Chapter 7 Tegwyn
Tegwyn
I wait with bated breath 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 to lick the 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 five hundred pieces. 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 a Seaworth sigil. One of the oldest kingdoms in the country.”
He shows me his jagged teeth. “Do I look like the sort who cares about some forgotten kingdom, boy? Five pieces. That’s my final offer.”
My jaw ticks, and then I resist the urge to punch him in that crooked cucumber of a nose. I plead my case further. “They lived on the back of a giant sea monster. Does that amount to anything?”
I must appear desperate, but I don’t care; I need the money.
“Two gold pieces,” he growls.
I dig my claws in that little bit more, gouging the rotten wood of his worktop. Bloody old codger. He’s just asking for a black eye, yet his mind is set. Two gold pieces.
Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut, but it looks as if the swindler got swindled in the end.
Poetic justice, I guess.
The only reason that necklace was in my possession in the first place was because I tricked some gullible girl into thinking she owed me. I’m getting exactly what I deserve.
But I still stand by my belief. That sigil is worth at least five hundred gold pieces. More than enough to buy my safe passage across the Haunted Sea.
Ivy’s face rises up before me, and I blink her away. It’s as if she’s burned into my retinas, because every time I close my eyes, there she is, smiling at me.
I recall our conversation in the tunnel, and I just don’t understand why she’d been so civil with me.
I have been nothing but uncivil, yet she offered me a sweet, dimpled smile all the same.
I know what she’s doing.
She won’t charm me so easily. I’m as stubborn as solid brick.
I snatch the necklace back from the goblin’s withered hand, showing him my back. “You can shove your two gold pieces up your bunghole.”
He scoffs. “Suit yourself. And a word of advice—don’t go walking around these parts carrying that human filth like some good-for-nothing scallywag. Unless you want to get lynched. Also, take a bath. You stink of human.”
The goblin slides the shutter over his window, and once he’s out of sight, I sniff my coat. Ivy’s honeysuckle scent clings to the leather. How is that possible? We’ve barely spent any time together.
I glance over my shoulder. The goblin’s shop sits snugly inside a muddy hillock, one hidden by thick moss and craggy rock.
He's the closest pawnbroker this side of the mountain. There are others, of course, but I’m too tired to search for them now; I just want to head home and kick my legs up on the table.
Besides, Ivy will be missing me. Mustn’t keep her waiting.
I scowl at the wreckage of the cave, finding a quiet spot in the shadows where no one can see me.
The moment I returned home, I ransacked the entire mountain from top to bottom, but in the end, my efforts yielded no results.
No scrap of gold whatsoever.
I still don’t have enough. I pick up a vase, smashing it against the wall. Maybe I could sell a few of my stolen goods. Or perhaps I could go down south and pilfer more towns.
But then I’d have to leave Ivy alone in the mountain. Not that she’s any concern of mine, but I’d be breaking the terms of our contract if I left her here to defend herself, and I refuse to be in debt to a human.
No matter how pretty she may be…
I promised her sanctuary and protection, and to go back on my word would break the ancient lore of my people.
Besides, human treasure is worthless to the Fae. They look down on anything crafted by the hands of men. I may have to search for alternative methods of travel. One way or another, I will be getting on a boat by winter’s end.
And I know just the Fae who can help me get there. Bannog the Bold.
He lives in a village just west of the mountain. He’s a clothier by trade—he weaves cloaks and glamours of the finest quality, and the best part—they are completely permanent.
A faerie never has to worry about budgeting their magic with one of Bannog’s designs. But his glamours aren’t cheap, and I may as well just dig the knife in now.
A piece of broken porcelain lies on the ground beside me, and I pick it up with my gloved fingers, losing myself in its floral design.
It looks and smells just like honeysuckle. Her scent really does linger.
I still don’t understand what circumstances brought her here. Humans don’t dare venture this far north unless they have a death wish.
Maybe she is running from someone. That fair-haired maiden is keeping something from me, and I’m going to find out. I always do.
My eyes skim over the wreckage, landing on a discarded vase. A spray of flowers spills out like guts, and I roll my eyes.
She’s certainly making herself at home. She even dressed the table in a white lace cloth, and she’s cleaned, too.
The dust and cobwebs are now a thing of the past.
A sharp pinch comes to my hand, and I gaze down at the porcelain shard. I gripped it a little too tightly, and now I have no choice but to use Ivy’s pretty tablecloth to staunch the blood.
The shard even cut into the leather of my glove. How long have I been stewing?
Look what you did, idiot.
“Go away, Rosemary. I’m in no mood for your depressive shit.”
Couldn’t even watch what you were doing. Such a beautiful tablecloth, too. Not like it was yours to destroy, anyway. Just another thing you stole, thief!
A low growl rumbles in my chest. “I said, go…”
She laughs. And you thought the goddess would grant you a favour for once. Turns out that the necklace was as worthless as you are in the end. You’ll never leave this place. You will never be free, never find happiness…
I cover my ears, but my attempts to block out her voice are merely in vain. Her cruelty drones on, slipping through the cracks of my mind.
A haunted cry echoes down the tunnel, and I remove my hands from my ears. What the hell was that?
When the cry doesn’t return, I cast my gaze around, clicking my tongue in frustration. What a mess. I really ought to start cleaning.
A blood-curdling scream splits right down the centre of the mountain, and I leap to my feet, stretching my claws.
It looks as if another banshee sneaked inside the mountain, and this time, I’ll fucking kill her.
I search the tunnels, scraping my claws along the walls to get them nice and sharp. When I find the bitch, I’m going to rip her jugular out.
The banshee’s cry is coming from Ivy’s room, and it’s like the goddess herself strikes me with a bolt of white-hot lightning.
A banshee’s scream can make a human haemorrhage.
Ivy could die in a matter of seconds.
With a snarl befitting a demon from the dankest pits of hell, I hurry to her room, storming inside. My eyes dart around the cave, searching for the banshee.
I don’t see her, but I do spy a writhing shape beneath the furs and blankets of Ivy’s bed. When I yank them away, I find the human tangled up in her own limbs, and I don’t move. I don’t even breathe.
I just…stare.
What the hell is wrong with her?
She doesn’t appear to be suffering from a haemorrhage, and now that the adrenaline has vanished from my veins, I finally see…
Ivy was the one screaming.
She’s deep in the throes of a nightmare, twisting and turning on her plush bed of wild heather. That banshee’s cry still ruptures from her throat, and something tugs inside my chest, sinking to the depths of my soul like an anchor descending towards the seabed.
She looks so helpless, so frightened, and I’m completely at a loss.
So, I just continue to stare. A lot of good I am.
“No, no! Please!”
I come back to my senses, gripping her shoulders. “Wake up!”
Her lids fly open, and then our eyes lock. Her sclera shows, and I can’t look away.
That sinking sensation returns to my gut until I’m drowning in a bottomless sea. What is happening? Why do I feel like this?
Her pulse thumps through her whole body, and my anchor descends, lower and lower, until that sea becomes the evergreen of her precious eyes.
They pin me in place, and any moment, I expect her to scream at the sight of me. I’m just another nightmare in the end—a detestable thing to be feared.
But then her eyes soften, and her shoulders sag as she recognises me. “T-Tegwyn.”
I swallow a lump in my throat. “Yes, it’s me… S-surprise.”
Well, this just got awkward, but what else was I supposed to say? I’m not the most sociable creature.
She shuts her eyes, blowing a sigh from her lips. “Thank goodness. They were here…”
My heart rate spikes. She’s about to spill her secret. “Who was here?”
A sheen glazes her eyes, and it’s like I’m no longer present. “Soldiers. They came back for me.”
I cock a brow. “Soldiers?”
She starts to tremble, but I force her to look at me again, letting my eyes flash. They reflect off her big, guileless pair, and I’m scarier than any banshee.
“What soldiers? Tell me…” My voice lacks all empathy, but I need to know who she’s running from.
Ivy whimpers when I grip her a little too tightly, and I loosen my hold. I forgot to retract my claws before I grabbed her, and I’ve left nasty red welts on her porcelain skin.
That’s what I do: I destroy everything I touch.
When I let her go, she grabs her furs and blankets, holding them close. Now her heavy gasps fill the cave. I’m not going to get my answers.
Not seeing any point in sticking around, I take my leave, heading for the exit. She grips my wrist, holding on like I’m her last lifeline. “Don’t go.”
My heart hiccups, and it takes me a moment to adjust to the sudden contact. I go to make a smart remark, but when I meet her shining, dewy eyes, the words die in my throat.
She genuinely wants me to stay and protect her from all the scary monsters out there.
It’s too bad that I’m just another monster in the end.
With a heavy breath, I sit down beside her, sinking deep into the mattress. It seems she got enough heather, and at least she’s sleeping comfortably.
I was just in a bad mood that first night.
She doesn’t let go of my wrist, even long after she drifts off. When I start to get pins and needles, I still don’t take my arm away. It seems to placate her.
I don’t understand. Does my arm with its sharp claws really bring her comfort?
I watch her sleep. She really is a sight for weary eyes. The oil lamp casts her in a soft glow, giving her face a warm, velvety texture, and I’m tempted to brush my finger down her cheek.
But I would only cut her with my claw.
Well, it looks like I’m staying with her for the night. May as well get comfortable.