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I FORGET MYSELF
IN THE NEXT DAYS, Anya kept to herself. Time spent alone with one's thoughts could almost work as a purgatory. A space for reevaluation. And she needed to remember the reality of her situation, not let herself be infatuated with a false idea of it.
Understanding that Nikolai was most probably better fit for the throne than the current king or the successor was purely logical. Her mind wandering to the thought of the playful spark in his eyes, or worse, to how his arms felt around her that day he saved her when their ship wrecked, was a horrible sign of demise. Those things were too personal. How could she have forgotten to keep her distance?
He wasn't the only one she didn't want to see in her way. The same went for Yakow, Alina, Tamar, the rest of the crew. It was best to concentrate on what needed to be done. Endure and live on.
They were busy days anyway. Nikolai and Alina visited many towns a day, spreading the joyful news of the Saint's return. Anya wasn't made for the role of a Saint – her return would cause more terror than delight. People would find out eventually, but rushing the process at that point in time wouldn't have helped them in any way. It was easy enough to blend into the crowd, to exchange short conversations with her crewmates when absolutely neccessary and to remain alone through most of the journey.
The king still wanted her dead. The Darkling was still readying for a civil war. It was no time to think about trivial matters of the heart.
Even if those matters seemed to be eating her alive.
Anya caught herself missing Nikolai in the quiet hours on the road. It was impossible to have a dull conversation with him. Nikolai talked constantly, but he was always eager to hear a response, which wasn't at all common amongst men of his status; or men in general. He was always thinking of some new thing to build — a contraption for paving roads, a new irrigation system, a boat that could row itself. He would sketch on any piece of paper he could find, and explain his efforts to anyone who would listen. Which, back at sea, was always Anya.
It didn't matter anymore. Arrive at the destination. Watch as Nikolai charms the crowd and Alina presents herself. Help distribute the gifts; sugar, grain, cloth. Move onto the next destination. Repeat.
The repetition failed to make her forget, but maybe one of these days it would.
Forgetting about the reality of looming war was impossible even in the calmest of areas. In Kribirsk, the ghosts of war haunted them without mercy.
