Chapter 3 #4
Since it was an investment in Zion’s property, Ambrose encouraged me to ask permission to use money from the account that, in theory, was as much mine as his.
So I sent a message through the bond asking if I could withdraw money from his savings for the renovation.
As always, he didn’t respond. Days later, however, I received a letter from the bank with the necessary documents and credit cards.
The house was completely transformed. One wall of the living room, once brick, was replaced with glass, revealing a beautiful view of the backyard garden and the enormous willow tree there.
I added a grand chandelier in the center of the living room; the dark, stained floor became white porcelain tile, and the wooden staircase was replaced with one of glass, metal, and black granite.
Now I felt comfortable looking around and seeing more of myself than Zion everywhere.
I had gotten used to the idea that this was my home, and for a former slave, that meant the world.
Few things were kept, and one of them was a picture frame on the sideboard next to the stairs.
It was small, and its white frame was cracked, as was the glass over the photo.
It was the only photograph in the house and showed the youthful faces of three people: Zion was in the center with a neutral expression.
The only hint of his mood was the slight crooked smile pressing his lips together.
On his right was a girl from the nation of Vínturis.
She had large monolid eyes, so narrow they were almost slits.
Her hair was black and straight, and her fair skin had a yellowish undertone.
She was smiling and leaning on Zion’s shoulder.
On the left was a boy with the same features as the girl; the resemblance was so strong I would have said they were twins.
The Vinturian was also smiling. But unlike the others, who were looking at the camera, he was looking at Zion with an amused expression.
Five years ago, when I arrived at the house, I found the frame broken and lying on the sideboard, so I figured something bad had happened.
Photographs in that condition were never a good sign, so I wondered who those people were.
Curious, I took the picture to Ambrose. He told me the girl’s name was Kaori and the boy’s was Akira.
The two were siblings, Zion’s best friends from the academy.
He couldn’t say much because the general had always been private about his life, but he told me that Akira died right after graduating.
So I figured the broken frame was the result of an outburst of grief at some point during mourning.
That was the only intimate information I had about my husband.
Even Ambrose, who had known Zion from his residency in the army, only knew the basics.
The little we knew told us he wasn’t born in Interion, since he arrived here at age ten to study at the academy.
He also didn’t seem to be purely Interian, and we both concluded from his appearance that he had Vinturian ancestry. Perhaps he came from there.
I sighed as I looked at the portrait, unable to help feeling a deep sadness for Zion and Kaori. My only friend was Breno, and if something happened to him, I didn’t know how I would go on with my life. There were days when, even with Kiara, Ambrose, and Breno, things got complicated.
Before wallowing in more sad theories, I banished the morbid thoughts and went upstairs.
I took a quick shower and, dressed in my pajamas, came back down to make dinner.
Hungry and tired, I opted for a simple omelet.
I still needed to study and hoped to get to sleep early.
Between the surgical test and returning to classes at the academy, the next day would be busy.
After arranging the ingredients on the counter, I was reaching for the spices in the cabinet when I felt a prickle of unease, as if someone were watching me.
The moment I registered the sensation, I noticed the barrier around the house flicker blue, and a wave of magic kissed my skin, making the hair on my arms stand on end.
Images from that afternoon's newscast flooded my mind, reminding me how unwanted I was in this nation—and what that meant for me.
Before another paralyzing shiver could take hold, I grabbed a knife from the collectible cutting board on the counter and spun around.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the shadows flickering, as if someone were hiding near the cabinet.
My blood ran cold. I threw the knife and readied the second.
But in an instant, the shadows materialized completely before me, dodging the first attack and catching my hand before I could throw the second.
“It's me, Kyller.” The deep voice filled the kitchen and paralyzed me.
He was pressed against my body, pinning me in place. I raised my gaze from his broad chest, past his strong jaw, and finally met his eyes.
Not in a thousand years would I forget the kaleidoscope of colors in his irises. I stared at him, mouth agape, unable to look away.
It was Zion Voluz.