spend every day of my life trying to prove myself worthy.”
He brought both of his hands to my face, cupping it with such gentleness. And peace sank into every corner of my body. There were no words to describe the way I felt, and the rightness of the moment.
“I love you, Sevan,” Cyrus said. “I know it with every bone in me.”
And it didn’t matter, and I knew in that moment that it would never matter, the fact that I would never be able to set foot in my home again. It just mattered what happened from this moment forward.
“And I love you, Cyrus.”
* * *
We still had so much to learn about each other. It may have been only two moon cycles since we’d first met in that alley. It may have been under circumstances of duress and necessity.
But two days later, Cyrus and I stood beneath that tree at the edge of the field. Wearing a dress borrowed from a friend, with a simple crown of field daises around my head, I stood with Cyrus, my hands held in his.
We married on that beautiful, sunny day. Pledged to love one another for the rest of our days. To support and uphold each other. To take care of one another in sickness or health.
I smiled the world’s happiest smile, even though there was no one present beside myself, Cyrus, and the authority.
It didn’t matter, because I would get to spend the rest of my life with the man I loved.
Cyrus’ eyes danced with wonder and love. He held my hands so firm, so tight. I knew he would uphold every promise he made. Together, we would make our own life.
Man and wife.
We were pronounced.
Beneath that tree, I kissed my husband, the happiest I had ever been in my entire life.
* * *
I smile, warmth flooding through my chest. I can feel them, Cyrus’ lips on mine. The strength of promises wash through me.
But a little voice echoes across the field.
“Logan?” it calls.
But it’s so far away, I can’t even hear it, only sense its presence at the back of my brain.
“Logan?”
A shake ripples through my body, but as I wrap my arms around my husband, I do not move.
“Logan?” it calls again.
But I only stare up into Cyrus’ green eyes and whisper to him how much I love him.
Chapter 19
I stayed out of the way, keeping myself in the other room as Cyrus worked with the poor girl with the oozing cut down her leg. But that didn’t mean that I didn’t peek inside every now and then.
Pride welled through me as I listened to Cyrus work.
Despite everything, here he was, doing good. Working wonders.
She couldn’t pay him in anything more than a sack of grain and four eggs.
None of them ever could.
But he helped them in whatever way he was able.
Every night, after coming home from the fields, he would either continue his study, or help those who came to see him.
Some nights he dragged bodies home, taking them out back behind the house. Carefully, meticulously, he would examine their insides. He would press here and poke there. He took notes on scrolls.
Other nights, he would lead home a pig. And they served as both a meal and research.
Dogs.
Chickens.
A bat.
A wolf.
It was not just their anatomy he studied, but what gave them their particular strength, their advantage.
No one understood life like Cyrus did.
No one helped him. No one taught him. He did it all on his own.
He worked tirelessly, his curiosity like an insatiable hunger.
He would never confess it to me, but he did turn to his roots. I would see him rub his hands with dirt and offer up a silent prayer before working on someone who needed his help. I would see him look up to the stars before he cut a deceased vagrant open. r />
Cyrus was a believer in science and magic. Even if he would never admit it, even to himself.
He worked so tirelessly. Long days that began before the sun rose and only ended hours after it had set.
But every night, he would crawl into bed beside me. Every night he would hold me and whisper about his day, make sure mine had been wonderful. Each night he pulled me in close and whispered promises of a wonderful life.
Every night was ours.
Every night was filled with whispers of love and commitment.
We lived in a hovel on the outskirts of a new town. Alone, with no family and no friends.
But we were building a life. Together.
And it was all I needed.
* * *
One year later, a brand new town. So far from where we had begun, no one knew anything about the man named Cyrus or his wife who walked away from a life of comfort.
We began anew.
Cyrus had learned so much. Had helped so many people. He understood the human body. Could seem to predict ailments, would try things no one else would think of.
After only a few weeks in our new city, Cyrus proved himself. Within a few more weeks, everyone came to see him when they fell ill.
We bought a real home. We had a real bed.
Cyrus bought me beautiful dresses. He could afford new shoes for himself.
More and more people trusted Cyrus to help them get better. But there was also a hint of fear in their eyes, and they whispered the name sorcerer.
But no matter their fear and awe, as long as he helped them live.
I couldn’t blame them for their whispers.
Cyrus’ practices were, at times, peculiar.
He continued to study animals. With the money people were now willing to pay him, he purchased dead animals.
Not just cows or chickens or dogs.
Exotic things.
An eagle.
A tiger.
A leopard.
These creatures were imported to him from far countries. They arrived in varying states of decay. Some fresh, some so far decomposed when they arrived that I had to turn and empty my stomach outside Cyrus’ shop.