Passenger

by Alexandra Bracken

  She couldn’t hear what he was whispering into her skin, and she wondered if he felt as drunk as she did, sinking too fast to reach for the life preserver.

  Etta shifted, angling toward the bed itself; she might as well have been drawing him into a lit fireplace. He pulled back so suddenly, she fell back onto the stuffed mattress. Nicholas spun on his heel, keeping his back to her as he strode to the other side of the room, rubbing his face, his hair, trying to catch his own breath.

  “Don’t pretend like it isn’t real!” she managed to get out. “Don’t you dare be a coward about this!”

  “Coward!” Nicholas barely managed to keep from howling as he crossed back toward her on unsteady legs. “Coward? You play at things you don’t understand—”

  “I would understand,” she said, “if you’d trust me enough to explain them to me. I want to be with you—it’s as simple as that. And I think you want to be with me too, but there’s something you’re not telling me. It makes me feel foolish every time. Just tell me—if I have it all wrong, then tell me now.”

  She must have caught him off guard, because he took a moment to collect his thoughts. “What is there to explain? You will go home. I will go home. And that will be the end of it. Think about this, Etta. You scarcely know me—”

  “I know you,” she interrupted. “I know you, Nicholas Carter. And I know it doesn’t have to be that way.”

  “And I know you’ve never planned to give Ironwood the astrolabe,” he said sharply. “That you’ve got it in your head you can escape him and his reach.”

  She felt a peculiar, hopeless kind of relief to have it out in the open. “I can get it, and I can save my mother—”

  “And myself? You expect me to simply let you go, knowing you’ll be in grave danger?” he demanded, stooping to look her directly in the eye. Finally, the wall was down. Nicholas looked the way she felt—exhausted, fraught. “You were simply going to leave me behind again, weren’t you, without so much as a word?”

  “No!” she said. “No! I’ve been trying to figure out another option for us—I don’t want you to have to give up the life you have.”

  “What is this ‘other option’? You return with me? Even if we could hide from the old man’s wrath…to what end? We’d still be in hiding. Even if you could stand the months I’m away at sea, there are laws—enforceable laws, Etta, with years of prison as a sentence—preventing any such union. Not just in America, but in the rest of the world. I could live with the shame of being a criminal, but I would never ask this of you. And I would not risk your life, knowing that others may enforce their own prejudices outside of the law.”

  There was her answer.

  She hadn’t realized until that moment that she could feel any more foolish or naïve than she already did.

  She didn’t know anything. She really didn’t.

  “Etta…” he began. “That came out harsher than I meant it to be. I can see it in your face that you truly didn’t know—but it’s all I’ve ever known. I’ve had to live by it my whole life. If there’s a way around it, I want to hear what you think it is. Can you not see it? Can you not feel how badly I want you? I’m a selfish bastard, I’m worse than you’ll ever know, but I’ll answer to God or anyone else who tries to stand in our way so long as I know you’re safe. Tell me how to keep this—tell me the path forward. I beg you.”

  She felt the tears thick in her throat, warm on her face. “You could come with me. I won’t lie to you and say my time is perfect, or that the country doesn’t get worse before it gets better, but those laws are gone.”

  He seemed to consider this, rubbing his jaw. “What would I do there? How would I support myself? The one thing that I know, that I’ve worked for, would be unrecognizable. And is there a way to prove or earn citizenship?”

  God—how would he? No Social Security number, no birth certificate…no passport. How had Mom done it? She could help him establish an identity, couldn’t she?

  “Or would you, your mother, and I all have to keep traveling, struggling to stay one step ahead of the old man?”

  “I’m not dismissing those questions, because they’re real and I’m not totally sure how to get around them,” she said, “but I’m willing to try. My mom did it. Travelers have clearly figured out some system. I feel like all you’re willing to see are the problems, and none of the benefits—medicine, for one thing. Education. You could attend school, choose a job for yourself.” She took a breath. “I’m not trying to play down how terrifying it would be to start over in a new era—”

  “I’m not frightened,” he interrupted, only to soften his voice as he continued. “How could I be, knowing I had you there? I know you think I’m being obstinate.…I keep asking myself, what sort of joke is this that we’ve found one another, but all the while there’s no true way forward? There’s something unnatural in what we can do as travelers, and maybe this is a punishment for it.”

  “Don’t say that,” she begged. “It’s complicated, I know, but it’s not impossible.”

  “But what if it doesn’t work? What if we can’t sort everything out in your time? Your era is one small sliver of time compared to all eternity—there is only one small place you and I can be safe together. But even so, how long would it be before missing home and our loved ones became unbearable to one of us? It all ends the same way, with us breaking apart. Isn’t it better to have it done with now?”

  “No,” she said stubbornly. “We could find a place. We could make our own.”

  “I knew you’d say that. If you can’t accept those terms, then can you understand…I realize this may sound foolish to you, but I have my pride, Etta. I’ve bled and sweated and given myself to the making of my life. I could not bear being a burden to you. I want the whole of you, and would never give you less of me.”

  Nicholas held her face, smoothing away the tears. The small smile he offered was meant to steal one from her, she thought, but it only broke her heart a little more.

  “We have done the impossible,” he said, bringing his lips to the shell of her ear. “We have stolen what time we could, and it won’t ever be taken from us.”

  “It’s not enough,” she whispered.

  “I know, Etta, I know,” he said, already stepping back. “But this cannot be forever.”

  His words continued to ring in her mind over and over again as she lay on her side on the bed and stared through the curtains, past the dust drifting down from the heavy canopy. One candle was left burning near where he had stretched out across the floor, his back to her; the flickering glow illuminated the long, strong lines of his silhouette. She knew by the cadence of his breathing that he wasn’t asleep, either.

  They were afraid of what could happen; their sights were set on the future. And there would be time for that. There was work they had to do to maintain the timeline, and one last riddle to solve. But she wondered if, in moving outside of the natural flow of time, they had forgotten the most crucial point of life—that it wasn’t meant to be lived for the past, or even the future, but for each present moment.

  Etta had lived through a sea battle. She’d survived the scheming of old, power-hungry men; the Blitz; a tiger; a cobra; and a gunshot—and she was denying herself this, out of fear that it might hurt later?

  What would hurt worse: the regret that she tried, or the regret that she didn’t?

  She was protected. She cared so deeply for him that he seemed to live like a second heart inside of her. She wanted him, and he wanted her. To hell with forever. This moment was theirs, and she’d steal it if she had to.

  She slipped out from under the quilt, working her fingers down the row of buttons on the back of her dress until it slipped down her front and pooled at her feet with a whisper of sound. Her shadow moved against the wall, blending with his own. His breathing caught as she lifted the blanket and slipped in behind him, curling around the heat of him; her hand slipped over his side, along the muscles of his stomach, until he caught it and turned
over slowly, taking in the sight of her.

  “Etta…” he whispered against her cheek. Are you certain?

  She tilted her head back, pressing her lips against his square jaw, letting her fingers follow. “Forever isn’t right now. It’s not even tomorrow.”

  Etta propped herself up, leaning over his shoulder to extinguish the stub of the candle before it could burn itself out. A bright happiness spread through her as she lay back and his solid weight settled over her. He ducked down, kissing her, and she moved against him, urging him to touch her, to find the secret self that only ever seemed to exist with him. Etta felt him come alive in his own skin, felt the sheer strength of him as he moved over her, with her, and she let herself fall into it, dissolving into him. And what she found in that soft, warm darkness had no beginning and no end, for this time was their own, and it created its own eternity.

  “I HAVE BEEN THINKING OF YOUR RIDDLE,” Hasan called as they descended the stairs and stepped out into the warm, glowing afternoon air of the courtyard. “I may have an answer for you.”

  He was set up at a table near a shallow pool, in the shadow of a tree that jutted out just far enough over the water to drop its enormous waxy leaves into the still waters. The walls were tiled in intricate patterns that mimicked the natural, curling growth of the nearby plants. Chimes and bursts of green leaves were interspersed among them, including the source of the fragrance that perfumed the entire house.

  Jasmine.

  The small white blossoms were scattered across the ground, and dropped like tears onto her hair and shoulders from the ledges lining each of the second-story windows that looked down at them. The outside of the house was incredibly ornate, and last night they had discovered the inside was just as beautiful. As soon as there had been natural light and they could open the shutters, the room had revealed itself in a riot of color and pattern that ran along the walls, through the carpets, and even to the bundle of clothing that had been left outside of the door.

  The careful consideration that had gone into crafting the courtyard was staggering; everything was in brilliant balance. There had been no hesitation to invite nature into the heart of the house. Instead, nature had been given a place of honor, a patch of sunlight to thrive, and a perch on which it could be admired. The effect was breathtaking.

  The sun warmed Etta’s back as she walked toward Hasan. He stood and busied himself with piling bread and fruit on two plates, and poured steaming cups of sweet-smelling tea from a gleaming silver pot.

  Nicholas’s hand finally released hers as he moved to sit at the opposite end of the table, still lost in the winding paths of his own mind. Etta had woken that morning to find him sitting in front of the tiger, staring into its face. She had sat beside him, smiling as he pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder. His skin smelled sweet, like milk and honey, and he’d shaved and trimmed his hair. Etta ran a hand over it.

  “You’re looking especially clean this morning,” she said.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” he said, “so I brought water up for a bath, and then more for you. The water should still be warm.”

  Pure joy exploded in her. “I could kiss you for that!”

  “By all means,” he said coyly. “Don’t hold yourself back on my account.”

  Etta kissed him soundly, then followed him to the next room, where a porcelain claw-foot tub squatted, completely at odds with its surroundings. Nicholas washed her back in comfortable silence until she asked, “What are you wearing?”

  A white undershirt was partly hidden by what was either a luxurious gold vest or snugly fitting jacket, over which was another long patterned crimson coat that hung down over silky, loose pants. A gold sash had been knotted around his waist.

  “According to Hasan, shalvar,” he said, pointing to the pants, “a kusak,” gesturing to the sash, “and an entari,” landing finally on the robe-like overcoat.

  Nicholas left to retrieve her own clean set of clothes, and she was momentarily stunned by the beauty and richness of their fabric as he laid out the layers: a sheer gömlek, an under-tunic; a chirka, a short, tight under-jacket of emerald that buttoned up over her bust; next, shalvar, loose gold and sapphire brocade trousers that narrowed at the ankles; and an entari of her own, in a matching fabric to the shalvar. Finally, a small gold cap she pinned to her hair, and a white veil, a yashmak, that affixed to it and covered everything but her eyes.

  When she finally washed the grime off her skin and out of her tangled hair, Etta stood and began toweling off, scrubbing until her skin was pink. Nicholas drank in the sight of her with a tenderness on his face that just about did her in.

  “Am I a scoundrel?” he had asked, clearly more to himself than her.

  Etta smiled, stroking the lines and scars on the back of his hand. “I believe I’m the scoundrel in this situation.”

  He gave her a long look she didn’t understand—his eyes were heavy with a darkness that sent a chill straight through her center.

  “Do you regret it?” she whispered, suddenly self-conscious.

  Nicholas seemed startled by her words, shaking his head emphatically. He took her face between his big, warm hands and kissed her so deeply, she felt her toes curl against the floor. “Never. Never.”

  But those had been the last words he’d said; he hadn’t even managed a cheerful greeting to their host. Etta couldn’t understand it—if that look hadn’t been about what they’d done, then what was he thinking about?

  “Eat, eat!” Hasan said, his warm smile at odds with the rough bruises on his face from his fight with Nicholas. “Little niece, you look beautiful. How do you find our manner of dress?”

  The first word that leapt to her mind was overwhelming, which was hardly fair. The entari and shalvar were beautifully crafted; the layers of sapphire and emerald silk and brocade were beyond luxurious, even if they were heavy. She was glad for them, though, not just because her dress from London was nearly in tatters, but because she did feel more comfortable blending in, and being respectful of the customs in this place and era.

  “Wonderful,” she said. “Thank you for taking care of us.”

  Etta accepted the heavy plate of food gratefully, barely sparing another breath before she dug in, practically swallowing the first pieces of pomegranate and figs whole.

  Nicholas was slower to come around to eating, his attention focused on the surrounding courtyard, searching for shadows and hidden corners that didn’t exist.

  “Baha’ar, my new friend,” Hasan said. “Eat, please. I do not keep servants in this house. There is no fear of discovery. I would not be so careless.”

  “Baha’ar?” Nicholas repeated.

  “Sailor,” Hasan explained.

  Nicholas gave a wry smile, breaking off a chunk of the bread in front of him. “What was this about the clue?”

  But it was a testament to how seriously he took his role as host that Hasan would not so much as approach the topic until he was satisfied that they’d had their fill of food.

  “The riddle?” Nicholas pressed again. Hasan’s brows rose.

  She bristled at the insistence in his tone, as if every second they spent here was wasted. “Thank you,” Etta said quickly, “for a delicious meal. We would love to hear your thoughts about what you think it means.”

  Hasan seemed to take this bit of rudeness in stride. “Bring jasmine to the bride who sleeps eternal beneath the sky—that was it, no?”

  She nodded.

  “I have tried to break it apart into pieces, to understand,” Hasan said. “I thought, surely, Rose meant Damascus. There are many names for this place. The City of Jasmine, but also the Bride of the Earth. But this clue…it implies a kind of travel, would you not say? Bring jasmine to the bride. She wishes for you to leave this city, the City of Jasmine. So it must refer to another bride.”

  “And?” Nicholas interrupted, his fingers drumming against the table. “Go where?”

  Hasan held up a hand. “Patience—”

  Nichola
s’s hand came down hard enough to make the plates and platters jump across the table.

  “Hey!” Etta said, only to be cut off.

  “Every moment of delay is a moment that we can be found, tracked by the guardians,” Nicholas said. “I don’t wish to take any unnecessary risks by prolonging this to the point that Ironwood’s guardians can catch us—not when we’re so close to finding the astrolabe. Not to mention, we do have a deadline, do we not?”

  Etta sighed, but nodded.

  Hasan nodded. “Then we will make haste. But, baha’ar, as well as you know the sea, you do not know this land. The desert is a ruthless beauty, a punishing empress who bows to no one. It is past midday now, and you should not expect to leave this night. We will make your preparations today and leave tomorrow at sunrise. But first you must listen to what I have to say, or you will not know which direction to go. Yes?”

  Nicholas looked down at his hands spread across the richly gleaming wood and nodded.

  “As I said before, Damascus is known to some as the Bride of the Earth, but there is another bride—Palmyra, the Bride of the Desert. I think perhaps this is your destination. And what comes next: who sleeps eternal beneath the sky? The city itself was a jewel of our trade, a glimmering civilization. But it has since fallen to ruin. There is a valley of tombs remaining, however.”

  A city her mother had painted for her.

  “That’s it,” she told Nicholas. “We’ll find it there.” To Hasan, she asked, “Is there any way to narrow down which tomb it might be referring to? Are there very many?”

  “Many,” Hasan said, almost apologetically. “I have not visited in many years, so I could not tell you. But Rose tells you to look for the sigil, the sign of our family. I think you will recognize it when you see it.”

  Etta nodded, thinking of the tree etched into the cover of her mother’s travel journal. Her hands came up to thoughtfully twist one earring’s cool pearl.