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My jaw opens and closes. I would never have thought of it, because most people like her are defective, freaks of nature.
“I know what you are.”
Finally.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-NINE
THE KING’S CHOICE
“I’m a common,” I reply automatically, pouring the soup into two wooden bowls.
Zale is annoyingly fixated by the notion that I have to be something else in order for him to consider me his equal. That misconception stems from his dislike of my kind, and I refuse to indulge his fantasy.
I slide one of the bowls to his side of the kitchen isle with a spoon.
He surprises me by thanking me first, and then agreeing with me. “Well, yes, in a manner of speaking.”
I didn’t expect him to agree so readily, but the second part of his statement is cryptic enough. I give in. “What do you mean?”
“Have you ever heard of enhancement?” His eyes widen. “Hm. That is quite good. A little too warm for comfort, but good. Canned, you said?”
I roll my eyes. “You really are a spoiled brat.”
“Watch your tongue, my lady. You’re talking to a king.” His words fit the arrogant ass I first met, but the tone entirely lacks the excess of pride I would have expected. “So, enhancements?”
I dip my head. “Of course. That’s when witches grant abilities that aren’t innate to someone, right? They usually cost a pretty penny, but Grandma Lyn helped patch up a wounded witch once. In exchange, she got a small enhancement for cheap. Just enough to brew a little magik into her remedies.” Before he can ask, I add, “That was just a few years ago, decades after she gave birth to my mother. I didn’t inherit her gifts. Nor have I purchased any.”
“It’s a misconception to think enhancements are the trade of witches. The term was first coined about a century ago, when common-born parents first gave birth to children with abilities. Some could run as fast as cats, others had the strength of a bear. Some had scales for skin or gills on their abdomens.” Zale blows over his bowl, and I watch thick steam rise and dance in the air. “All let their skills get to their head, misused them against their peers or challenged the wrong demi. They rarely lived long.”
My nostrils flare. “And you think I’m like those people, is that it?”
“I think you’re better, vixen.” Cooler now, he devours his meal in a few spoonsful. “Enhancements were nature’s answer to the presence of demis in the lives of the common—an attempt to balance the scale. Failed attempts,” he allows. “Until you. I should have guessed as much long ago, but your aversion to technology is what tipped me off.” He taps the flat surface of my grandmother’s stone. “I read about someone like you once. She went mad and scratched her eyes out.”
“That’s reassuring,” I chuckle.
“As I said, you’re an improvement. The girl used to take in whatever information she saw, all of it, all at once—everything anyone said at any given time, every word she read. And she processed it, analyzing it all like a machine.”
I hadn’t taken him seriously at first, but that catches my attention. “What happened to her?”
“Tech.” He tilts his chin to the e-stone. “It was invented in her time, and she couldn’t even look at it. Her brain was analyzing every line of code, each bit of information that made the device function.”
I don’t know what to say. I’ve always thought of myself as one thing and he’s telling me I’m something else entirely, describing the way my brain works in greater detail than I ever have. I could pretend not to believe him, but what's the point? As he said, I process information, and this adds up.
I decide I don't have to process it today. I have enough on my plate. "Try my birthday for the password?" I recite the date and he punches it in, unlocking the device on first try.
I direct my attention away from the screen and finish my soup.
His expression soon sours.
"What's going on?"
"I can't get through to my guards. I knew communication wasn't going through." Zale touches a spot behind his ear. "I couldn't contact them earlier. But I should see someone—anyone—online. I'm reluctant to leave my location in a message without knowing what's going on."
"Better not," I agree. "The bedrooms are upstairs. It's small, and maybe a little dirty, but no one will think to look for you here. We can catch some rest, sleep on any decision. Your guard might be available by morning."
As soon as I'm done with my soup, I gather the bowls and take them to the sink.
Zale takes a nearby cloth and sets to drying as I wash. He's terrible at it, but I appreciate his attempt.
