Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
I t's night when Ze finally suggests we take a break. The soles of my feet ache, and my muscles are so tense, it takes Herculean strength for me to continue forward. Yet in all this time, I haven't complained—not when everything rests on this journey and successfully finding the third plant. Ze already considers me the weakest link of our team. I don't want to give him more reason to look down on me.
We've probably walked for close to ten hours now. The road was a mixture of desolate desert and steppe before we finally spotted a hint of tall, green trees.
"We shall rest here for the night," he declares as he stops in the middle of a patch of grass nestled among towering foliage and sprawling trees.
He doesn't need to say it twice as I plop myself on the ground, the soft grass cushioning my ungraceful fall. I take a deep breath, a whimper escaping me as I bring my fist against my thighs and calves, hoping to unknot some of the residual tension.
Ze takes one look at me and shakes his head. But he makes himself useful as he gathers some stones, twigs, and dry grass to make a fire. His movements are swift and confident, and a spark bursts to life from the first attempt.
I drag myself closer, letting the heat from the flame caress my skin. Although the temperature was warm during daytime, the moment it got dark, it started getting chillier. I made a good decision to wear my hoodie, but even with it, a shiver goes down my back.
He drops our small bag with supplies by my side before joining me next to the fire. Despite our sudden departure, I was surprised by his comprehensive planning. By the time he dragged me out of our apartment, he already had a bag packed with snacks and water to last us a couple of days. Even more surprising had been the fact that he'd packed only non-meat options.
He sits cross-legged, his palms on his knees, his expression blank. His clothes are in perfect order, not one drop of sweat on his forehead, whereas I'm almost drowning in mine. Even his features are as fresh as if he just woke up from a nap.
"I'm surprised you know how to make a fire," I mention.
"Huh?" He raises an arrogant brow.
"That right there." I point at him, my lips quirking up. "You're such a snob I didn't think you'd know basic skills like the rest of us."
"And how is it that you have come to that conclusion?" he inquires lazily.
"You probably live in a palace and are waited on hand and foot by an army of poor servants." I shrug.
He stares at me for a moment before he throws his head back and starts laughing.
I blink.
Is this... This is the first time I've seen him laugh, no?
As if he could read my mind, he suddenly stops, his features frozen in place like he surprised his own self with his reaction.
"Your assumption is erroneous." He clears his throat. "I do live in a palace," he continues.
"Aha, I knew it." I grin.
"But"—he puts a finger up—"I do not have any servants."
"You don't?"
"As for how I learned to make a fire," he continues, ignoring my cry of surprise. "I am a soldier. I have lived most of my life on the battlefield, where you sleep under the naked sky. On the rare occasion, I slept in a tent. The palace is a rather...new addition," he adds awkwardly.
"But Thea said you're the boss, general or commander or whatever."
"That, too, is a rather recent development."
"How recent?" I arch a brow. I don't think our conceptions of time are the same.
"A few thousand of your human years."
"What?" My mouth is agape as I stare at him. "That is recent for you? Just how old are you?"
His lips flatten.
"Old," he replies flippantly.
"Oh, come on." I smile as I scoot closer. "How old are we talking about?"
He gives me a side-eye.
"Too old for your human mind to comprehend."
"I assure you I can comprehend numbers just fine. Come on, Ze." I pout at him. "You don't have to be embarrassed. You look fine for your age. Why, you don't have any wrinkles," I joke as I pat his hand.
He looks down where I'm touching him before his gaze snaps up to mine, his eyes narrowing.
My smile freezes on my face, and for a moment, I'm afraid I might have offended him somehow. We've already established that nine times out of ten we don't speak the same language.
"I do not know," he utters in a low voice.
"What?" I blink, thinking I didn't hear him right.
" I do not know ," he grits his teeth.
"What do you mean you don't know? When is your birthday?" I probe, ready to do the math for him. Maybe he's so old that he's lost track of time, or he simply stopped counting altogether.
"I do not know that either." He presses his lips together.
I frown. "Do you guys not celebrate birthdays in your world?"
"Others do," he replies curtly.
"But not you."
A single nod.
"Why?"
" Human ," he growls, the sound vibrating in the stillness of the night.
Oh no... Did I hit a sore spot?
"I'm sorry if this is something you don't like to talk about," I murmur softly. God, but now I am the insensitive one.
He grunts, and just as I'm about to take my hand away, he grabs onto it, covering it with his own.
"I was a soldier for a few thousand years before I advanced to my current position," he starts, his voice the same steely baritone as before, yet there's a light tremor to it. "I have no living relatives who could comment on my age or birthday, but I would estimate I am over seven thousand years old in your human years."
"Oh..." Is there anything else I can say to that other than oh ? The man is older than the Bible— and Earth according to the Bible.
"That is quite old," I nod.
His brows furrow as if deep in thought. He emulates my nod.
"So you've never celebrated your birthday?"
He stares at me. Another nod.
"Ze..." I trail off, my gaze softening.
"Don't you dare pity me, human," he warns, squeezing my hand.
"No, of course not," I hurry to say. Someone as proud as Ze would hate to be the object of pity. "I just feel sad for you. Birthdays are awesome." I smile tentatively.
He's still staring at me, his gaze intent.
Recognizing this is a rare moment in which he's sharing something about himself, I decide to do the same to make him feel better.
"I didn't celebrate my birthday for a long time either," I confess.
His eyes flare.
"Why?" he asks quietly.
A melancholic smile plays across my lips.
"I was extremely poor growing up. My mother barely had enough to feed me on a day-to-day basis. I never got a gift or even a special meal. Then I was a slave for many years, so no one cared about me." I swallow.
His features harden.
"You said the people who enslaved you are already dead?"
I give him a tight nod.
"That's a pity," he sighs dramatically. "I would have enjoyed breaking their bones."
My lips spread in a genuine smile as I turn my hand palm up, lacing my fingers through his. He's startled by it but doesn't seem averse to it as his gaze drops to our fingers.
"Thank you for saying that. It means a lot to me." And that is the real Ze. He might be surly and rude and socially inept, but he's a real friend.
"Maybe not all is lost. I'm sure we can do something about it..." he trails off as he sinks deep in thought.
I shake my head at him, but I appreciate the initiative. And this time, it's not because we're a team and what happens to one reflects on the others—he's simply mad on my behalf.
"As I was saying," I clear my throat. "I was nineteen when I escaped the hacienda, and after that..." Warmth floods me at the vivid memories, my features lighting up.
"After that?" Ze asks curiously, leaning in. He has an avid expression on his face, waiting for me to continue.
"After that my husband made sure to celebrate my birthday every year. It became our tradition. He would prepare surprises for me and I would do the same for him. We made it a competition on who would come up with the best gift each year..." I add wistfully.
Ze's body tenses, and an indecipherable emotion enters his features. He tightens his hold over my hand, his thumb rubbing circles on my wrist. He squeezes his eyes shut as he takes a couple of deep breaths, almost as if he were in physical pain.
My brows furrow as I stare at him. Suddenly, his eyes snap open, jolting me closer as he pulls on my arm.
"When is your birthday?" he asks in a slow, deliberate voice.
His eyes bore into me, the dark of his irises glinting dangerously.
"September sixth."
"That would be sixth of Ananke in my world."
"Ananke?"
"There are fifteen months, each one dedicated to one of the ruling royal houses. Ananke is the ninth one."
"Sixth of Ananke," I repeat, tasting the words on my lips.
"Ananke is a good month," he mentions, nodding thoughtfully.
Silence descends as a look of concentration enters his features. Suddenly, he bursts out, "I have decided, human." His voice booms in that arrogant lilt of his. "I will allow you to give me a birthday. You may choose a month and a day."
I blink at him.
"You want me to choose a birthday for you?" I squeak.
"That is what I said, human. It is a great honor. You may rejoice." He nods, his lips twitching.
I refrain from rolling my eyes—such an honor!
"Fine. What month would you like?"
Although he still needs work on his delivery, I can sense that him asking for it would be revealing too much of a weakness—that he wants a birthday. Somehow it reminds me of his ridiculous encounter with trendy clothes and the way he'd desperately wanted to fit in but would have never admitted it aloud.
"It is up to you."
"Hmm. What about the third month?"
"I do not like the number three."
"Seven?" I throw out a random number.
"That is Flora." He wrinkles his nose. "I do not care for it."
"One?"
"I am banned from it," he mentions, shaking his head.
"Five," I say.
"They do not care for me," he echoes yet another objection.
I frown. Okay, fine. Ten more options.
"Eight?"
He immediately shakes his head.
"It is an unlucky number."
I give him another three suggestions, which he promptly rejects.
Throwing my hands up in the air, I blow out an annoyed breath. "I give up. Just tell me what month is okay with you."
He licks his lips, his eyes never once leaving mine.
"Ananke is a good month," he adds slowly, uncertainly.
"Okay. Ananke it is then. What about the day?" When he simply stares at me, I add, "What is a good day? Or a lucky day for you?"
He presses his lips together.
"Sa," he answers firmly.
"Sa? What is that?"
"It is a number in my language."
"What number?" I inquire curiously.
He pushes his chin up, for the first time averting his gaze.
"Six," he replies casually.
"Six of Ananke?" I repeat, a little taken aback.
"Yes. Do you have something against it?" he quickly asks, folding his arms across his chest and narrowing his eyes at me.
"No. But we share a birthday now," I point out with a smile.
"Indeed." He nods pensively. "I wager I can give you a better present than you can."
My brows shoot up, my lips trembling with amusement. Oh, Ze. He can never just say something outright, can he?
"Then I shall accept that wager," I chuckle.
He nods to himself. Seconds stretch into minutes as he starts fidgeting in his seat. Eventually, he picks up our bag with supplies. Grabbing a couple of nut bars, he pushes them into my lap.
"Eat," he commands.
I frown at his sudden change in demeanor. But when I don't obey his order, he takes the bar, tears the paper package, and pushes it against my mouth.
"Wha—" I don't even manage to voice my question as he pushes the bar past my lips. I reluctantly bite into it, munching slowly.
"You need your strength. We have walked a long distance today," he says awkwardly.
I nod, taking the bar and biting into it. I'm not that hungry, but I guess it wouldn't hurt to eat a little more.
"You should eat, too." I hand him the unopened bar.
"That is for you as well." He pushes the bar back to me. "You are human, and as such weaker. I have plenty of strength," he proudly explains.
Who said Ze doesn't have a way with words?
As I silently eat, he watches me from the corner of his eye. He opens his mouth and closes it a few times before he finally utters the most shocking words, "You did well today."
I stop eating, my eyes widening.
"Did you... Did you just compliment me?"
He shoots me a warning look.
"For a human," he adds.
"Nah." I shake my head in amusement. "You said I did well. Period. You can't just change it."
"Yes, I can. They are my words and I can do as I like with them."
"Which you clearly always do." I fight the urge to laugh.
"Precisely. You can take it or leave it."
"My, but if the mighty Ze said I did well today, then I shall count myself forever grateful that he has decided to bestow such a rare and marvelous compliment on this unworthy subject," I add sarcastically—knowing full well it's not a language he's fluent in.
"Indeed." He nods, pleased. "You are a fast study, human."
My facial muscles are betraying me as a snort escapes my lips. I slap my hand over my mouth, but I'm unable to stop the incoming fit of laughter.
"You are mocking me?" Ze leans back, his horrified eyes on me.
"Mocking? You? Of course not." I wave my hand. "I'm...p-praising you."
He stares at me for a few more moments before he nods, seemingly mollified by my words.
"You are an odd human." He tsks to himself.
"I shall attempt to do better." I incline my head in a half-bow.
He swings his sharp gaze to me. I swallow, unmoving. Slowly, his lips curl up. Mine do, too. We just stare at each other, amusement hanging between us.
"Finish your food," he grumbles, the hint of a smile still painted on his lips.
"Yes, sir," I add immediately.
He shakes his head, his lips spreading further into a full-on smile.
I take another bite from my bar, watching him curiously.
"You said you've never been to my world, but have you ever been to other worlds?"
"I have. It is the nature of my position to go where duty calls," he replies smoothly.
"What do you do when you're not fighting demons then?"
"What do you mean?" He frowns.
"Do you have any hobbies?"
"Hobbies? What is that?"
"You know, things you do in your spare time," I explain.
His brows are still furrowed, confusion echoing in his features. I purse my lips as I realize he truly has no concept of a hobby .
"For example, I love reading books," I say.
"I read books too." He nods.
"Really? What type? What books are there in your world?"
"On military treaties, of course," he scoffs.
I stare at him, my mouth agape.
"That's not fun reading."
"You read for fun?" His eyes widen.
"That is the definition of a hobby. Something you do for fun. Have you never read fiction?"
"That is a frivolous pursuit," he immediately replies. "Only people with no prospects engage in it." A pause. He blinks a couple of times before he leans in, serious. "What is fiction?"
I school my features so I don't laugh.
"Stories. Adventure. Romance. That type of thing."
"And you enjoy this fiction?" he probes, his eyes sparkling with interest.
"I love it. My favorite genre is romance. I used to devour one book a day." I sigh wistfully. "Nikki had been a fan as well, and we'd sometimes buddy read books after which he'd surprise me with the recreation of some scenes."
"Tell me more about this... romance. What is it exactly?"
"It's a story about two people falling in love and overcoming obstacles before they live happily ever after," I explain excitedly. "Usually, it's a handsome billionaire hero who falls for a sweet and innocent heroine. It's a bit of a cliché, I know." I chuckle. "But clichés are my comfort reads."
He nods slowly, seemingly deep in thought.
"Why billionaire?" He frowns.
I shrug. "I don't know. I guess it's the female desire to be protected and taken care of, and romance novels feed into that fantasy by having a rich, strong, and handsome man as the hero."
"And you say all women want that?"
"Not all, but a great deal do."
He nods again to himself.
"Why do you like that?" he suddenly asks.
My cheeks heat up at being put on the spot.
"I-I guess it's because I like the idea of being saved?" I murmur, averting my gaze. "It feels odd to think about it that way when I had been saved—Nikki had saved me. Yet I think that a part of me was forever lost at the hacienda—the same part that never got over what happened to me. But how could I say that aloud? Because admitting that would be akin to admitting that Nikki hadn't been enough for me, when he had—hell, he'd been more than enough. The failing is solely mine for being unable to move on and forget."
"Let me tell you about this book." I change the topic. Instead of talking about me, it's easier to talk about one of my favorite books. And so I recount a story in which the heroine is a poor seamstress and the hero is a handsome duke. Due to the difference in their stations, their relationship is forbidden, and the duke wants to make the heroine his mistress. The heroine, however, could never live with herself if she had to stay on the sidelines and watch her beloved marry someone of an appropriate station, so she decides to run away, but not before seeing the duke one last time.
Ze listens attentively, which makes me surprisingly happy. It's such a pity that he doesn't believe people should read for fun, but I aim to remedy that. Stories give us life. It's unfair that he's never experienced this before.
His eyes are on me, vivid emotions playing on his face as I reach a poignant scene in the story where the heroine gives the hero one last kiss before she's about to leave him.
"And?" he asks impatiently when I pause. "What happened?" He leans forward, his lips parted almost as if he held his breath for what's to come.
I smile at his enthusiasm.
"He realized she left him the next day and went after her."
I spare him the raunchy details of their reunion since I remember far too well his reaction to The Game of Thrones episode. Instead, I give him the PG-13 version of how they made up and the fact that the hero decided to defy society's expectations for her and make her his wife.
"That's it?" He blinks.
"After they married, they lived happily ever after," I finish, releasing a soft yawn.
"That can't be the end," he complains. "There must be more to the story!"
"Nope, that's it," I say, my voice sleepy. "You can use your imagination for what happens next."
"But I want you to tell me." He pouts.
My brows shoot up in surprise.
"I can tell you other stories. But not now. I'm too tired..." I trail off.
He stares at me.
"Tomorrow?" he asks in a low, hopeful voice.
"Yeah, sure," I answer automatically just as my eyes close.
I snuggle closer to the warmth of the fire and the soft material cushioning my face. And as I drift off to sleep, my thoughts stray to Nikki.
Is he around, I wonder...