Pure Silver Spoon Novels & Stories

He grabbed a shard of glass, ready to fight if he had to. “I am right here, Baker,” said a quiet voice. The Auditor stood at the shelf’s edge. He looked untouched by the fall—his black suit still crisp, not a wrinkle on him. In one hand, he held a tiny silver spoon. He scooped a taste from a jar swirling with green fog. “It’s a bit sour,” he said, tasting it. “Needs more heat. Maybe your planet will give me just the right flavor.” June took a step forward. Every move felt like wading through syrup. Her silver hand glowed dangerously red.

I had no clue. “One thousand gold pieces.” I said hoping that was going to be enough money. Cadogen let out a whistle. “You’re steep. Have you really never been touched?” his eyebrow arched quizzically. “I’m not a prude if that is what you are asking but I have never been intimate that way with a man.” I sat back wishing I would have said a different price. Maybe that was too high. He sat a moment longer, rapping his fingers on the table.

Then suddenly he recalled something. There was a glass cupboard in his room which had some expensive crockeries and cutleries arranged in it. He immediately opened the door of the cupboard and took out a silver spoon from it. Inaayat looked at him silently not daring to question anything from him at all. She saw him taking some water from the glass in the spoon. She thought why he was drinking water from the spoon but instead of drinking it he put the pill in the spoon diluting it in water completely. When the pill was dissolved in the water completely he extended the spoon towards her lips. She looked at his perplexed.

Regina ordered the waiter. All the cooks were astonished, but they obeyed her orders. After all, Regina was also their employer, so whatever she ordered, they all had to obey. Regina took the silver spoon she had prepared. The silver spoon could be used to detect food containing poison, the way to use it was to put the silver spoon into all food. If the spoon turned dark, the food was poisonous. "Em, everything is safe!" said Regina with a sigh of relief. Regina was thankful that the food she was served did not contain poison. Even though Cellin was here, she still felt she had to be vigilant. Either Cellin betrayed her, or it could be one of the waiters and cooks who took care of the food.

A decanter set that costs more than most people’s houses. We are not men who suffer in poverty. We are men who learned to survive by owning the tools our enemies used against us. Elowen crosses to the bar without looking back. He pours two fingers of something amber into a glass and pushes it toward me, then pours his own. His hands are steady. His face is calm. His eyes are not. I take the glass and don’t drink. I set it down too hard on the desk. The sound cracks through the room like a gunshot.

A shimmer of moonlight on steel. Elira’s dagger was in her hand instantly. “We’re not alone.” Figures emerged from the shadows—tall, cloaked, their eyes glinting like stars. Their movements were silent, precise, deadly. Elves. One stepped forward, lowering his hood. His hair was gold as wheat, his features sharp and cold. His gaze swept over Kaelen before settling on Elira. “Liraethiel,” he said, voice like steel wrapped in velvet. “You’ve broken exile.”

The plates and cups look to be made ot pure fine china, the spoons look to be made of actual gold, as the napkin on my thigh was folded by Levi himself, after he pulled my seat for me. The hallway is quiet, eerie, and unfeeling, and I do not hear even a beat, not until the featherlight footsteps of Martha, accompanied by a few other women, carrying the food in immaculate gold trays. The neatness of it all throws me off, not like I expect it to be messy or dirty, but this looks off. The plates are placed gently in front of us, still, not a sound of the plates hitting the table is made.

She opened the tin. Inside, the roots were pale as bone, fine as baby's hair, innocent as anything that could kill slowly enough to look like nature. To the untrained eye, they might have been threads pulled from linen, or particularly delicate dried grass. Julia lifted the smallest silver spoon from the tray—the one meant for measuring precious things, dangerous things—and dipped it inside with the precision of someone who'd done this before. Who'd done this too many times before. She gathered no more than a single strand, nearly invisible against the silver.

I heard a rhythmic, metallic tapping coming from the kitchen area. I threw on an oversized sweater and padded across the cold floor. Silas was standing at my small, rusted gas stove, his charcoal suit jacket discarded on a milk crate. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong, corded forearms, and he was currently using a vintage silver spoon likely the only nice thing I owned to stir a pot of something that smelled suspiciously like actual food.

The wood was familiar, like a continuation of their shared story, and when he opened the box it gleamed—silver and delicate. Trixie’s breath caught. Inside lay a ring: a slender band of rose gold, engraved inside with the words “Luna, forever”. Centered in a pale moonstone that shifted colors in the light, it glowed like hope. He knelt. The wood of the floor was cool under his knees, rough grain pressing through his jeans. He lifted the ring gently and looked at her softer than she’d ever seen him, rawer and more certain.