He spins, anger flaring in his amber eyes. “What is it now?”
I worry my lip, twiddling my thumbs. “What… what’s your name?”
His eyes widen, and then finally, he loses the ability to speak. He swallows, brushing his gloved fingers over his cotton cravat as he mutters under his breath.
I take a daring step closer. “I’m sorry. I didn’t quite catch that. Would you—”
“It’s Tegwyn.”
I move back, repeating his name. “Tegwyn. Such a beautiful name.”
He rolls his eyes. “You humans really are good at lying.”
My mouth parts in shock. “I wasn’t lying.”
With an exasperated sigh, he moves for the tunnel. Yet before he departs, I say, “I’m Ivy. Just in case you wanted to know my name, too.”
I know he never asked, but I thought it would be polite. Besides, he only has to know the short version.
As if I would ever give him my full name.
Tegwyn stops, studying me carefully. Again, I can’t read his face since it’s shrouded in shadow, but his eyes do gleam.
He slips his hand into his coat pocket, passing me a bronze knife. "Here. Heather grows in abundance this time of year. When you return, you will find a stack of fresh linen in your room. Stuff it with heather and make yourself a bed.”
I’m not sure what to say. I was not expecting his thoughtfulness.
“Thank you,” I reply, but he’s already gone.
That’s all right. Because the first genuine smile I’ve had in over a week spreads across my face, and maybe life with the horned faerie won’t be so bad after all.
7
Tegwyn
Iwaitwithbatedbreath while the goblin investigates the necklace. One of his beetle-black eyes is currently amplified by his monocle, giving his already haphazard face an even more alarming appearance.
His clawed finger caresses the diamond pendant, making my eye twitch. He’s taking his sweet ass time, and it’s more than I can bloody take.
When he displays his teeth, going as far as tolickthe necklace with his tongue to confirm its quality, I palm my face. So uncouth, but that’s the way of the goblin. They’re as vicious as they are greedy, and this one is no exception.
I suppose I’m not much different. I, too, take delight in all things that shine and sparkle.
The goblin’s grating breaths are like a hacksaw to my brain, and he's putting me on edge.
Finally, he finishes his careful ministrations, fixing me with his cold stare. “Five gold pieces.”
It’s like someone punched me in the gut.
I shake my head. “No. That necklace must be worth at least fivehundredpieces. Look at the sigil.”
The goblin sneers. “Five pieces.”
I slam my palms down hard, raking my claws through the faded wood of his worktop to get my point across, yet the goblin displays little fear.
He merely stares, his beetle-black eyes completely unimpressed, and it doesn’t look like my pitiful attempts at coercion are going to work in my favour. He’s as old as time itself; I bet he was a wee lad during the Goblin Wars a thousand years ago.
I give him back his personal space, inhaling deeply. Then I meet his amplified eye, noticing how it shines blood red in a certain light. “I don’t think you quite understand. That is aSeaworthsigil. One of the oldest kingdoms in the country.”
