Chapter 21 #2
“I know. I talked to him last night and we agreed to move up the test to make up for the days I won’t be at the academy. Besides, you were the only student who hadn’t plateaued yet, so there’s no reason to wait any longer.”
I frowned at this new information. The last one!
I was behind even in this. Zion sat down and I walked over to set the plate of omelet in front of him.
He stared at it strangely, as if I had placed alien tentacles before him.
I sat down right after and began to eat, watching his reactions.
There seemed to be a question mark hovering above his head.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, confused. “Don’t you like eggs?”
He didn’t move, just stared at me. I thought back to the night we met, remembering that he hadn’t eaten what I’d offered him then either.
“Do you know what this could mean?” he asked seriously.
Before answering no, I studied the eggs, the table, his face... I had no idea what he was talking about, but when I opened my mouth to deny it, a memory of Ambrose teaching a class on fae etiquette filled my mind, and instantly understanding colored my cheeks red.
“It’s nothing like that, Zion. It’s just food—I’m not inviting you to anything,” I replied, embarrassed.
I remembered that in ancient fae tradition, when a female cooked and offered food to her male, it was seen as a sexual invitation.
In the old days, when unions were made through marriage, the honeymoon could only happen after this rite was performed.
Nowadays, it wasn’t common anymore, but the action still carried a sexual connotation, and if a man accepted the food, he would also be accepting the act.
Zion was still watching me warily, avoiding the eggs and starting with the cheese bread instead.
I pretended not to care, but I have to admit I felt a slight pang of rejection—and it wasn't just about the eggs.
I ate in silence, thinking about how hard it was to be around him without things getting complicated.
For a while, the only sound in the room was our forks clinking against the plates.
When I finished the omelet and stuffed myself with as much cheese bread as I could fit, I remembered what I'd originally wanted to ask.
“Zion, I have a question.”
He looked at me, took a deep breath, and set down his toast with jam. That reaction only confirmed he felt the same tension I did.
“Ask, but I may not be able to answer.”
I noted the verb he'd used and realized this was the second time he'd said he *couldn't* answer, not that he didn't *want* to. That was worth thinking about.
“What level were you born with?” I asked, full of anticipation. He seemed relieved by the change of topic and picked up his toast again.
“I don't know.”
“What do you mean you don't know?” I slapped my palms on the table, incredulous. “All five cities do the test after a child is born. It's mandatory! It's practically like a birth certificate.”
“I wasn't born in one of the five nations.”
“Where were you born?”
I knew I was stepping into a minefield, but I couldn't help myself.
“Somewhere outside Interion. Before you continue, that's all I can say.”
I huffed, shaking my head. Again, I noticed that damned verb—and the more he refused to tell me about his life, the more curious I got.
“And what's your level today?”
“Special,” he replied, popping another cheese bread into his mouth. My eyes must have been bugging out of my head. I was sitting at the table with a special-level fae.
“Wow!” I exclaimed. He avoided my eyes. “And what's the exact number?”
I was so restless I could barely stay in my seat.
“Guess. I'll give you three chances.”
“In the 1,100 range?” I grew even more excited.
“Wrong,” he replied with a half-smile.
“1,400?” I asked, uncertain. There was no way he could have a higher level than Serguei. Zion finished another piece of toast, and I nearly squirmed with anticipation.
“A little more, and that's your last chance.” He was grinning now. I didn't know whether to be more thrilled by his answer or by his spontaneous smile—something incredibly rare.
“Oh, gods! You're a record holder. Let me think—I'll guess 1,600. It can't possibly be higher than that.” I gripped the edge of the table in anticipation. He finally laughed and popped the last cheese bread into his mouth.
“Wrong.”
“I don't believe it. Are you serious? How much more, Zion? This is impossible—no one's ever heard of a level that high. What's the number?”
“You didn't guess it, so I'm not telling.”
I squirmed in my chair, ready to protest, but when I opened my mouth, Zion's smile vanished and his eyes grew sharp. Then the metallic scent of my blood spread through the room, catching me off guard. Embarrassed, I hunched my shoulders and sank deeper into my seat.
Zion pushed back his chair and stood, grabbing his omelet before sliding it onto my plate.
“Eat. You'll need it more than I will.” He took off the apron and hung it on the wall. “Do you have everything you need?”
“I need to go to the pharmacy,” I replied, staring at the omelet. All my enthusiasm had evaporated.
“I'll go. What do you need to buy?”
Zion started up the stairs but stopped, waiting for my answer. I didn't even know what to say.
“No! Don't worry about it—I'll go myself, it's no problem,” I argued, still embarrassed. He couldn't possibly do that. It would be mortifying.
In response, he crossed his arms over his chest and planted his feet wide, standing firm on the stairs. I knew that stance—it screamed: *I'll argue until you want to stick your head in the toilet and flush.*
“You're not going. Today you stay here, and I'll go. It's hard enough having to leave you alone when I'm away. Let's not start an argument.”
“Don't start with that territorial shit.”
I walked over to the sink and crossed my arms in protest, but he didn't budge.
“Come on, quit the drama. Just tell me what you need.”
“No way.”
“Stop being stubborn.”
“Stop being a pain in the ass.”
Now he was the one looking amused while I huffed in frustration. Zion Voluz buying pads for me was absolutely ridiculous.
“If you don't tell me what you need, I'll call Ambrose and ask.”
I wanted to throw a glass at his head, but I held back. His smile was still taunting me, but even I knew that arguing with Zion Voluz was a losing battle.
“Absorbent soaked in magic. That’s what Ambrose said,” I grumbled, looking at my hands.
“See, that wasn’t difficult. I’ll be back in five minutes.” He smiled triumphantly one last time and disappeared.
Two minutes later, I’d finished washing the small stack of glasses and went back to get the plates.
I felt a pang of sadness when I noticed his omelet was still there, and I told myself it was only because I’d have to throw such a lovingly made omelet in the trash, but as soon as I picked up the plate, Kiara appeared at the top of the stairs and eyed the meal with keen interest.
At least someone would enjoy my cooking.