"Of course he is." Anandur reclined his seat. "I'm going to doze off. I suggest that you do the same."
Areana nodded, reclined the seat, and closed her eyes. But behind her closed lids, memories played like clips from a film.
The journey north from the palace to Mortdh's stronghold. Tula had been with her then—so young, a twelve-year-old girl, her lady-in-waiting for the journey. She had accepted Tula's service as a favor to Annani. After Gulan escaped, her family was desperate to replace the income that Gulan used to bring home, and they had been too proud to just accept Annani's charity.
Navuh had visited their caravan, using Mortdh's flyer to check up on her, and that was when they had fallen in love. Or rather, she'd fallen in love with him. He'd revealed that he'd loved her for years from afar and hadn't dared to approach her because she was a goddess and he just a lowly immortal.
He'd promised her that she would never wed Mortdh, that he wouldn't let it happen, and he'd kept his promise.
"You're the center of my world, Areana," Navuh had told her just a few days ago. "Everything I do, everything I build—is for you. To give you the life you deserve and to keep you safe."
He'd sounded so sincere that she'd almost believed him, but then she'd remembered all the times she hadn't been able to stop him from doing terrible things, and she had to wonder why he had done them.
It certainly hadn't been for her.
25
TULA
The plane's engines roared to life, and as it started moving, Tula's fingers dug into the leather armrests with so much force that she was surprised the material didn't tear.
"It's okay," Tony said beside her, sounding perfectly calm. "I promise, flying is safe. Much safer than driving."
"How?" Tula was certain he was lying to make her feel less scared. "How can launching thousands of feet in the air possibly be safer than sitting in a car that has its wheels on solid ground?"
"Statistics," Tony said, and there was that earnest quality in his voice that meant he was about to explain something with numbers. "You're more likely to die in a car accident than in a plane crash. Flying is actually the safest form of travel."
"That doesn't make sense nor does it make me feel any better." The plane began to move, rolling toward the runway, and Tula's stomach lurched. "We're not meant to fly or we would have been born with wings."
"We weren't born with wheels either, but you are perfectly fine with using them. And by the way, we are still on the ground,so we are technically driving, not flying." He reached over and pried one of her hands from the armrest, lacing his fingers through hers. "Just breathe. Look at me, not out the window."
Tula wanted to pull her hand away, was planning to pull away from Tony entirely soon enough, but right now, with the plane accelerating down the runway and her heart going even faster, she needed something to hold on to.
The plane lifted, and her stomach dropped. She squeezed Tony's hand so hard that he winced.
"Sorry," she managed.
"It's fine. You can break my fingers if it helps."
Despite her panic, she smiled. That was her Tony. Always ready with a joke, even if he was in pain. His humor was probably his best feature, and she was sure there were many more, but the bottom line was that he was mortal. There was no future for them even if he was perfect in every way.
The plane climbed higher, the engine noise settling into a steady drone, and gradually Tula's death grip on Tony's hand eased. She risked a glance out the window and immediately regretted it. They were terrifyingly high, with nothing but air between them and the ground far below.
"Don't look," Tony advised. "Just focus on breathing. In and out. That's it."
She forced her gaze away from the window and tried to focus on the cabin instead. The plane was nice, in the way that a luxury car was nice. Wide, padded seats that reclined and could be turned around to face the two other seats, or turned into beds. This wasn't how most humans traveled through the air.She'd seen enough movies to know that this kind of luxury was reserved for wealthy businesspeople.
Shifting in her seat, she was acutely aware of the jeans digging into her hips and belly. The button wouldn't close because of her pregnant stomach, so she'd left them undone, the zipper pulled up as far as it would go and the waistband gaping slightly. The material was strange, too. Stiff. Restrictive. Nothing like the soft, flowing fabrics she was used to.
"You look good," Tony said, following her gaze downward. "The jeans suit you."
"They're uncomfortable." She tugged at the waistband. "And they don't fit."
"They fit fine. Better than fine, actually. You look..." He paused, and when she glanced at him, his expression was heated. "You look hot."
Tula rolled her eyes. "I look pregnant and squeezed into pants that won't close."
"You look beautiful," Tony insisted. "Modern. American. Like you belong in the modern world instead of being frozen in time."
