The Goblets Immortal

by Beth Overmyer

  “As much ill as you think of me, I did not relish the thought of another one of the Blest being murdered. Too few of us left.”

  Aidan let out a low breath. “Us? So you were one of the children? You are one of the Bl—”

  The crack widened, but not by much. “What of it?” She seemed even older now, more tired.

  “When you said you are no fortune-teller….”

  “And one I am not. Seer’s a fun title, but it does not make up for what the Circle has done – and Meraude, in her turn. Now, before you go telling all of the world our secrets, be mindful. It is no coincidence that the goblins found you and then the nymphs. You’ve got a mark on you, one that won’t wash off. Don’t go attracting any more attention. We’re easy enough to find as it is.”

  Aidan opened his mouth to say something, though he could not think what, so he closed it at once.

  The woman, Larkin, gave him a knowing smile. “That’s better. We’ll discuss our next course of action in the morning. Until then, I suggest you stay in your room, the both of you.”

  Aidan nodded. He did not know what to make of this woman. He needed time to think, to clear his head. What he really needed was a walk out in the wild, with no Pulls but nature’s to contend with.

  She shook her head. “You know as well as anyone what would happen to her if you up and left in the night.”

  “I wasn’t going to—” Oh, what was the use? She’d seen what she had seen; perhaps there was a version of him in the near future that abandoned them both, the girl and the seer. He wasn’t sure how Larkin’s ability worked.

  The woman nodded. “Good. I haven’t seen much, but you need to keep your door bolted. No matter what you hear in the square. Tonight, your focus needs to remain on the Goblets.” She nodded and muttered to herself and, hands shaking, she slammed the door in his face and took her own advice by bolting it. There was a terrible wail on the other side of the door, and the floorboards crunched as the strange woman’s Pull moved away.

  He raised his fist one more time to knock and ask if she was all right, but he thought better of it and turned back to his own quarters. The door was still shut, and he dared not try the handle. Distraught and confused, Aidan turned and moved back toward the chair. That is when Slaíne’s Pull slackened and the bolt was thrown open. No one emerged. The Pull retreated, back toward the solid mass whose Pull must be the bed.

  Frowning, Aidan approached the door with a soft tread and rapped gently on the doorframe. “Slaíne? Mightn’t I—”

  “Door’s unlocked, sir.”

  He pushed the door open. It groaned on its hinges, and Aidan heard a few muttered complaints from their neighbors. He shut and bolted the door. When he turned around, Slaíne was in the small bed, her back to him.

  Upon quick examination, Aidan found that there was a blanket and a pillow sitting on the chair near the fireplace, which was now crackling merrily. He looked over at the tub of water, which was murky and tepid to the touch. It would be easy enough to Dismiss the dirt and oils from it. Perhaps he would…in the morning, and without the girl there, of course. Now all he wanted was to lie down and sleep

  With a soft grunt, he placed the pillow down on the floor and settled down on the small area rug before the blaze. He covered himself with the blanket, noticing she had left him the thicker one. The gesture wormed its way into his heart, and he tried very hard to think of something other than the warmth spreading through his chest.

  As he settled, sleep crept up on him, drawing him into a dreamless rest. And resting on the edge of unconsciousness, he heard a soft voice singing.

  “A gent had me soft heart in his pocket

  Tiddily do tra la day

  A gent had me poor heart in his pocket

  O it bled, and he did not do nothin’

  Woe, woe, tiddle do tra la day

  O me heart, he reft it in three small parts

  Tiddily do tra la lee

  O me heart, left berefted and wasted

  Bled dry as paper, no love left for me

  Tiddily do tra la la lee.”

  * * *

  Aidan woke from his sleep feeling rested and untroubled. But the world, he observed upon rising to his feet, was still dark. With no frame of reference other than the sky, Aidan moved to the window, saw the waning moon on its decline, and guessed it to be two in the morning.

  A glance at Slaíne, and he was reassured that he had not been too noisy in his movements. She must have grown overheated during the night, for her coverlets were thrown over, revealing the greenish yellow of her long-sleeved day dress.

  He squinted in the darkness, looking around for the boxes. They were piled on the floor next to the dresser. Curiosity got the better of him, and he approached them as he would a sleeping beast. With one look over his shoulder, he was at ease that Slaíne was good and truly asleep, and he pulled back the brown wrappings of the dressmaker’s boxes.

  One dress was blue, the other a deep green. What am I doing? he wondered to himself. He’d given her the money, asked her to buy herself dresses; did he think she would cheat him? What had he been expecting to find? Frivolities? He knew little of the girl, and yet…and yet he knew without a doubt that she would never swindle him. Desiring to no longer explore his intentions or feelings brought on by his sneaking, Aidan moved back to the window.

  When he looked out, he noted there was more activity in the square than had been there before. The dresses forgotten, he watched as people took to running. Some poured out of the inn. Their footfalls and grumblings echoed below. Aidan felt the men’s Pulls. Yes, they were all men; he could just make out their attire in the lamplight. But why the mob? He closed his eyes and felt for others. It was in that moment, when he realized each man was carrying something, that the shouting began.

  Instinct took over as he Dismissed his belongings and hastily tugged on his boots. He tucked his one bronze dagger in its sheath before Summoning his copper dagger and sidling up to the door. He listened.

  Slaíne stirred and mumbled something unintelligible before sitting bolt upright in bed. “What’s that noise?”

  Aidan held up a finger for her to be quiet.

  Men were still shouting, hasty footsteps were falling, and the sounds of chaos filled the night. Aidan moved to the window again. The mob had scattered, and men clothed in black filled the square. “Bandits,” he said, watching as the pillaging began.

  “Bandits?” Slaíne didn’t sound afraid as he might have expected; rather, she sounded annoyed.

  There was a firm rapping on his door. “Arm yourself! The wraiths are here.”

  Aidan sheathed the dagger and Summoned the sword. Wraiths? Were there such things? If so, there was no fighting them. Feeling as though he was forgetting something crucial, he unbolted the door.

  “Sir, don’t,” the girl said. “You can nay go out there.”

  He smirked over his shoulder at her. “Nothing’s going to happen to me.”

  Her frown deepened. “Aye, there will. If there ain’t no one to watch out for you.” She stumbled out of bed and rubbed her eyes. “Right. Where’s my sword?”

  Aidan shook his head. “No, you are to stay here.”

  “But the curse—”

  “I won’t go that far.”

  Slaíne raised her eyebrows. “Sir, what if you don’t have no choice?”

  That was complicating things. He was wasting precious time where he could be helping. Even now the harbinger was running down the hall, banging on doors for a second time. It was all Aidan could do to remain there, calmly discussing how to go about this. “What is to be done?”

  “Bring me or don’t go. Not that hard, actually.”

  Aidan groaned. “If I don’t go down there, men might die. I have—”

  “Abilities, yes. Ones you don’t want to go flaunting.”

 
Aidan bristled. “I never flaunt them.”

  Slaíne gave him a hard stare. “Never said that. We’re wasting time.” She made a move toward him, the dress slipping and pooling around her legs in the moonlight. There she stood in her underthings, scowling. “Curses.”

  It took a moment for Aidan to regain his wits and look away. “See? You are in no position to fight.”

  “I’ll just wear my old clothes.”

  This was going badly. Shouts had been taken up in the distance, and the town’s warning bell tolled. Every second he wasted here might cost someone their life. But taking her with him was out of the question. “No, you are staying here.”

  “But—”

  “That is an order, Slaíne.”

  She recoiled from the words as though they had bitten her. “So, it’s still this?”

  “Slaíne….” Whatever he was going to say, he knew it would not be enough. She’d never been his to order about; he’d never seen her that way. And yet, here he was, abusing her to save her. He shut the door and threw the bolt. With men yelling for aid, he ignored them. He was a fool. A blasted fool. “What would happen if I went out of bounds?” Aidan wanted to make sure. He needed to know, if he were to have an easy conscience.

  The girl scowled and would not look him in the eye. “Don’t know what you mean.”

  Aidan took a deep breath and tried again. “If you’d run off any farther that day or if I had left you lying there, what would have happened?”

  The bell tolled again, footsteps thundered down the halls. And yet he stayed, waiting for her answer. When she did not offer one, he approached.

  “I want to do the right thing.” When he reached out his hands to take her by the shoulders, Slaíne stumbled away from him. He froze.

  “What do it matter?”

  “Don’t be petulant.”

  Her gaze met his, but there was no spirit in her eyes. When she spoke, it was in monotone, as if she had recited it time and time again before. “The terms of the curse would have been broken beyond mendin’.”

  “And the consequences?”

  She looked away and shrugged. “No more pain, at least.”

  He stiffened. So, it was as he had expected. If he, in his haste, had left her alone and strayed outside the bounds of the curse’s limits, Slaíne would have died. How close he had come to possibly killing her!

  For an eternity they stood there, the first sounds of battle clashing outside their window. The seer had been right; Aidan should never have even undone the bolt. With a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair and turned back to the fire. “You’d best find a way to, er, fasten that – your, gown. It needs doing up in the back, I assume.” And hating himself most fiercely, ignoring the Pulls without and the guilt within, Aidan Dismissed the sword, settled back down by the fire and prepared himself for a dreadful daybreak.

  Her Pull moved closer then stopped. How did she tread so noiselessly? “That’s it, then?”

  “Please, go back to sleep…I mean, if you wish to.”

  Slaíne moved back toward the window, and when she spoke, her voice was tighter than a fiddle string. “We’re not going to help them?”

  “I’m going to wait this out and see what comes tomorrow.”

  She murmured something and clambered back to the fire. For a moment there was a respite from all the shouting and clashing weapons; perhaps the town folk had managed to drive these wraiths, or whatever they might be, away.

  She spoke. “I want my sword.”

  Aidan Summoned it again and set it on the floor next to him. “There. If that makes you feel safer.”

  Slaíne snorted. “I want to help.”

  “I know.”

  “You want to help.”

  He was silent. “I’ve changed my mind.”

  “Changed my mind, he says. Liar.”

  Aidan rolled over into a ray of moonlight. She hadn’t taken the weapon. “Slaíne, this is not our fight.” He hated himself for saying it, but she’d made him realize how hasty he’d been to act.

  “You don’t believe that.”

  He looked up at her. Slaíne had pulled her dress back up and was holding it closed with one hand behind her back. “Slaíne, you have said it yourself. What if we became separated?”

  “Don’t—”

  “Please, let me finish. If we became separated, the curse would strike you down. I will not live with that. I’m not stopping you from going down there and fighting.”

  “Aye, but you are. Not goin’ is as good as sayin’ I mustn’t.”

  Aidan groaned and rolled over again. The world outside had grown eerily quiet. He could no longer feel all the Pulls he had sensed earlier. Perhaps the villagers really had rallied and managed to drive the nuisances away. “Can we not have this conversation? Please?”

  “I won’t let them people die, just ’cause of some stupid curse. If’n we don’t help, it’s on me. My fault.”

  That brought Aidan to his feet. In a flash he was in front of her, in her space. “Don’t. Ever. Say that.” He was angry. Nay, furious. But not at her; it would never be her fault…never if they lived for another ninety years would it be on her.

  She mistook his anger and quick movements and threw up her hands to shield herself. But, as a credit to her bravery, she stood there, ready to take whatever she thought he was about to deal on her.

  Realizing his mistake, Aidan put gentle hands on her wrists and pulled her arms away from her face. He attempted a weak smile when she would look at him, and placed a chaste kiss on her brow. “Please, let me worry about blame. Try to rest.” When she didn’t move, he put a finger beneath her chin and tilted her face up to look at him. “They’ll be all right. I can already feel the enemy Pulls retreating.”

  Slaíne seemed to drink in his words like a dying plant, her eyes glassy as one mesmerized. Outside, the returning shouts of victory broke the spell, and her gaze moved away again.

  Aidan released her and took a few steps back. “Good night, Slaíne.”

  She turned her back to him and returned to bed. “’Night, sir.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The next morning, Aidan awoke feeling as though he had sleepwalked a thousand miles. His sleep had been undisturbed by any dream, for which he was very grateful, but he was weary to the bone. For a moment, he thought of lying back down, but he heard Slaíne moving about, and he knew she would desire to have the room to herself for a while.

  After freshening up – as best he could, all things considered – Aidan went downstairs, took care of some personal business, and went to see about ordering his company’s breakfast. Glares met his quick gaze, and the innkeeper’s wife was even less friendly than the previous night. He knew the cause. No surprise, really, he thought. There was whispering, and a few marked-up faces turned away at the sight of him.

  Ignoring all this, Aidan returned to his room, and heard two voices within.

  “Hold still,” said the seer.

  “Let go,” Slaíne snarled.

  Aidan was seized with fear and tried the door handle, but the door was bolted. “What’s going on in there?”

  “Not now, milord. There’s a wild beast to be tamed.”

  Aidan frowned before clarity dawned on him. “Tell the beast that breakfast should be ready within the half-hour.”

  “Won’t take nearly that long – if she would only quit squirming. It’s gotta be tighter, girl. Quit your fidgeting.”

  A grunt. “Nay. Not that tight,” Slaíne said with a startled gasp. “You are a witch! You got me hair in the laces.”

  Suppressing laughter, Aidan left the two shouting at each other and went to the chair at the end of the hall. As Larkin had said, it only took another ten minutes to do what she could with Slaíne’s dress. Soon the seer stormed out of the room, wringing her hands. “So many tangles! She never brus
hes that crazy mane of hers.”

  Aidan mashed his lips together before he could smile or chuckle at the agitated seer. The seer was a seer, though, and she gave him a shrewd look.

  “And don’t look at me like that, milord. Hair is a very serious business.” She shuddered. “Well, at least, to most decent people.”

  “Heard that,” Slaíne shouted through the keyhole.

  Aidan leaned against the door frame and regarded the older woman. “You look tired.”

  She scowled. “Never, Mr. Powell, comment on a lady’s appearance other than to praise it to the heavens.” The woman straightened out her skirt and glared at a large stain. But she did look tired. Exhausted, even.

  Aidan sought to seek the reason whilst smoothing things over. He began with caution. “Forgive me, madam. I was out of place. I merely meant that last night was difficult for all of us. I assumed you had as much trouble sleeping as I did.” There. If that would not do, nothing he could say would.

  Larkin narrowed her eyes at him. “Stayed in your room last night, did you?”

  He winced. “Mostly.”

  She scoffed. “‘Mostly’, he says. One does not mostly do much of any single thing. I mostly died. I mostly cut off my hand.”

  Aidan raised his eyebrows. “One could mostly cut off their hand….”

  “Oh, you rascal. I saw—” Her eyes grew distant and she clamped her mouth shut.

  “Did you see the row I had?” Aidan asked.

  “See? No. Heard? Yes.”

  Aidan groaned. “I didn’t know I was being that loud. Forgive me.”

  “Nay, not I to forgive. Ask her. She’s the one that you wronged.”

  That did not sit well. The words chaffed at Aidan, and he shook his head. “I did nothing other than what I thought to be right.”

  The seer regarded him again with one of her cold, piercing looks. “Trust her.” Before Aidan could answer that he did – mostly – Larkin cut him off. “Tonight, when the wraiths return, take her with you.”

  Aidan shook his head. “No.”

  “You might be surprised.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  The woman’s shoulders heaved and she smiled. “She does have the sword.”