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Jael hesitated. It would not be unwise to bring the young apprentice with him on his rounds—the new runekeeper needed more experience. And walking the Bifrost line to make sure the runestones were holding strong was one of the most important jobs of the residents at Imenborg.
But then, Jael didn’t want company. Not when he would soon have more company than he knew what to do with.
“Not this time,” he said at length.
Math didn’t question his decision, although Jael guessed from the lad’s expression that he didn’t entirely approve. His tactful silence was one thing he liked most about Math.
If only Jael’s family understood more about tactful silence and the uselessness of meddling, his life would be almost perfect here at Imenborg.
He didn’t need complications.
A simple life for him, in the mountain’s solitude, caring for his runestones and working alongside his loyal companions.
What more could a goblin prince want in life?
Chapter 3
Anrid woke from pleasant dreams. Her body felt warm while her skin prickled from strange sensations, perhaps remnants of the golden dreams eluding her.
She blinked into the darkness and stretched luxuriously before flexing her fingers to shake away the strange tingling. The cold hard stone against her back brought a sudden start of clarity.
She sat up too fast, and a wave of light-headedness washed over her. Blinking furiously, she waited for her vision to adjust. Only fathomless darkness greeted her. She swallowed hard, one hand clutching her chest. A moan preceded the stirring of a warm body beside her. Fingers reached for and rested on the hand she had pressed against the ground to stabilize herself.
The child.
Now she remembered the strange forest child she had encountered. A part of her wanted to pull away, to scuttle off in fright from whoever, or whatever, this creature might be. What was he? Where had he taken her? How had she gotten here? Did he intend to harm her? A million questions flooded her mind as she sat frozen in the pitch-black with only her frantic breathing for company. Ruthless stone lay beneath her fingertips. When she strained her ears to search for clues about her location, all she heard was a steady drip drip drip.
That could indicate just about anything short of the desert.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The chamber she was in possessed no other sounds. She couldn’t see and couldn’t hear. It was as if she was in a box with the lid sealed tight, trapping her inside.
Ever so slowly, she eased her hand from beneath the icy fingers resting on top of hers. Exhaling a slow, soundless breath, she gathered her feet and prepared to stand. Her legs shook as she rose with arms stretched to either side for balance. She moved her hands around and searched for anything with which to stabilize herself: a wall, a chair, anything that might explain her situation. But all she felt was a soundless, voiceless ache against her ribs, a knot in her stomach, and sweat breaking out across her body, making her hands clammy and damp.
She needed to do something, but she didn’t know what she could do. Without her eyes to guide her, with only that incessant dripping around her, she had no way to orient herself, no way to determine the right direction to go. She couldn’t detect the dangers that must lurk in the darkness. Many hazards might lie in wait for her. Things she might trip over, or creatures in the shadows...
It became hard to breathe. The ache in her chest and the pit in her stomach expanded until she feared they would engulf her completely. Dizzy and sick to her stomach, she stood immobilized. A whimper tore from her lips.
Something stirred at her feet and bumped her ankle.
“Uh-NEE?” The sleepy voice nearly sent her scuttling into the shadows. What was this creature, she wondered for the hundredth time? A kind of imp sent to lure travelers down into the lair? Was he even real, or was he some sort of apparition born of the Shadewood?
The sleepy fingers tugging at her leggings felt real enough, though... Should she be comforted by that?
This far north, along the border between the forests of Gelaira and the mountains of Agmon, any sort of monster might dwell in the cold and the dark. She had heard stories growing up, scary tales swapped between her friends and the boys who ran the streets of Fangward, her home. Her sister Dagmar was rather fond of dark tales, the more monsters the better. Dagmar often took fiendish delight in whispering about wyrds in the forest, harpies in the canyons, and strange ghostly spirits that haunted the dunes far to the south in the Dunewatch. Just then, Anrid wished she had her blanket and her bed and her sister beside her. She would give anything to be huddled underneath the heavy blankets, shivering and begging her sister to stop her frightening tales. She would trade everything to hear her sister laugh right now, a soothing, familiar sound in the darkness.
But Dagmar wasn’t here. She was far away, left behind in Haldor. Guilt tugged at Anrid’s heart that she’d left her sister behind, although it had not been her choice. When they told you that you’d been chosen to serve your people, to become a peace bride—a peaceweaver—and fulfill the terms of treaties and kings, you did what you were told. Poor girls like Anrid and Dagmar had few choices in life. You went where you were told to go, married who you were told to marry, and did what you had to do to survive.
But this? Being torn from her sister, sent into a strange new land, and carted off to the remote regions of a dangerous forest to marry a dark elf stranger she might never care for... Even that seemed better than her current situation. Whether she had been kidnapped or lured, it didn’t matter. She had been taken from the safety of her caravan and she didn’t know how to get back.
She didn’t know how to get back to Dagmar, not with duty and danger standing between them.
The panic turned into a fist clutching her throat, making her gasp frantically.
“Uh-NEE?” Hands tugged on the hem of her skirt.
She flinched and squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m—I’m here. Um, where is here? Rig? Is that you?”
