Soren glances at me with a hard but expectant look, the heavy weight of the household settling over me as I meet his eye carefully. There's no suspicion in his gaze, but the tenuous middle ground we’ve found has me bowing to him deeper than I usually do before I address the goblins.
Stepping forward, I clasp a hand over my heart as I bow to Prince Gage. He returns the gesture, smiling brightly at me when we both straighten once more. He doesn't seem concerned by any of the scrutiny or the potential war that could break out from his father's gift to me, his pose relaxed as his tail weaves in the brisk morning breeze as though playing.
His voice is roughened by the goblin language, but the laugh in it is clear enough, "Well met, Rooke. I'm glad to see you looking in better spirits than when I was last here."
I glance down at my robes, the only thing that's truly changed, and a smile tugs at my lips, smothered only by my hesitance to draw any further suspicion toward the goblin. Soren watches us both with a searing glower, his jaw tight, as though he’s carefully holding himself back.
"I'm not sure if the news reached the goblin lands by scouts or messengers yet, but I'm sure the trees have told you that KharlBalzog and his forces laid siege to Yregar. I offered my aid then, and in Yrell only days ago, and it's impossible to cast effectively when wearing high-fae fashions."
All three of the goblin soldiers chuckle, and Gage glances over my shoulder at the high fae of the household. "I suppose your husband-to-be has warmed up to you now that he knows the power you wield and what it can do for him."
A very pointed question framed as a statement, poking away at my safety and treatment the same way he did last time. This prince is desperate to throw me in one of those wagons and ferret me back to the goblin lands. His people respect my name far more than the high fae ever have, and if it weren't for my fate, I'd probably take him up on the offer.
With a glance over my shoulder, I make a show of smiling at the household there before I answer. Every action in this performance is for them, and some of the tension around me eases as they follow my lead, their trust in me now strong enough for that at least.
"You'll be happy to know I even have a rug on my floor now, and boots that don't make my toes bleed. Life is wonderful."
The goblin prince lets out a dismissive noise, his hand cutting through the air but a smile still on his face. "You should be dripping with diamonds, every last one of them exalting you. They should know who you are and fall to their knees at your feet."
His words rattle around in my head and trip over memories, the skin around my eyes tightening just a little as I wonder just how much Prince Gage has heard of me from the trees. He holds himself casually, but his tone is serious, no matter the playful act he’s putting on for the eyes on us.
Finally, I wave a hand in his direction with that same careful smile on my face that we both share. "I don't want such things, Your Highness. Come, we've played our games with the highfae and their sensibilities long enough. Shall we truly set the banshee off amongst the sleeping babies?"
He watches me closely but nods, happy to move at my direction, and he motions for me to follow him around the carriage. I learn that the windows aren’t just covered with curtains but also with magic, no sounds or signs of life within detectable to even the keenest high-fae hearing. Whether for the girl's comfort or to conceal her from the high-fae soldiers I don't know, but I doubt the soldiers ever suspected the goblin king’s “gift.”
Gage murmurs to me quietly, discreetly despite the ignorance of those around us to the goblin language, "My mother saw to her wounds, but she couldn't heal the damage to her mind, no matter which language we tried. She has her suspicions about some limitations the female might have, but I'll let you make your own assessments, unimpeded by my mother's best guesses."
My eyebrows pinch together but I nod, and he slips a key from his pocket and unlocks the door, then opens it just wide enough for me to squeeze into the carriage. I hesitate, my good sense kicking in about the assumptions the household must be making right now.
I glance back at Soren and call out to him, "I'll be one moment as I inspect my gift."
He scowls at me, his jaw clenching as he grinds his teeth furiously, but something about our conversation yesterday must still play in his mind, because he inclines his
head at me in permission. None of the soldiers move, but their gazes follow me as I slip into the carriage until the door shuts firmly behind me. I have no doubt the goblin soldiers are now the fixation of that attention, a standoff in the courtyard that will be gossiped about for days to come, but my ownattention becomes fixed on the huddled and shaking female in front of me.
I sit on the opposite bench and lean back into the cushions, pushing myself away from the trembling female to give her as much space as the confines will allow. Holding myself deathly still, I slow my breathing until there's nothing threatening about me. As a healer, one of the most unfortunate sides of my work is helping damaged and abused folk through the most difficult of times, the wake of what was done to them mentally often more difficult to repair than the physical injuries. I have learned how to become nothing in their presence, to melt into the scenery and observe until I can gain their trust.
The female is most certainly high fae, and I let my magic slowly inch into the space between us, the smallest amount that would be undetectable to any but a very skilled witch. There's the barest trace of pixie within her, and it raises more questions about the circumstances of this woman.
She's blond, her hair naturally falling into perfect curls as the easy beauty of the high fae graces her even in her traumatized and disheveled state. She's covered by clothing of the goblin fashions, the colors less flashy than those favored by the high fae but the cut of the dresses similar. There's a scar on the back of her hand, facing out at me as she clutches the bottom half of her face. She's trying to stay silent, to hold in her sobs, and I'm careful not to meet her bright blue eyes as she stares at me in horror. In these situations, eye contact can seem aggressive, and I never want her to sense danger from me. The tears spilling down her cheeks dance wildly as she trembles, and I let my calm demeanor fill the space between us.
I figure out exactly what the goblin prince was alluding to when there's a crash outside, cursing and calls for aid as one of the boxes of provisions is dropped and the household movesquickly to remedy the situation, but the female doesn't startle at the sound.
Waiting until her eyes slip closed again, I speak to her in the common tongue without warning and loud enough to startle her, "I'm here to offer you aid, can you tell me your name?"
Still no reaction. No flinching or twitching, nothing at all.
When her eyes open once more and her gaze darts back to me, I move slowly, so slow that even after her initial jolt, she doesn't react, and I make the sign forhealerwith my hands. Her eyes fix on them as though a beacon of light shines through the darkness.
The woman is deaf.
Whether she's mute as well, I'm not sure, but I speak with my hands, and recognition fills her gaze as she understands me perfectly.
“My name is Rooke and I am a healer. The goblin prince has brought you to me for aid, and I will care for you until you say otherwise. You are safe with me, I swear on the Ravenswyrd Forest and the old gods who walk there, no harm will come to you while you're under my protection.”
I give her a moment, not wanting to rush her, and when her hand finally drops away from her face my heart clenches in my chest at the raw beauty staring back at me.
All the high fae are beautiful, there's no debating that fact. Seelie, Unseelie, those from the Western Fyres and the Dragon Lands, all of them are blessed with the ability to strike you dumb with a single glance at such perfection, but there's something about this female that drives a knife into my gut, an innocence marred by abuse. Finally, as her hands begin to move in conversation back to me, the answer hits me.
