Nex snorted. “You always look like a dick, Xaedren. It's part of your charm. Now, back the fuck off. Like Rath said, the kid's had a hard day. He just found out he's the key to winning the war. Give him some space.”
Lord Xaedren grunted, then laid a hefty hand on my shoulder. “I'm sorry about your family. I have never approved of the cleansings.” Then he turned around and rejoined his fellow Lords, all of them standing once more.
I took a deep breath, then let it out on a shudder. “I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have done that. You just . . . surprised me.”
“Nah.” Lord Keltyr grinned. “That was fucking perfect. You proved yourself and put Xaedren in his place at the same time. Well done, kid.”
“My name is Ember,” I said.
“His name is Ember,” Keltyr repeated to the room, as if that were a revelation.
“No shit,” someone called out. “He's about to set this war on fire.”
“Welcome to Wraith Citadel, Ember,” the General said.
And just like that, I let go of my fear, anger, and doubt. I was welcome there. Holy shit.
Chapter Eight
More questions followed my acceptance, but Nex took care of most of them. While the Wraith Lords gathered around me, each one welcoming me with a pat on the back or by shaking my hand, a steady flow of Creen servants came into the room and deposited serving platters full of food on the buffet table behind me. Despite their short stature, or maybe because of it, the Creen wove through the crowd with ease, their little faces beaming, all of them pleased to be of service. I'd heard about Creen and how they were often hired as household staff, but I'd never met one, and I couldn't keep my attention from wandering to the little people, no more than three feet tall, with delicate antennae extending from their foreheads. Also, they were carrying food, and I was starving.
“Enough of this,” the General—whose name was Ranor—declared. “Let's eat!”
The Wraith Lords lined up at the left end of the buffet table, where empty plates were stacked, and went down the table, collecting their food, all nice and orderly. Rath led me to the front of the line, and the Lords let us cut in. He handed me a plate, and I scooped heaping helpings onto it. My mouth watered, then my stomach rumbled. There was roast beef, roasted chicken, and roasted pig. A lot of roasting going on in the citadel kitchen. Then there were vegetable dishes like buttered turnips, candied carrots, and sauteed mushrooms. And, to sop up the gravy, there were baskets of freshly baked bread.
Rath chuckled when he saw my pile of food and set a chunk of warm bread atop it. “This way, little spark. Try not to lose any of that along the way.”
“Do I have to be alittlespark?” I asked. “Isn't that implied?”
“All right. Spark it is.” Rath waved me to a table.
“Thanks.” I sat down at one end, opposite him, and dug in.
“How about Sparky?” Nex asked as he joined us, taking a seat beside Rath. “I had a dog named Sparky once.”
I scowled at him as I chewed.
“Some wine for you, my lords.” A Creen woman set tankards down before us.
“Thank you,” I murmured around my food and tried not to stare at her pale antennae.
She beamed at me and hurried off.
Washing down the food with a long drink of watered wine, I groaned. Then I set the tankard down and set back into my meal. In between bites, I admired the weapons hung on the walls in artistic arrangements, not at all surprised that the Wraith Lords used them as art.
“You really are hungry,” Rath said.
“Mm-hmm,” I kept shoveling food in my mouth. “This is so good. What did they do to this chicken?”
“I think they put it on a spit.”
“I take it you're not a good cook?” Nex asked.
“Terrible.” I rolled my eyes. “I haven't eaten this good since . . .” I trailed off.
“Since your parents passed?” Rath asked.
I nodded.
