She doesn't say that it's a wedding gift, but then she's probably unaware that the preparations have gone ahead, something I’ll have to tell her at some point. The Fates require her consent to seal our souls together, whatever torture I’ll have to exact to get it.
I look at Reed, still shadowing the witch as he has for days, having taken on the task, at Roan's request, to learn everything he can about her.
He steps forward, nodding his head slightly at the soldier as the witch did, before he reaches for the straps on the smallest of the wagons, which came to a halt directly behind the goblin soldier.
Reed lifts the covering. His eyebrows rise, and he glances back at me. “It's plants. Dozens of plants in pots, all looking in full bloom and in perfect health.”
The witch’s eyes light up as she scurries over to him, murmuring quietly in the goblin tongue. The soldier smiles at her, his face transforming as they converse in that harsh foreign tongue like old friends. After a long stream of this, the witch finally remembers she has an audience of high fae, poised and ready to slit both of their throats for the scheming and conniving the two of them are clearly doing.
She turns back to me and says, with a carefully sedate face, “The Goblin King has gifted Yregar with a full crop of medicinal plants and herbs. He’s even preserved a fae flower in full bloom for us—the plant is in spectacular condition. Most of these will flower straight away, I won't have to wait for them to take root, like the cuttings I brought from the forest.”
There’s a carefully controlled joy in her voice, but she's very careful about the way she’s choosing her words, as diplomatic as even the most seasoned Unseelie Court member.
It doesn’t fool me. The soldier was clear. This is not a gift for Yregar—this is for the witch alone, and he was sent here with an army to deliver it to her.
The Goblin King had every intention of denying us the trading route and leaving my people to starve. A single conversation with her was enough to change the male’s mind and win his favor, if the witch is to be believed. It was the mention of her name alone that caused the change.
Roan stares at the wagon with his arms crossed tightly, calculating and making his own guesses of what's happening, but Tauron is barely containing his ire, his temper coming to life. He murmurs to me, low enough that only the high fae can hear and in the old language to hide it further, “It’s not just plants! Don’t be blinded by his aid, Cousin—he's offering her allegiance over you. He's siding with the witches.”
Roan makes a dismissive noise. “Only if the witch is truly our enemy. Otherwise, he's offering his loyalty to your mate and the queen who will sit at your side. Your father fought forcenturiesto gain that man's respect and failed. She’s gotten it with one meeting. I wouldn’t dismiss that easily, Soren.”
We had discussed the interaction at length, all of my family picking over the smallest of details, but without knowing what was said between the witch and the Goblin King, we didn’t have much to go on. Thisgiftonly raises more suspicions within me.
Firna steps back out of the castle, her eyes shrewd as they trace over the small wagon still burdened with greenery gifts for my witch mate, but she bows as she addresses me. “All of the supplies are there, Your Highness, everything we sent for. This should see us through an entire moon of feeding all of Yregar, with extra in case more refugees arrive in the village.”
The soldier murmurs with the witch, taking her through each of the plants as though he has some knowledge of these things, and when he pauses at Firna's words, he turns to the witch with a question. It's hard to tell the inflection with the goblin language. To the casual observer, they look as though they’re fighting with the harsh tones, but the witch hesitates before she turns back to me.
“The Goblin King has offered his forces to see the wagons across the kingdom and to Yregar for the next two trips as well. He has another gift he would like to send to me. He didn't bring it this time, because it’s far more precious than the plants, and he didn't want us to turn them away at the wall.”
Her tone is apprehensive, aware of the suspicious nature of such an offer, and I look over the soldier once more.
He's taller than the others. His skin is the same color, but he doesn’t have the tusks or horns of most goblins, though his tail whips around. Whether he's simply younger and hasn't yet grown into such features or is maybe a part-blood, his station within the forces and his being trusted with such negotiations speaks to a higher position. The way he holds himself and moves is that of a seasoned warrior, a confidence that can’t be taught or faked. The Goblin King chooses his ranks by skill alone, and there's every chance that, though he lacks the fearsome features of the goblin army outside the wall, he’s the most dangerous of them all.
“The wagons wouldn't have made it here without them,” Roan says softly, and I look at Tyton for a moment, trusting his magic and the way the Fates speak to him more clearly than they've ever spoken to me.
He scowls at the empty wagons, already picked clean by the staff as they rushed to store the provisions. His gaze runs over the wagons and lingers on the goblin soldier for a long while before he turns to me.
With a grimace in his brother's direction, predicting Tauron’s reaction to his words, he says, “They’re just plants.”
Nothing else matters—the offer is impossible to refuse. There's no telling what the next gift could be, but unless we're willing to form our own army to wait at the Goblin Lands’ edge for the next shipment, our hands are tied. We would have to leave Yregar with half its forces to do that.
Darick was clear that the witches killed the scouts and were waiting at the border of the Goblin Lands for the supplies. Whatever spies the witches have, they know our movements. They got so close to dealing us a devastating blow, one we couldn’t recover from.
My eyes turn toward my Fates-cursed mate as she bows and smiles at the goblin soldier, and my suspicions of her grow stronger.
Was our meeting truly the first time she’d spoken to the Goblin King, or did they know one another before? How is she getting information back to Kharl and his forces, and how did she transform from the little witch in the Ravenswyrd Forest who lost everyone into a supporter of his regime? She plays her part well, fabricating her stories of loss and grief to pull at our heartstrings, the venom in her voice as she snarls at any degradation of their memory, and yet there's no doubt she’s hiding her true nature from me.
“Tell him we accept the offer and thank the Goblin King most humbly for it.”
The witch stares at me, suspicion dripping in her gaze, but she nods and murmurs to the soldier at my command. She smiles at something he says in return, then leans forward to pick up a potted plant as they get back to their jovial interaction once more. She turns to Reed and asks for help moving the bounty to the healer’s quarters and, with a distrustful stare from Reed at the goblin soldier, they leave without another glance in my direction. All the soldiers of Yregar watch them as they pass, the castle filled with tension at the goblin soldier’s presence.
Tauron shoots the male a ferocious look before he follows them, muttering viciously under his breath.
I stand and wait until the last of the wagon is emptied of the Goblin King's gift, the smell of dirt and life still clinging to the wooden slats. Nothing about this gift bodes well for me, but with the lives of hundreds hanging in the balance, I have no choice but to accept it for now as I prepare myself for whatever deception is to come.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-SEVEN
Rooke
