Chapter 51 #3
“I called you both here for several reasons. And one of them is to announce that I’m going to release the agreement.”
My jaw dropped, my eyes fixed on Serguei. Then Zion turned to me and my cheeks flushed. I looked away from him, but I could still feel his gaze on my face.
“When?” Zion asked, his voice hoarse.
“After the physical test.” He toyed with his wine glass. “Pass the test, Kyller, and I’ll free you both immediately.”
My heart was galloping in my chest. Zion’s war eyes burned into me, and I couldn’t force myself to look away.
I felt naked as my heart raced. He seemed amused—the sound gave me away.
The truth was, angry or not, I was excited about the possibility stretching before us.
I began breathing in a way meant to calm me, feeling the oxygen flow through my body, then releasing the air and letting everything bad leave with it.
Soon I was in control again and avoided looking at either of them.
“Your mother used the same technique. Did she teach you?” Serguei asked, sipping his wine.
I frowned at him.
“I don’t understand.”
“That breathing technique. Lagherta used it in training.”
“My mother? Are you sure it’s the same thing?” I asked, eyes widening.
“She tried to teach me, but I could never grasp how it worked.” Serguei swirled his wine glass with one hand. “If you didn’t learn it from her, where did you pick it up?”
I touched the sinil necklace on my chest, both men watching me.
“If I told you it was in my dreams, would you believe me?” I asked, a little embarrassed. Serguei’s jaw dropped.
“Your mother said the same thing—that she learned it in dreams.” His expression shifted from curious to surprised, even a little frightened.
“What? My mother had dreams like that too?” It had to be madness.
“Can I look through your memories to understand?” Serguei asked, focusing on me, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
“How cute, asking before you invade. When did you get so civilized?” Zion asked from across the table.
“When did you get so annoying?” Serguei retorted.
“And this whole little show is to impress Kyller? I’m surprised you didn’t invite more people to see what a nice guy you are,” Zion mocked, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed.
“It’s not a show, Zion. I invited you because I wanted you both here for my birthday.”
Serguei had lost his enthusiastic smile; now he seemed defensive. I cleared my throat, drawing both their attention.
“You can look, Serguei. I don’t mind,” I said. Then I shot Zion a hard look, and he returned an even harder one. I felt Serguei enter my mind and sift through it with surgical precision. By the time he finished, I’d barely taken two bites from my plate.
“Interesting, Kyller. You have no idea how interesting this is,” he exclaimed, eyes gleaming, a slight tremor in his voice.
“When I was younger, I never invaded Lagherta’s mind—out of respect, and because I didn’t want to get my ass kicked.
” Zion laughed humorlessly from across the table, and Serguei continued, ignoring him.
“But if I had looked, I would have known something was off. Lagherta was the best warrior in Drutes, but no soldier ever trained her. Now I know where her fighting style came from.”
He stood and paced the room, visibly tormented. Then he turned toward the black book.
“What are you talking about? How could she be the best warrior if no one ever taught her? What did you see in my dream?” I asked, leaving the table as well.
“Once you read the other part, you’ll understand,” he said, clutching the book, seeming slightly unhinged. “Now things make sense, ‘granddaughter of the apocalypse.’ I believe what the sonar said will start making sense, Kyller.”
My heart pounded with fear. At that moment, Zion stood from the table too, wiping his mouth with a napkin as he approached me.
“Maybe it’s time to leave.”
Serguei blinked a few times, then seemed to compose himself.
“No, not yet. We have a cake to cut, children.” He left the book where it was and returned to the table. His eyes never left me.
“Don’t look at me like that, Kyller. You’ll be surprised too when you read it.”
“Then unlock it so I can find out,” I said, pointing at the book expectantly.
“No, we’re not done here yet, and I don’t want to lose my gifts.”
He pressed a button on the table and the butler entered.
Meanwhile, my mind raced, desperate to know what had left Serguei so agitated.
He was trying to control himself but seemed unable to stay in one place.
Dazed, I wandered around the room while Zion followed me with his gaze.
I stopped in front of the painting I’d seen earlier and studied the young woman in it.
She stood casually, leaning against the edge of a fireplace, with the look of someone deeply satisfied.
Her hair was jet black, and her eyes were slightly slanted, marking mixed Vinturian descent.
A beauty mark sat above her full lips, and her body was curvaceous like mine.
A mixed-race woman—part Vinturian, part Drutes.
I turned to Zion, who sat on the sofa, his eyes still fixed on me.
He stared with such intensity it made me uncomfortable.
I returned my attention to the painting.
That woman. Those eyes. They made me restless, as if I didn’t want to keep looking.
It felt like I was seeing something I knew but had never seen before.
Just like the feeling I’d had in the forest.
“Ready, children! Come! Let’s cut the cake,” Serguei called, holding a knife. I took one last look at the woman and made my way to the table. “How do I do this?” he asked, agitated, holding the knife as if he were about to throw it at a target.
I stepped closer, pulling the cake toward me, and Zion, still scowling, joined us.
“Haven’t you ever seen someone cut a cake in a movie?” I asked Serguei. His face lit up, his eyes like those of a child discovering the world.
“I don’t watch movies. Hearing the chaotic thoughts of two hundred thousand people takes up all my time. Sometimes I wish I didn’t have this power. I wish I were a normal person with a normal family.”
His eyes fell on Zion, who shoved his hands in his pockets and pretended not to hear.
“Then make your wish when you blow out the candles,” I advised, picking up the lighter and lighting the wicks.
“A wish? I make a wish and blow out the candles?”
I rolled my eyes. I was teaching one of the most powerful fae in the world how to cut a birthday cake. Zion seemed to be hanging on every moment.
“I can’t believe you two don’t know how to do this,” I exclaimed, lighting the last candle. They both shrugged, and I laughed.
“Just make your wish and blow,” I encouraged him.
He leaned over the cake, thinking. Finally, he blew out the candles and straightened up with a smile. I clapped, since we hadn’t sung “Happy Birthday.”
“Perfect, now just cut the cake.”
I removed the little candles and set them aside, then took off the cloud-shaped metal topper.
“Don’t you want to know what I wished for?” he asked excitedly.
“Usually people don’t tell,” I said, as he plunged the knife into the cake and made a complete mess transferring the slice to the plate.
“But I want to tell you.”
“Then tell me.”
I smiled at his eccentric nature. Zion was quiet in the corner, and I thanked the gods for that. Better quiet than trading barbs with his father.
“I wished for you two to be with me on every birthday for the rest of my life,” he replied, holding the first piece, which looked like a crumbled peanut candy.
Zion, beside me, looked like he wanted to vanish.
I turned to stare at Serguei. I could feel his expectation, yet I couldn’t even begin to understand the complexity of that man.
He said rude things as if it were nothing, hurt our feelings with his tactlessness.
He had wounded Zion in so many ways it was painful to think about, yet he still seemed to want his son close.
He was the most feared man in the nation, yet there he was, heart exposed, fractured, but somehow trying to piece itself back together.
“I hope fate hears your wish,” I said, approaching with a shy smile. “Who gets the first piece of cake?”
He frowned and looked at the slice in his hands. Before he could answer, I was already laughing.
“Me, obviously.”
Δ
I ate my cake in silence, watching the two men in front of me.
They looked so similar physically, yet had infinitely different personalities.
I couldn’t help wondering if Serguei’s attempts to strip away the part of Zion that felt too much affection for others was really just an attempt to eliminate something he wanted to remove from himself.
He was watching me thoughtfully too, but gave no sign that he’d heard my thoughts or agreed.
I shifted my gaze to the painting again.
“Is that Ravena?”
“Yes.” He turned to gaze at the image as well.
And there, in his eyes, I saw the pain. It was on display like something in a shop window, as real as anything tangible. In that moment, I wished from the bottom of my heart that I hadn’t asked. Both men were studying the painting.
“She was beautiful,” I whispered, gazing at the woman. Zion’s eyes had the same subtle upturn at the corners, almost imperceptible, easily overlooked. But now I could see it was something he’d inherited from her, and the detail seemed to demand to be noticed.
“Yes, she was splendid.” His earlier words made sense now. Serguei wasn’t a fractured man—he was the fracture itself. I couldn’t even bear to imagine such pain.
“I’m sorry, Serguei.”
“Don’t be. Unfortunately, we can’t change the past, but the future is still unwritten. Seize your chances for change while you have them!”