Chapter Two:
Predators
As far as bloodthirsty murderers went, the goblins at the gathering were surprisingly calm about their leader collapsing onto the now-bloodied, broken floor. Or, well, post-leader, now. I didn't see who'd slashed the then-Erlking's throat, but the wickedly deep slices gave me no doubt he was dead.
Lydian and Soren stared at each other for a minute more, their features morphing back into those of inhuman beautiful, before slowly backing away from each other.
One by one, the goblins took their leave, grouping around whichever brute or she-goblin they served. Lydian, clutching his still-smoldering shoulder, gave me one last sneer before hobbling out with his retinue.
The space were we'd fought was covered by my blood. Raw meat and other delicacies from the table I'd jumped on littered the floor and I wrinkled my nose at coppery smell. With one arm crossed against my chest to stop the gushing blood, I limped back to where the iron nail was on the floor and shoved it into my boot.
Soren regarded the dead king with thoughtful eyes. I stood, waiting to be recognized; hoping that it'd be before I passed out from blood loss. He sometimes forgot that even though the Permafrost made it so I never aged, I still was nothing but a mortal--a mortal currently bleeding out.
One hundred years. One hundred years and he can still do this to me. Despite my attempts to stay calm I was overcome with tremors.
Forget it. Forget it. Forget it. It's over. He doesn't have any control over you. If that was the truth the fear inside of me would disappear like the wind and the festering hate would break free.
Finally, Soren turned, his scorching gaze on me. His eyes, so very much like a predator's now, took in my bloody body. "You brought iron into the heart of the Permafrost," he said, voice scorching.
I tried my hardest not to flinch. "You didn't say I couldn't."
His gaze didn't soften. "I said you could bring a keepsake."
"You didn't specify which keepsake. That's your slip, not mine."
The corner of his mouth twitch. "Perhaps I didn't expect your means of evasion to be so mature." Was it just the blood loss or did he sound actually pleased?
"Mature, Master?"
Now a smile was definitely playing on his lips. A smile. "Mature. Crafty. Not many humans would have thought of it, but after you're exposure..." he trailed off, running his fingers through his hair.
My legs shook. I wasn't sure how much blood I lost, but the black spots appearing in the corners of my vision told me it was a lot.
I tried to keep my eyes on Soren as he spoke only to find it was a bad idea. The way he looked at me chilled me even more; like he was seeing me naked and exposed and taking notes on every feature. What are you thinking? Really? "Tell me, Janneke. If you'd been caught toting iron in the Erlking's palace, you'd be executed. And perhaps so would I. That's quite the uncalculated risk."
Frowning, I said, "I'm sure you can figure it out. Your kind is better than mine at twisted logic."
Soren bared his teeth in a wide smile at that. "Humor me."
I swallowed. "Well, as a slave, normally I wouldn't be engaged with the others swearing fealty unless I entered into a fight. If I entered into a fight in the Permafrost—and the Erlking's palace—it would evoke the law of Winter. The fight would be between me and whoever I fought to the end. The winner would remain and the debt settled. So, carrying iron would give me a head over anyone attempting to fight me and if I lost, well, no harm would come to your estate as Winter's law would be satisfied in my death."
Soren's pale eyebrows raised. "Interesting." His gaze flickered around the empty courtroom again. "Come, Janneke. You need medical attention."
Finally. I thought before falling to the ground.
Pale, cold hands wrapped around my blood-soaked body, picking me up. He said it quietly, but with my head resting under his chin, I heard it all. "This changes everything."
Then blackness.
###
When my eyes opened, I was no longer in the courtroom. I lay on a fur-covered platform, the multiple bear and wolf skins doing nothing to keep my naked body warm. It took a second to register how freezing the air was, but when I moved to cover myself, hands pushed me down.
Tanya, Soren's healer, stared at me with inquiring eyes. Her strawberry hair was tied back, but a few strains stuck to her face with blood. Both hands were covered with it. She leaned back, observing me.
I tried to shake away the heat that spread through my body. I didn't make it a habit for any goblin to see me naked—healer or not. But the hurt and wooziness from blood loss vanished and the gashes on my skin were shiny, pink, new scars.
"You got yourself into quite the fight," she said. Her tone was brisk and businesslike, her gaze although interested was naturally cold. Not like Soren's had been before I'd passed out. Thinking of it had me shivering. It couldn't be emotions, not truly, none of their kind had them.
But the way he looked and sounded, almost excited, almost like there was something about me that had turned our relationship into something more. I wasn't an idiot. I might've been treated better than the others, but Soren was no friend of mine. Sarcasm lessons aside.
"I think I got off lightly compared to my opponent," I said.
"Yes," Tanya mused. "Fighting Lydian with iron in the middle of the Erlking's court, you definitely got off lightly."
I narrowed my eyes at the acid in the she-goblin's tone but said nothing.
When I sat up, she rewarded me with a shove. I wasn't in any room I recognized. The quartz grey walls crowded around me and other than the sleeping platform only a mirror lay propped against the walls. The sliding wooden door was firmly shut and a lock clicked in place.
"Where am I?"
"The Hunt has begun," she said. "We are required to stay in the palace until Soren gives the command to begin."
I swallowed the burning in my throat. The Hunt. "He hasn't gone already?"
Tanya shifted to cross her legs. "He is deciding who and what to take with him. And perhaps he'll eliminate some competitors who are taking their time as well."
I didn't have anything to say to that. I might've never experienced the hunt in person, but I knew what was at stake. Everyone did.
"Do you think he'll win?" I asked, then bit my tongue. It wasn't like she'd say anything but yes.
She stood. "I think he has more than winning on his mind." Without looking back, she crossed the room and unlocked the door. "He wishes to see you in his residence as soon as you're able."
And she left.
I lay there, heart pumping fast in my chest, trying to recall everything I knew about the stag Hunt. The Stag was the symbol of the Erlking's power, the Erlking was the strongest, fastest, best predator in the Permafrost. If the Stag ran from the Erlking, then he wasn't the strongest anymore.
It wasn't just a hunt. The winner would be whoever had the most power as a predator; only he'd be the one to successfully reach and kill the Stag. But throughout the hunt, you could gain more power by killing other competitors. The longer the Hunt, the fewer contenders, but I didn't know how long the Hunt officially lasted, only that sooner or later, the most powerful predator killed the Stag. That meant that more than the Stag would die and unlike the Stag, they wouldn't reincarnate into the new Erlking's symbol at the end.
If Soren died...what would happen to me? That wasn't something I wanted to think about.
I rose, wincing as the icy air assaulted my naked body. Despite the slowly fading ache in my chest, my body looked fine. Or, well, as fine as it could've been. Three once-deep gashes joined the mass of scar tissue decorating my chest and the slash marks from Lydian's claws were ugly pink lines on my cheek. But I was alive and the blood running through my veins was strong. That was enough.
Next to the sleeping platform, I found a pair of hunter's clothes. The good kind. The roughspun tunic was the color of the sun peering through forest leaves and the softness of silk trimmed the area close to my throat. Over that went a jerkin of light brown leather, already soft enough for immediate use. Next to a pair of hunting leggings, made with the same supple leather as the jerkin, were woolen wraps. Carefully, starting at the knees and working my way down, wrapped the warm fabric around my legs, then slid on the leggings. A half-cloak of wolf skin wrapped around my waist and hung down to my knees. With the boots, the ensemble was complete.
The person in the mirror looked like a stranger. A girl with wild gold-brown hair and eyes that reflected the green of the tunic; she was in clothes so above her station another would surely have her head. But they fit her, made her look like a hunter instead of a slave or prey, and somehow they made the broken skin and scar tissue look fierce instead of pathetic.
I couldn't reason why I was wearing such clothes. Goblin clothes. I forced myself to take a few deep breaths as nausea churned in my stomach.
"You have to go now," I said to myself. "Soren doesn't like to be kept waiting."
So with a straight back and a face wiped of emotion, I slid the door open and entered the darkened hallways of the Erlking's palace. From holes in the ceiling light hit gleaming crystals and shattered into rainbows and around me the steady drips of water worked to calm my heart. Compared to the grandness of the courtroom, the darkened cavernous hallway was calming. This was my element.
I came upon Soren's door, knocked once, then waited.
The door slid open. Soren was dressed in almost identical clothing, though his were tailored for a man and decorated with embroidery that indicated higher rank. The complex, looping designs of golden thread in his dark tunic could've only been made by a skilled, human hand. A female slave probably spent hours perfecting it, both relieved and ashamed to be singled out for something other than hard labor.
His hair, normally loose around his shoulders was pulled back in a series of intricate braids. His eyes were still the same, cold lilac I could expect though. Those eyes looked me up and down for a long moment, before meeting my own.
"Yes," he murmured, almost to himself, "that suits you."
I bowed my head. "Thank you."
"Come in, we have much to discuss."
I followed him inside his chambers, eyeing every nook and cranny. They were made of the same grey quartz, but there was a mahogany table and cluster of chairs, the furs on the sleeping platform looked untouched, and the weapons hanging on the wall were far too many for one brute.
He sat at one end of the table, waving me aside to sit at the other.
"You're very tense," he noted.
I relaxed my shoulders, surprised at the ache they gave. "What am I here for?"
Soren smiled; bearing his sharp teeth. "You know what's happening, I presume?"
"As much as any human could," I said. "You're going to Hunt the stag."
"And each other." The smile disappeared. "And whoever gets in our way."
"And you enjoy that?"
"Don't be coy, Janneke, you know exactly how this works even if you like to think you don't."
I lifted my chin. "I know what you are and what you do. I know that this hunt will bring death until the Stag has been reborn. And I know that you all will probably enjoy it much more than you will fear for your life."
Soren rose an eyebrow. "Would you fear for your life?"
"I think fearing for my life would be a waste of time in my position."
Soren chuckled drily. "That is true, although I'd say the same of myself."
"Well, you'd be infinitely safer than me," I said, forcing myself not to be unnerved at his laughter. "You can bring hunting hounds, sworn shields, healers, anything you'd like. And very few would take it upon themselves to kill you alone. On the other hand, I'm not you and my worth as well as the measures in place to protect me would be dramatically lower."
"That doesn't answer my question, however."
"Oh? How so?"
"Do you fear for your life around other goblins? Around me?" He put his elbow on the table, leaning forward with one hand.
"That wasn't your original question," I said, eyes narrowed. "I can play the word game just as well as you, Soren."
He gave another dry laugh. "Almost as well. But humor me, are you afraid?"
I was silent, chewing over the words before I spoke. Yes, his kind could rip me apart so easily, torture me until my mind unraveled, they'd enslaved my people for generations. So many of the things they had—their clothing, their agriculture, their buildings were done on the backs of humankind. Humans created, goblins destroyed. It was known.
"I think I feel both equal measures fear, hate, and anger towards your kind. The one that shows the most probably depends on my mood and whether or not I'm likely to have my heart ripped out by another brute in a grand hall."
"You're under my protection," Soren said with a bit of a growl.
"All of your slaves are," I retorted.
"You're not just my slave."
The softness of his voice, the way the corners of his lips were threatening to rise sent a chill down my spine.
"Then what am I, exactly?" I dug my nails into my thigh to keep my voice from shaking.
The smile came back. This time it was wry. "I thought we were friends, Janneke."
"I don't think you know what a friend is," I said. "I accompany you when you're wanting me for whatever reason it would be."
"Most people would call that a companion. And if I'm right, that's the definition of a friend."
"In this case, companion is a polite word for concubine."
"Usually sex is required to be a concubine." He laced his fingers together. "Though I guess the others don't know that. I protect you because you're my property. You're my property because I like you. I like you because you amuse me. That's how it is."
The door slid open, a young man bearing a silver tray walked in. From his ungraceful gait, the dullness in his eyes, and the bronze collar around his throat, he was a human. A slave like me. Unlike me, his clothes were threadbare, his bones stretched under his skin, and he smelled of sickness and disease. When he saw me sitting there his eyes narrowed and he paused, before thinking better of his action and continuing toward Soren. As much as I hated to, I understood the hate in his gaze. I should be like him, scrapping to survive without exchanging my loyalties and humanity. If I was, I'd never be brave enough to sit here, seemingly without care, exchanging fire back and forth with a man who I'd seen hunt down others for sport. But I'd been by Soren's side for a hundred years—though the decision hadn't been my choice in the first place—and after standing by the side of the young goblin lord for so long, I knew I would never be the same in any human's eyes. And maybe not mine own, either.
The man set down trays of food; raw liver and heart, some type of fleshy, poisonous tubers, an assortment of eggs in varying stages of development. None of them I'd ever consider eating.
Human crops didn't grow in the Permafrost the way they did in the human world. Stalks of corn would strangle a harvester, cotton would try to choke those who held it, fruit would assault you from the air; yet most slaves worked in fields tending to the very same crops that could kill them rather than personally serve a goblin or make their unique cuisine.
The man's gaze shifted back to me before he bowed to Soren. Soren beckoned him forward with a finger and the man came with wobbling legs. Fear flashed in his eyes until Soren whispered something in his ear. Then he noticeably calmed and exited the room.
I couldn't help the stab of pity I had for this man. He might've seen me as Soren's lapdog, but he was in a similar situation. Trusted enough by the enemy to serve their food and hear their words. If I found Soren to be unpleasant and spent most of my time with him; he must've found him absolutely revolting. It didn't help that the young lord was now ripping through the raw meat with long, claw-like fingers and tearing through the tough flesh with sharp canines.
"You should eat," he said as I stared at the blood staining his hands. "You never eat enough."
"I'm fine."
"Are you? The last time you ate anything real was at least two weeks ago."
I narrowed my eyes. By real he meant goblin cuisine. My body was evolved now to digest the raw and often poisonous meals; it was another thing I didn't share with the other slaves.
"If you're so worried about me, I'll drink the nectar again." Nectar was the holy food of the Folk that bound them to the realm. It could restore health to a human slave as long as they stayed in the Permafrost. Most refused it; rather starving to death. I'd taken the drink a long time ago and more since; despite its sweet taste, it always left bitter memories.
"As you like." He put down his food and leaned on his elbows. "Would you like to know why you're here?"
A chill crept down my spine. Now we were getting to the point. I kept the emotions off my face and let myself fall behind the massive walls I'd built to protect myself. Before I was composed enough to answer, the door slid open again. The slave was back, this time with a golden goblet. He set in down in front of me and then hurried out of the room without a second glance.
I glared at the cup of gleaming reddish liquid before taking a sip of the sweet nectar. "Lucky guess."
Soren shrugged. "I know you well. Which is why we need to talk."
I took another go at the nectar as life and energy began to pour back into my body. "Then let's talk."
He leaned forward, chin propped up by one hand. "Most of your kind die before they've come this far," he started. "They waste away in the 'frost after their first few years. You're quite the anomaly; I hope you know that. It makes you fascinating, really."
I stiffened at the warmth in his voice. Unlike other goblins, whose coldness I dreaded, it was when warmth came from Soren that he was most dangerous to me. Warmth was a human trait, one a goblin could mimic but not truly have, and Soren used it when trying to get past the shields I kept up.
"I'm glad I please you."
"Oh, you do. And I've seen the growth in you these past months which has lead me to decide you're ready."
"Ready for what?"
"When my father was the lord of this manor, he had a human slave. Another anomaly, I presume. Others died. He didn't. This man. So he lived and served my father; whom I believe became very close to him. In some, odd, perhaps carnal, way. And then the man started changing. He'd been in the Permafrost, without sufficient human contact for enough time that he slowly became less human and more goblin. Until, one day, the human in him was gone." He looked at me, expectantly. "The change started becoming more prominent around a hundred years in. By the time it was over, you'd never suspect he'd been human." His lilac eyes turned on me expectantly.
Understanding seeped into me like trickles of ice water. No. I stumbled back, realization hitting me like a wave. No. No. No. My heart raced, the emotions I'd tried so hard to rein in already spinning out of control. No. No. He's lying. The look the male slave gave me flashed behind my eyes. Those eyes called me a traitor plain and simple, but they'd seen something else as they walked past. Something I was blind to until now.
"No," I said, standing up so fast the chair toppled over. "You're wrong. No." Panic set in and I looked around me, anywhere for a way out. The only door was where the slave man entered and it sat directly behind Soren.
No. No. I stopped all pretense of trying to hide my emotions; anyone with ears could hear the terror in my voice. Sure, I could think like a goblin. Sure, I knew how to reason like them, I knew how to be serious and I knew how to weasel my way out of situations. I was as well-versed in their courtly life and laws as a human could possibly be. But that was because I had a hundred years to observe them. I was not like them.
Sadness was not an expression Soren usually wore; it was one that terrified me now. I thought we were friends, Janneke.
Friends. For someone like him; a friendship was less about emotions and more about what you could get from someone. A friend was someone who you were more likely to protect, less likely to kill, whose company you sought even if it wasn't required. A friend was someone who could technically insult you with sarcasm without you being compelled to kill them.
A friend was a person you'd gift elaborate hunting clothes; clothes that now had much more meaning then they did a while ago.
Soren stood; taking his time while coming toward me like I was some animal caught in his trap. That's what I am, too. I stood completely still as he brushed his hand across my cheek. His fingers traced over the fresh scars.
"Are you afraid of me now?" he asked.
I turned away from him, unable to speak.
"You're still human enough to think I'm doing this to hurt you," he said softly. "But I'm not. This is because I care for you. Because I see your potential, your power, the force you could become. The state you're in right now; human; we've always known they were the weaker species. It's written; your kind is made from ash and elm while mine was made from blood and fire. It's not your fault the Gods gave you the weaknesses you possess. Even the strongest of my kind feel the lure of emotions. We just can resist the temptation."
My breath was shaky, ragging in my throat. "I don't—I won't—" Refusing was in vain. There was nothing I could possibly do if he made his mind up. I couldn't disobey a direct order and he'd taken the option of suicide from me long ago. If this was what he wanted, then this was what he'd get.
But I still begged like a pathetic child. One who should've known better.
I cringed as he brushed my hair behind my ear. "I promise you'll understand soon. I vow it. We're friends, Janneke. I am doing this for you, as a friend."
I stood there. Every cell in my body ached to scream, to cry, to beg, to run and fight and argue until he reconsidered. It would prove to him I had a human's cowardice at least. It would prove I wasn't like him, not every bit. But I was silent, the words I could've said drifting off into empty space.
"You'll join me on the hunt," he said, "In place of my men-at-arms or healers. You're smart and capable. And I don't have to worry about you killing me to take my power. As I said, the transition will be easier that way."
I pulled away, touching the place where his hand had been like it burned.
My eyes burned with held back tears so I was surprised at the stillness in my voice when I finally commented. "Is that all?"
"We leave tomorrow," he said. "At dusk. You will be ready. Get some sleep."
Numb from head to toe, I nodded and began to leave the room. You can't fight this. A voice told me. It was always going to come.
"Janneke?" Soren called. He doesn't have the right to sound so concerned. Not a soulless creature like him.
"Yes?"
"You have no reason to be afraid."
AN: Questions for the readers:
So, do you think Soren is motivated by something good or bad?
What do you think of her relationship with goblins in general?
Also if you're interested in another story with inhuman characters and interesting things, check out Ashes Come Dawn.