Chapter Seven
Aflora
I pushed the bloody sauce across my plate with a frown. The giant hunk of brown crap sitting in the middle didn’t appeal to me, nor did the strange, long white worms surrounding it.
When Kolstov claimed to be heading out to pick up some food, I thought he meant edible food. This was not edible. Yet Zephyrus and Kolstov seemed pretty satisfied with it, their plates already half-empty.
My lips twisted. I can’t eat this.
Fortunately, they hadn’t cut off my elemental power yet, which meant I could grow—
“It’s spaghetti,” Kolstov said, interrupting my thoughts. “Fresh from Italy. Why aren’t you eating it?”
“Human food.” My nose scrunched. “Why are you eating human food?”
Kolstov shared a look with Zephyrus. “I told you. She knows nothing about Midnight Fae.”
I ground my teeth together, tired of this rhetoric.
But he wasn’t done.
“When did you start learning about other fae realms, Zeph?”
The headmaster finished swallowing before saying, “As a child.”
“Me, too. I remember Dorthia quizzing me about the Fae Royal names when I was, like, six or seven.” Kolstov pinned me with a gaze. “Midnight Fae frequently enter the Human Realm because we need their blood to survive. As a result, our palates have evolved with theirs, making mortal food very common in this kingdom. Consider that your introductory lesson. Now open your mouth and eat what I’ve given you.”
I considered his words and decided to go for an honest response. “Six or seven years old,” I repeated, tasting the words. “Hmm. When I was around that age, my parents left me with a single mother and her two children, stating they would return. Except they didn’t. Their links with the source disappeared, leaving me as the sole heir. Then, a little while after that, a psychotic fae tried to kill me and absorb my earth magic.”
I paused for effect.
“So yeah,” I drawled. “I’ve been a little busy trying to survive for the last fourteen or so years. Forgive me for not adding fae politics to my pampered agenda.” I shoved away from the table, done with him and his pompous criticisms.
None of this was my fault.
And I was very tired of his condescending attitude.
He caught my wrist as I rounded the small dining table, his golden irises flaring. “You need to eat.”
“I don’t drink blood, but thank you anyway.”
His brow furrowed. “I wasn’t offering my neck.”
I rolled my eyes. “No, just the bloody worm soup. I’m good. I’ll make myself something from the earth.” Assuming I could conjure up an edible plant in this realm. All the plant sources I felt around me were far from friendly.
Case in point, the burning thwomp.
Definitely not going to try to eat that.
“It’s spaghetti,” Kolstov repeated, tugging me back toward my chair with his too-strong arms. “Noodles, not worms. Tomato sauce, not blood. And a meatball.” He finished his explanation with a shove that had me landing square in my seat again. “Take a bite. Aside from the heavy garlic, I think you’ll like it.”
“A meatball?” I repeated, my stomach churning. “Like, from an animal?”
“Probably a mix of pig and cow, yeah.”
I gagged. “You’re eating an animal?!”
He shared another of those looks with Zephyrus, then reached across the table to pluck the giant ball of crap off my plate and tossed it onto his own. “Now you just have noodles and tomato sauce. Bon appétit.”