Chapter 190: A Table of Watching Eyes
Chapter 190: A Table of Watching Eyes
Elyn’s POV
The doors leading to and from the kitchens opened with a measured grace. Heat rolled into the hall first—warm and fragrant—followed by the soft, synchronized steps of the kitchen demons.
They entered in pairs, dressed in deep ash-gray tunics edged with silver thread, their movements disciplined, almost reverent. Each carried a wide porcelain plate the color of polished bone. Steam curled upward in pale spirals, carrying with it a scent that made my stomach tighten—not from hunger, but from the awareness that I would be watched while eating.
How was I even going to enjoy Kethra’s cooking if these demons would be watching me?
I swallowed nervously.
The servants moved clockwise around the table, beginning at my right.
The first plate was set before Seraphielle. Then Ignivar. Then Draeven. Then Caleth. Around and around until finally a plate was placed before Zorathys—and last of all, before me.
Oh...hold on, I realized with a flicker of shock that mine had been placed first.
The celebrant. I was so focused on every other person that I didn’t register it.
My throat felt dry.
When the final servant stepped back into place along the wall, silence fell.
Then Kethra stepped forward.
She had changed from her usual kitchen leathers into something more formal—a fitted black gown with structured shoulders and thin silver chains that draped from collar to sleeve.
She inclined her head respectfully.
"Your Majesties. Honored nobles."
Her voice carried easily across the hall, smooth and measured.
"The first course is Emberroot Velari, harvested from the volcanic terraces beyond the western ridge of the hellfire territory. The roots were slow-roasted beneath obsidian stones for six hours, then glazed with blood-orange reduction and crushed nightspice."
I turned to Zorathys who was sipping his wine like he didn’t care what was going on. I had no idea Kethra was going to explain what the dishes were...the nobles obviously know it...wait, was this for me?
I concentrated my gaze on Zorathys and he pretended not to see me, he pretended not to know I was staring at him and instead turned to Kethra.
"Continue, it seems firefly has still not understood what the dishes are." He told her.
"I..."
"Just listen, firefly. You like it when Kethra explains what she’s done don’t you?" He asked me.
To say I was shocked would be an understatement. I liked it when Kethra explained especially because the dishes here were strange but I didn’t expect that she would explain at a gathering where the nobles gathered already knew what the dishes were.
I stared at the dish.
It was art.
Thin slices of deep crimson root were arranged in a spiral, each piece lacquered to a glistening sheen. Beneath them rested a bed of dark greens—almost black—dressed lightly in oil that shimmered faintly gold in the candlelight. Small flecks of something silver were scattered across the plate.
"Kryth leaf," Kethra continued, "folded with ash-salt. The velari is served with fermented ember-wine syrup, aged three years."
The others had frowns on their faces but none of them said anything...um sorry, Seraphielle was just staring at me with a smile on her face like I was her lover.
I made sure to ignore her look. Once Kethra was done explaining, all eyes turned to me expectantly and I swallowed.
I turned to Zorathys and whispered to him. "Why are they staring at me?"
"You’ve not eaten anything, Firefly." He told me.
I paused. "Oh."
"Yes oh." He told me in reply. "Eat something so we can get out of here."
I nodded and straightened in my seat. But no matter how much I tried, my body would not comply, my hands suddenly felt too large.
I stared at the numerous cutleries placed on the table. I would have been overwhelmed if not for the lecture Morthen had given me.
Eleven cutleries were placed right next to my plate. And I knew every single one of them.
To my right, closest to my plate, rested the Primary Flesh Divider — its crescent blade gleaming faintly beneath the light, runes whispering along polished bone.
Beside it lay the Bone Saw Knife, serrated and unapologetically aggressive.
Beyond that, the Venom Knife, its serpentine handle coiled in elegant threat.
To my left were the forks.
Outermost — the Twin Fang Fork, its two curved prongs like waiting teeth.
Just inside it — the Grip Fork, three narrow barbed tines and the small sculpted skull at its base, smiling in quiet malice.
Above my plate, resting horizontally, lay the Essence Spoon — delicate, winged, shallow.
Near it, aligned with precision, the Vein Pin — thin, needle-like, deceptively simple.
And slightly beyond, within reach but not immediate — the Skull Spreader, the Marrow Scoop, the Hook Fork, and finally, smallest of all, the Finishing Blade.
I call them the eleven weapons of polite society. Don’t ask me how I came up with a name like that, all I know is that it suits the cutleries.
Imagine if they used these cutleries to fight...I almost laughed at my own joke but then I realized there was really nothing funny about the joke. Big with every demon noble here staring at me like I had their skulls in my hand and I was going to use the skull spreader on them.
That’s one way to put pressure on someone without really saying you are putting pressure on the person. Not that anyone actually...
"Your highness," Ignivar called out quietly snapping me out of my spiralling thoughts.
I stared at the beautiful and perfectly placed food on the table before me.
Morthen’s voice echoed in my head.
Outside in. Follow the course.
I couldn’t stall anymore. I swallowed as I stared at the food once more like it was going to tell me exactly what cutlery to use to eat it...that didn’t happen.
One thing I was certain of was that I couldn’t use the Bone Saw Knife to eat this.
I also wasn’t going to use the Hook Fork, not the Vein Pin either...who even came up with these stupid names?
I inhaled slowly and reached for the outermost fork on my left.
The Twin Fang Fork.
My fingers closed around it.
The metal was cool — heavier than it looked.
I pressed the curved prongs into a slice of velari.
The glaze resisted at first but the root held.
And um...if you thought it would go smoothly from there, it did not. I don’t know how but the fork slipped.
The prongs scraped faintly against porcelain and my pulse increased.
I adjusted my grip, angling the fangs more sharply, attempting to spear the slice cleanly.
The emberroot bent under pressure but did not separate. It was too thick and dense.
The Twin Fang Fork was meant for resistance that moved.
This resisted by weight.
My hand trembled that I felt the skull of the Grip Fork laugh at me from how I was making a fool of myself.
Just as I attempted again, warmth settled over my fingers. I paused and turned and locked eyes with Zorathys.
He didn’t spare me a look. He just calmly removed the cutlery from my hand and placed a knife and fork in it.
Then he relaxed in his chair. And spoke in that lazy drawl of his.
"Who placed weapons instead of cutleries here?" He asked.
Kethra immediately bowed. "I’m sorry your grace. It’s a formal..."
"Formal gathering or not, you know how much I hate these cutleries." Zorathys told her.
Kethra stared at him with a frown on her face. "You’ve never said you disliked the cutleries."
"Well I’m saying it now. Everyone should use a fork and a knife and if you can’t then you can use the door. Honestly, the queen isn’t even supposed to be seeing your ugly faces, I’m just doing this because it’s a formality and she’s a stickler for rules." Zorathys said.
I gave him a look. "You don’t have to pretend to me, Zorathys. I know you guys use these cutleries..."
"Rules change, Firefly. And just watching you using the cutlery is work alone. You, of all people, know how much I dislike working. And also, Draeven hates using the cutleries so I’m not just doing it for you." Zorathys said.
"I do?" Draeven asked him in shock.
Zorathys leveled him with a glare and Draeven swallowed nervously and nodded. "Oh," he said. "That’s right. I hate the cutleries."
"But you are holding it appropriately too." I pointed out.
Draeven stared at his hands then flung the cutleries away.
"Holding what?" He asked me, pretending like he wasn’t just holding the cutleries in his hands.
"Zorathys." I said, turning to him and he stared back at me with a half-lidded gaze.
"Firefly, I know you think I’m a liar and you assume I lie a lot...."
"You do." I told him and he continued like they didn’t even matter.
"...this isn’t a lie. Draeven hates using the cutleries, Seraphielle hates it."
Seraphielle immediately drops hers pretending like she wasn’t holding it.
"Caleth hates it too."
I noticed the cutleries were big even next to Caleth.
Ignivar threw his away just like Draeven and before Zorathys could get to Aurelixa, she had already thrown hers.
"See? Everyone hates using the cutlery so just make yourself comfortable." Zorathys told me and the other nobles nodded in agreement.