There were not a lot of choices to those that lived outside of the castle, although Zora told me that sometimes Amell would bring her delicacies he was able to get from his trips through the veil. He was one such Dark Fae that had the power to do so.
I was also shocked to learn that Kymaris had the same ability to travel through the veil and she would sometimes travel to the Earth realm. But she never stayed long, returning to her duties as supreme ruler of the Underworld where she quietly bided her time to enact the changeling ritual that would give her tremendous powers for her permanent escape from Hell.
So no, Zora didn’t have the luxuries of ripe fruit, farm fresh eggs, or flaky croissants. She even found processed foods to be almost magical to her existence. When I showed her a can of soup, she was so fascinated by the can opener, she opened several cans in the pantry to taste what was inside. It was the canned beets that ultimately stopped her raid. She proclaimed them vile as she washed her mouth out in the kitchen sink.
Of course, any time she turned on a faucet, she would get sidetracked by the mere convenience of running water that was temperature controlled.
They had water in Otaxis since the Underworld had been divinely created for creatures to exist there, which meant the basics to sustain life were provided. But water came in rivers, streams, and small ponds. Rudimentary plumbing went to bathhouses, but the water was not warmed. Toilet facilities were shared among a grouping of homes or apartment buildings. Any water needed for cooking was from an outdoor pump and brought inside.
It was crude living at best, yet it was all Zora ever knew. She hadn’t realized there was a better way, so she had no complaints.
But now that she was experiencing these things—for example, bubble baths, television, and central heating and air—I could tell she was starting to comprehend just how bad she’d had it.
And because of that realization, she stopped exclaiming in delight over the wonders of this world and started having moody reflections about what she had lost by being kidnapped from it as a baby. While she never quite opened up and poured these feelings out to me, she would make short remarks that fed my growing anger toward Kymaris and what she had done to Zora. I decided to leave it alone, knowing if her own anger continued to build, I would hopefully be the one she would fully open up to.
When the patio door slides open, Maddox saunters out, giving me the barest flicker of a smile in greeting before his gaze moves to Zora. He’s made no attempt to hide his interest in my sister, either through focused looks or overt flirting.
Half of it goes over her head, and the half that she gets makes her irritable. Either way, she blows him off every time.
I had considered stepping in and telling Maddox to leave her alone, but when I realized Zora’s greatest emotions seem to come from fending off his attentions, I backed off. No matter what anyone says, that woman needs to learn how to feel emotion.
“Good morning,” Maddox drawls as he approaches the table, eyes pinned on Zora. She’s me in every way except the white hair, yet Maddox has never looked at me that way.
And I know damn well it’s not her white hair that has him so intrigued.
Zora ignores him, pulling another croissant from the platter and putting butter on it. Maddox reaches into the fruit bowl and nabs a few blackberries, tossing them into his mouth one at a time as he patiently waits for Zora to give him some attention.
I watch silently.
When she doesn’t, even after she’s finished putting jelly on her croissant, Maddox places a hand on the table and bends slightly toward her. “I suppose you wouldn’t be willing to share your croissant with me, would you, sweet?”
Zora lazily swings her gaze his way. She smiles, reaches her hand out as if she’s handing him the bread. Maddox blinks in surprise, straightens, and moves to take the offering.
Except before his hand makes it there, she drops it from her own, watching as it tumbles to the ground. She nods down at it, her smile going flat. “Hope you enjoy it.”
Maddox isn’t in the slightest bit offended, which is actually why I don’t ask him to stop these silly flirtations. He takes every bit of disdain Zora throws at him in stride, and I know it’s because, deep down inside, he recognizes—like the rest of us do—that she comes from horrendous circumstances and needs more time to adjust.
Slapping his hand to his heart dramatically, he says, “Oh… that hurts, love.”
“Not your love,” she mutters, snatching another croissant to doctor back up for her consumption.