The butler – Mr. Harland – still refused to make eye contact. Months had not soothed their discord, Yang couldn’t help but feel nothing would. “Just that,” said the tart butler. “Lady Maya has left and not returned of yet.”

Yang resisted the urge to smack Harland. “She’s been gone for five hours.”

Harland sniffed. “I do not presume to know my lady’s business.”

Yang’s eyes flashed at that double-edged blade. “Out of my way,” he snapped, and pushed past the old man.

“You’re not to leave the house! ‘tis against the rules!” the butler yelled.

Yang turned around and met the butler’s gaze. “Fire me,” he challenged, and ran. Maya, Maya, Maya, where would she be? What had happened?

They were sitting against her boudoir chair that morning, and her face had been buried in the crook of neck. “I’m going to find a place for us on a ship,” she whispered to him.

“When will you be back?” he’d asked, and he could feel her breath on his lips, she was close – so close. He leaned in closer, but the distance was never fully crossed and they sat like that for the longest time, until the maid rapped at her door and he hid inside her bathing room until the maid had left.

She would have been back by now, Yang thought as he raced through the streets toward the port. He tried to weave seamlessly through the masses, but the ground felt uneven to him and the sky above unnerved him; how long had it been since he’d last traversed the streets? He kept his head low – it wouldn’t work in his advantage to be recognised for what he was – different. The sun descended, and the streets were rained in a crescendo of oranges and reds and indigos.

When he failed to spot her trademark black or any other familiar gown of hers amidst the port traffic, panic built in his heart. If she were walking, which path would she take? He searched the alleys, the crevices, the corners, and as they sky darkened, he considered shouting her name.

He wandered hopelessly for a moment, his eyes wild, his fists clenched, gritting his teeth. He almost discounted it as a mirage of frustration, but when it didn’t vanish instantly, he turned.

A fine black cloak caught the corner of his eye. He rushed down the avenue, past the milling traders closing up shop and to the figure sitting slumped on the ground. The streets were cobblestone and dusty, and he struggled not to trip against the loose rocks.

As he neared, he broke into a slower jog and tried to make out if it were her. It was, he realised with dread. “Maya,” he said, and walked to her.

She looked up in surprise and then quickly looked away. It was too late; he’d already seen. He captured her chin with his hand, and turned her face to him.

Her lip was slit. The area around her right eye shadowed purple, a scab beside her nose – dried blood staining her cheek. “Maya,” he breathed. “What happened?”

Maya choked back a cry. “They found me,” she said. “The people – from the…from the scandal sheet. News in Notoriety. They heard I was looking for a ship heading out promptly. They’re – Yang, they’re angry.”

She looked at him with frightened, grief-stricken eyes. “Yang,” she repeated. “I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m so scared.”

The world seemed to blur behind them – he saw no one but her, he cared for no one else. He gathered her in his arms and held her close. “I am too, Maya,” he said, breathing in the coconut scent of her hair. “We’ll make it out of here.”

Yang tried not to think of English cannibals or English journalists. He needed space – anything – he needed to be away from this place, this country, and he needed Maya with him. He carried her from the street.

“Put me down,” she whispered. “We’ll gather too much attention like this.”

A faint smile crossed his lips. They had already garnered plenty. What was a bit more in the dying day? A familiar discomfort in his legs itched. Exhaustion. “Why didn’t you take a horse?” he asked, setting her down beside him.

Maya scanned their surroundings before leading him forward. “I didn’t want to attract attention.”

He snorted. That had worked well, hadn’t it? It was no matter, it was done now. No pleasure would be brought from arguing over the wisdom of past choices. “Consult me on my opinion next time,” he said.

She nodded and he took solace in her agreement, despite doubting her sincerity.

When they were home, he sat with her in her room, cleaning her cuts with a cloth and alcohol. “We don’t have much time,” she said, her voice trembling.

Yang said nothing.

Sleep clouded her eyes and he threw the bloodied cloth into the wash basin, wincing at her injuries and the bruised state of her face. “Why did you protect Isaiah for so long?” he asked.

Maya smiled sadly. “Perhaps I thought he would change,” she said. “Perhaps I loved him as sisters are meant to love brothers. Or perhaps I was afraid that if I had no use to him, he would discard me. I don’t know. It seemed fitting – people protect their families, right? It was not only him ruined if it got out. Perhaps if I could have secured a match first, it would have been alright – my future secure. I don’t know what I was thinking…only that there were no other options beside ruination or damnation.”

She leaned into him, and he wrapped his arms around her. “You’ll never see him again once we’re gone,” he promised. “We’ll get away and we’ll never come back. We’ll anywhere but here, whether it’s to China or India or Africa – it doesn’t matter. We’ll be away and that’s all that matters.”

Her hands clutched his. “We’ll be together,” she corrected. “And that’s what matters.”

Yang smiled. “You’re right,” he said.

Maya turned to him, and she smiled. “Amidst all of this, Yang,” she said. “You can still make me smile. I – I’m not sure what I feel for you, but it is something and I never wish to let go of it.”

“You never will,” he breathed against her lips, and she closed the distance between them. Her lips were soft, tasting of the strawberries that still haunted his memories. He ignored the burst of nostalgia, and focused on her. The synchronous movement of their lips, the way her hands twisted around his neck and his around her waist.

“We leave at dawn tomorrow,” she told him, between feverish kisses. “It won’t be glorious – they think we’re hopeful newlyweds, but we’re setting sail for India.”

“I’d go anywhere with you right now.”

She grinned. “And I you.”

Yang rolled his eyes and left her plump lips with a fleeting kiss. “Get some sleep, you’ll need it.”

“I love your eyes,” she said suddenly and unexpectedly.

“No, you don’t,” he said sharply, the pain still loitering in the dark corners of his mind.

“I do,” she insisted. “I love the way they crinkle when you laugh, and sparkle when you look at me. I like them. I like you."

He pressed his lips to hers once more, and they fell asleep in each other’s arms again – this time with swollen lips and hope.