Page 40 of Sons of Sorrow
“Very sensible,” Sylvain said, nodding like he knew the first thing about business, or finances, for that matter.
“In the Oriel of Fire we would mostly barter,” Ember said, deliberately jangling his jewelry this time. “That’s how I got these. Cutler, was it? You perform services in this castle, then? In exchange for currency?”
“Yeah, worked here all my life. It’s not bad at all. They pay well, they treat me good, and the kiddo over here ain’t half bad, either.”
Cutler gestured at me with my used salad fork. I grinned.
“It’s a swell place to live,” I told Ember. “And it really looks like you’re fitting right in.”
Ember’s cheeks reddened, the flames in his hair turning pinkish, a rare and precious sight. “I’m glad that I came with — I mean, thank you for taking me with you.”
I cocked an eyebrow, remembering that he’d all but insisted on coming home with us. But I said nothing. It was cute.
“No friends back home, then?” Cutler asked, planting the tines of the fork on the table, leaning on it like a garden rake.
Ember shook his head.
Satchel’s forehead wrinkled. “No family, either? Parents?”
“Progenitors, right?” Ember asked, looking around the table. “You mean the people who made you? I don’t have those. I just — was. One day I wasn’t, and then I was. Born from the fire.”
My mouth hung loose. If Ermengarde Frost had written about this in one of her many books on mythozoology, I must have missed it. “Is that really how elemental sprites come to be?”
Ember shrugged. “Maybe? Fire sprites, at least. I didn’t really meet a lot of my kind. Most of them were mean. Meaner than me, I mean. The others, well, they probably got eaten up by one thing or another.”
“It sounds like a very harsh life,” Sylvain said. “And a little sad, if you don’t mind my saying, friend Ember. To have lived a life without parents.”
My insides crumpled a little, seeing Sylvain wilt from the realization of what he’d said. If anything, at least it confirmed that he fully intended to sort things out with Queen Aurelia.
“Well, I don’t think it’s sad,” Ember said, stroking his chin. “How can I be sad about something I’ve never lived? That was then. This is now.” He patted his stomach again, like he was checking to see that the food was still there. “I am happy now. I think that’s what matters. Yes. Quite happy, indeed.”
He’d glanced at Satchel when he said that last part — Satchel, who looked like he was about to burst into flames from blushing so hard.
“Welcome to the Wispwood, kid,” Cutler said, letting the salad fork clatter onto its plate. He bent over, grunting as he started to stack the empty plates on top of each other. Ember sprang to his feet, intent on giving Cutler a hand.
“No, no,” I muttered. “It’s okay. He really doesn’t want you helping.”
The castle imps took pride in their work, rarely, if ever, asking for help from others when it came to completing their tasks. As demons, they had alarming stores of physical strength to draw on, enough that the imps filled so many of the maintenance roles around the Wispwood.
Physics could still work against someone who was only four inches tall, though, and an imp could only carry so much. Sometimes I’d offer to help and Cutler would fend me off with a butter knife. It didn’t matter how many trips to the kitchen it took him. Cutler would teleport back and forth and back again.
Some more grunting and huffing, and a few teleportation trips later, Cutler had fully cleared the table. Sylvain had slunk off to draw a bath, the drumming of the water in the tub so inviting. Ember clapped his hands and rubbed them together.
“That was a wonderful meal. Satchel, would you like to go on a stroll with me? I’d very much like to see the botanical gardens again.”
“You should go, Satchel.” I rested my hand in my chin and grinned at Satchel meaningfully. “He’s asking so politely, too.”
“Sounds good, Ember. I’ll meet you outside.” Satchel’s nose wrinkled as he clambered to his feet, fixing me with a suspicious glare.
Ember sped out of the bedchambers, leaving a trail of cinders and the tinkle of bells in his wake.
“Take all the time you need.” I waggled my eyebrows. “Seriously, Satchel. All the time you need.”
“Oh, gross,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I can only guess what you dirty birdies have planned for the evening. We’ll be sure to stay out late.”
I frowned, bending in closer so I could mutter. “Oh, don’t you judge me, you tiny hypocrite. Are you seriously going to pretend that the two of you haven’t been getting handsy?”
Satchel crossed his arms and stamped his foot. “A gentleman never tells. And there’s nothing to tell, anyway!”
