Greta and the Goblin King

by Chloe Jacobs

  “What is reality after all, but the process of making connections, forging bonds? Where is it written the only way to do that is skin to skin?”

  Forging bonds? She couldn’t form bonds. Skin to skin, or otherwise. She had Wyatt and the others to consider now. And she wanted to kill Agramon. She wanted to go home.

  He’d distracted her from those goals, but she had to get it together again. This was the first time since falling into Mylena that getting out of here felt possible. Did she dare give it up when it was the thing she’d wanted for four years? How could she, when the boys were relying on her to help them too?

  Shaking her head, she spun around with her hands over her face, trying to find some control.

  When she turned around, Isaac was gone.

  “What—?”

  Can you deny that what’s between us is just as real as the stars that shine above your sleeping body, and the snow that falls around you? Once again, his voice was only a whisper woven into the fabric of her dream. Can you deny that you’re going to remember my touch even after you wake? Long after the dream has faded?

  She shivered, crossing her arms over her chest and closing her eyes. “It’s not the same.”

  The construct of the dream was falling apart around her. As soon as Isaac had left, everything about it immediately became less substantial. She was waking up.

  Will you tell me where you’re hiding? Let me protect you?

  “No.” As much she wanted to believe he wouldn’t hurt her if he found her, she knew she couldn’t trust him with the lives of Wyatt and the boys, and she couldn’t trust him to let her hunt Agramon, and find the Lamia without interference.

  Greta, please. The longer it takes to find you, the more danger you’re in. The call of the moons grows stronger.

  “All the more reason for you to stay away from me.” Her head swam, as if her conscious mind had decided it was time to awaken but Isaac was still trying to hold her in the dream.

  You’ll have more than me to worry about if I can’t get you someplace safe before the moons turn all of Mylena against you.

  She could just imagine his idea of a safe place. Of course, it would have to be secure enough so that no creature could get in, which also meant there would be no way out. And what would happen to her once he had her again? He was the king, yes, but a young king whose people wanted her dead or in chains. How could he possibly hold out against them?

  A chill eased down her spine. “All of Mylena is already against me. I won’t let you lock me up, Isaac. Not for any reason. I’ll take care of myself.”

  Stubborn human. I will find you.

  “Arrogant goblin. I dare you.”

  Find a safe place, then. Because I won’t be the only one coming for you.

  Chapter Thirteen

  She awoke feeling surprisingly rested despite the flood of irritation as Isaac’s last warnings echoed in her head. She almost expected to find herself lying in a bed in her childhood home, but of course, none of that had been real.

  Or had it?

  She opened her eyes and blinked until the ceiling of the tent came into focus. The lines between reality and fantasy were too close, blurring until she couldn’t be certain of anything anymore.

  Did it count as a kiss if her body hadn’t been touched, even though her lips remembered the shape of him, the taste of him? Greta didn’t know, and she wasn’t going to think about it. She had let it happen. She had encouraged it to happen, but it couldn’t happen again. So that was that.

  Thankfully, the crunch of snow outside her tent distracted her from thoughts of Isaac’s mouth, and a moment later, someone rapped on the tent frame.

  “I’m coming,” she called, immediately guilty. She should have been up much earlier. If nothing else, she could have been checking her snares to see if they’d caught anything interesting for the morning meal.

  When she ducked outside with her coat over her arm, strapping her sword to her waist, Sloane was waiting. He honed in on her weapon with big blue eyes.

  “Good morning,” she said.

  “Uh, hi,” he stammered, jerking his head up. “Did you want some tea? Wyatt makes it with leaves and tree bark.” His lip curled, leaving no doubt as to what he thought of this concoction. “It tastes like crap, but it’s warm.”

  Greta choked at the description. “Thanks. I’ll give it a shot after I check the snares I laid last night.”

  “Snares?” He looked like he was going to ask her a question, but after a moment’s hesitation he only nodded and turned to go.

  “Hey. Would you like to come with me?” The invitation sounded stilted and overly formal, making her wince. He probably had duties in the camp. Maybe he just didn’t want to get stuck with her—

  His expression went from guarded to excited in the span of a heartbeat. He actually rubbed his hands together—although that might have been out of cold, the morning was certainly brisk. “Can I show you the snares I’ve been making, and maybe you can help me figure out why I never trap anything?”

  She let out a breath and smiled. “Yeah, of course.”

  With a grin, he ran off to get his gear. “Don’t leave without me,” he said.

  She pulled on her coat and waited dutifully, waving to Wyatt when she saw him standing by the gently smoking fire pit. He bent down and picked something up, then started walking toward her.

  “Good morning,” he said, handing her a steaming cup.

  “Is this your tea?” she asked, bringing it to her face and breathing deeply. “Sloane says it’s really good.”

  “You’re a horrible liar,” he said with a laugh. “But it won’t kill you, and after last night, it’ll help.”

  “Help with what?”

  “You weren’t freezing? Even under the fur I gave you, it had to be pretty cold.”

  “Oh.” She blushed and dipped her head. “Well, I sleep pretty hard. And ah, I’m used to the cold.” She was not admitting that a blizzard could have dumped on her last night and she probably wouldn’t have noticed.

  She took a small sip of tea and paused, wondering what she could say about a cup of melted snow, twigs, and bark. She decided to fall back on Sloane’s less inflammatory description. “It’s…warm.”

  “That bad?”

  She laughed, looking at him over the thick rim of the dented metal cup. “You sound pissed.”

  “I am. No matter what I put in there, it just tastes like…”

  “Dirt?”

  He glowered at her, but his eyes sparkled. “Not helping.”

  “Sorry.” She gave it another chance and gulped some more. Maybe if she didn’t breathe, it wouldn’t be so bad. But after swishing it in her mouth a few seconds, she still couldn’t swallow. It really was awful. “Um, have you tried linberries? You could steep them with the bark and leaves for a little flavor,” she said, thinking of the tea at Maidra’s place. “I’m going to go check on those snares we set up last night, so if you want I can try to find some.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  She gave him back the mug as Sloane loped over to stand beside them.

  “I’m going with Greta to check the snares.” He spoke confidently, but when he glanced up at Wyatt, he paused. “Okay?”

  Feeling a rush of guilt, she hurried to apologize. “I hope it’s no problem taking him along. I should have asked you first.”

  “No, it’s fine.” He turned to her and instead of the irritation she’d been expecting, there was something like relief in his expression. “If you can teach him something to help him stay alive…”

  Her hand fell to the hilt of her sword, fingers curling around it tightly. She cleared her throat and nodded as the mantle of responsibility settled over her. Is this what Isaac and Wyatt felt every day?

  She cleared her throat. “I don’t know about that, but I can teach him how to set a proper snare, at least.”

  “Right,” Sloane interrupted with a dramatic sigh. “So shouldn’t we actually go see the damn snares sometim
e this moon cycle?”

  Choking out a laugh, she nodded and stepped around Wyatt.

  “Greta?” he called.

  She stopped and looked over her shoulder. Worry lines pulled his face tight “It’s okay. I’ve got this,” she assured him, hoping like hell it was the truth.

  …

  They walked the same path she and Wyatt had taken the night before, but Greta was glad for the morning’s light to see by.

  “Oh, look. There’s a Teela bush,” she said to Sloane.

  “What’s that?”

  She bent over and plucked a few hearty needles from the thin black branches. She held them out for him to smell. “It’s an herb. Tastes a lot like sage…I think.” She honestly couldn’t remember what sage smelled or tasted like, but she knew the Mylean version was safe and edible. Luke had taught her that, and they’d used it often as a seasoning in food.

  “Cool.” He plucked more of the needles and stuffed them in a small pouch. “Wyatt won’t let us pick anything he isn’t sure about.”

  “Good policy.” She shuddered at the thought of anyone eating from the wrong plant. “Um, stay away from that one, then. Okay?”

  He followed her pointing finger to a prickly thing with red-tipped leaves. “Poison?”

  “Big time.”

  “I’ll remember that.” She could see him filing the information away. So far, he’d inhaled everything she said like he couldn’t ever get enough knowledge. It was humbling, especially considering how much she’d always grumbled during Luke’s botany lessons. She had much preferred the weapons training. But, like everything else he’d taught her, there’d been a point to the lessons. Maybe he’d known there would come a time when he wasn’t around and Greta would have to fend for herself in this hostile environment.

  She and Sloane kept moving. Every once in a while she was able to show him something else that could be eaten. They even found three tiny tubers, practically a miracle since nothing grew abundantly or very big when the ground was always frozen, and what did grow in the wild was usually picked over by the animals before anyone else had a chance at it.

  The first snare they found was empty, but it had been tripped so Greta showed Sloane how to re-set it about two to three inches above the ground in the narrow, sheltered areas of the brush. She taught him an easy slipknot and showed him how she held the noose open with a few well-placed, thin twigs stuck in the ground.

  He took over then and set one by himself. She grinned when he looked up at her for approval. “That’s perfect.”

  But neither of them were smiling when they re-entered camp a little while later, even though they carried two large hares for the pot.

  They would have had a third carcass to skin for stew, but the animal caught in the last snare had not resembled anything worth eating. Already lost to the pull of the coming eclipse, the formerly squirrel-like beast had been caked in dried blood and dirt. Its fur was matted and patchy, dead eyes wide as its dead mouth froze in a silent, saw-toothed snarl—teeth the creature didn’t normally possess.

  There might not be as much time left as she’d believed. The power of the eclipse was strong. How many normally clear-headed Mylean creatures had already turned and were roaming around, wild, hungry, and desperate? How many more would there be once night fell? And then tomorrow?

  Greta brought Wyatt up to speed on what they’d found and Sloane handed their catch over to Niall and Carter. It wasn’t difficult to see that every single person knew their place in the group, and went about their jobs without complaint. While Niall and Carter were apparently in charge of meals, Jack and Charlie collected wood. Leo fetched water, cleaned up debris, and kept little Jacob out of trouble.

  She was ushered to a seat by the fire while the boys tackled their various chores like a well-oiled machine. Her offer to help was brushed aside, so instead she watched. Niall, who was thirteen, and Carter, twelve, argued over what was to be done with their morning’s catch.

  “You always want to make stew. Well, forget it.” Carter’s hair fell past his chin as he made a face at Niall. Yesterday she hadn’t noticed just how blond he was because he’d been wearing a hood that covered all of it, but today with the sun shining down, he reminded her of Drew. Her brother’s hair had been pale blond like that. “I’m sick of it,” he said. “Your stew is nothing but boiled water and dirt, and it tastes like it, too.”

  “Curing the meat is going to take too long.” Niall’s voice rose in indignation. He was the opposite of Carter, dark skinned with dark hair. And it looked like someone had had a go at cutting it with a flat bladed knife. His hair stuck up around his head in chunky, uneven sections.

  “And how do you expect me to make it taste any better when there’s nothing else to put in the pot but water and dirt?”

  “You could at least try—”

  “Relax, jerkwads,” Sloane interrupted. He stepped between them, dangling the little pouch of needles and herbs they had gathered together in the forest. “Try some of this stuff. Greta says it’s edible, and it’ll make the food taste…maybe like actual food.”

  Niall was quicker than Carter, jerking the bag out of Sloane’s hand and throwing the other boy a smug look of triumph. Carter jabbed him in the shoulder, but then they huddled together, each trying to peek inside the bag.

  Carter looked up at her and the expression of wonder on his face made Greta blush. “Oh, this smells good. If only we had some potatoes too, we could make a real stew!”

  “You should have seen this kid when he first got to Mylena. Talk about chunky monkey. I think he misses his mama’s cooking more than he misses her.”

  Greta winced at Sloane’s crass insensitivity. He laughed, but then he also ruffled Carter’s hair and put an arm around his shoulder like a kid tormenting his annoying little brother.

  Greta remembered the tubers, and stood so she could dig them out of her pockets. She handed them over to Carter. “Here, these should help.”

  Both Carter and Niall started talking a mile a minute and Greta somehow ended up promising to take them out with her next time she went into the forest.

  After a quick morning meal, with the hares simmering nicely in a pot over a very low fire, Ray wasted no time pulling everyone together to tell them about his plan to infiltrate Agramon’s fortress and rescue the other humans. Greta stood silently behind the small group, leaning against a thick tree trunk.

  “Nobody’s going to be left behind,” he said. “But everyone will have to work really hard if we have any hope of doing this.” His eyes reflected a cold determination. Greta would have thought him the very picture of a ruthless military commander if he didn’t have Jacob’s tiny hand engulfed in his own.

  Jack and Charlie murmured fearfully and she didn’t blame them one bit. They were only nine years old and being asked to make a life or death decision.

  Wyatt stepped forward and the whispers stopped cold. There was absolute silence as they all waited for him to speak.

  Their respect for him was obvious. While Ray was the big brother, Wyatt—only two years older—had become the father figure they otherwise lacked. They worshipped him. For his strength. For his wise guidance. For keeping them alive, giving them hope. He would be the final word on any plan to take them out of the cozy shelter they’d worked so hard to build. Greta didn’t envy him that responsibility.

  “Listen,” he started, meeting each one of their wide-eyed gazes with calm reassurance. “I know Ray wants to do this, and I’m not saying I like the idea of anyone being left in those dungeons to suffer, but it would be crazy dangerous.”

  Nobody could argue with that.

  “The truth is, whatever we decide is going to be dangerous, but this…” He paused. “Basically, there are two choices. Each one of them means leaving the protection of the Dugout as soon as possible. It’s not going to be safe here once the eclipse is full.”

  Niall interrupted, “How do we know this eclipse thing is really going to happen, and how do we know everyon
e’s going to go moon phase because of it? Sloane has been here for three years and he never heard of it before.”

  “That’s because I was locked up in a dungeon, you dumbass,” he threw in. “I didn’t know that the demented shit going on all around me had anything to do with the moons. But I actually do remember that there was a time when it seemed worse.” He grimaced and shook his head. “A lot worse. The ones who weren’t locked behind bars died.”

  “Greta tells me it’s coming,” Wyatt continued. “She’s lived through two of these, and I believe her when she says it’s going to be bad.” He waited to see if anyone else would pipe in. “So, we either try to find another place, somewhere more secure to hide out until it blows over. Or…”

  She knew he didn’t want to say it. He didn’t want to make them choose. Not when the choice was between their own lives and the lives of others just like them who would be left at the mercy of Agramon’s minions while the world devolved into chaos.

  Ray didn’t have the same conflict of conscience. He didn’t seem to have a problem forcing them to take ownership for those lives. “Or what?” he snapped. “How can we keep hiding in the bushes when kids are being worked to death in those dark caves as we speak? When the eclipse comes, it’s only going to be worse for them. What if it were us? How can we sit back and only think of ourselves when we have a chance to save the others and finally go home?”

  Sloane stood up and glared at Ray. “And how the hell are we supposed to do that?” he said. “You’re asking a bunch of kids to go up against a legion of gnomes and ogres, and the baddest demon this side of hell—armed with what? Sticks and stones? And since when have any of us ever stumbled across a portal back to earth? If going home had actually been a freaking option all this time, someone forgot to mention it to the rest of us.”

  She liked his choice of words. Maybe if she’d put it as bluntly last night, Ray would have listened when she said he was out of his mind.

  A few of the other boys nodded in agreement and glared at Ray.