The Goblin King (14 page)

Roan stared into the endless, lusterless twilight. No dark, dreamless night lit only by stars. No hope of a fat, fertile moon. No promise of a bright, bleeding dawn. Just the endless quest for more gold, as if goblins could create their own sun if they only had enough. It was never enough. There wasn’t enough gold in the universe to fill the need that bored through his chest. Only Eliza could’ve stopped the rot.

And he’d made sure she regretted ever summoning the Goblin King.

He clenched his fists. This ended now. No more games. The druid would die, or the curse would take Roan completely into its embrace. The ground quaked as if he was tearing out the center of the world.

“Elryion!”

The huge crow appeared in the sky. Magic burned Roan’s fingers as he attacked. Lightning arced out of the ground, and the bird dodged. It rolled like a fighter pilot, then dived. The ground at Roan’s feet tore, trying to swallow him whole. He sealed the gaping maw without losing his footing. His soul loosened and flapped like a flag in a tornado, waiting for the right moment to tear free and be lost in the storm.

Hail the size of fists fell from a cloudless sky, forcing the crow to land. One hundred paces away the druid became a man. Too far away for Roan to fight him as a warrior should, hand to hand. The druid was too smart to ever let that happen. He may have been wrong in placing the curse, but admitting it would mean forfeiting his own soul. A price he was too proud to pay.

So it was always a magical fight, both left spent but alive, and Roan just a little closer to the abyss that nibbled at his toes. Today he didn’t care how much power he drew. The cold magic scoured his veins. The gold in his chest expanded, fed by the rage at himself. He’d pushed Eliza away. He hadn’t given her a chance to understand. He’d just expected her obedience as if she were a slave to command.

He melted the ground beneath the druid. Lava bubbled. Red blisters popped and oozed. The druid reformed ground, so he stood in a sea of weeping magma. Roan stalked toward the druid, but the ground sucked at his feet. It clung to his legs as unseen hands dragged him down into the gray muck.

Roan laughed as he sunk up to his knees. If he didn’t fight, he would be entombed in the dust. Not dead. Not alive. One with the Shadowlands forever. It was the fate he deserved.

The mud clawed at his thighs. Roan snarled and yelled, “Is that the best you have?”

The druid smiled, and beside him on the island appeared Eliza.

Roan stopped. The blinding rage cleared and left him hollow. No. Not possible. Elryion lacked the power to pull people through from the Fixed Realm. He couldn’t leave the Shadowlands. Roan drew the gun and fired at the druid. The bullets fell to the ground well short of their target, stopped by magic. He would never get close enough to kill.

Elryion pushed her to the edge of his island. Eliza screamed. Roan fought against the thick gray mud, sinking with every step. Wading through it without magic he would never get there in time.

All he had to do was cool the lava and close the ground. Let Elryion win. His fingers throbbed with unspent power. He could save himself and Eliza. He curled his hands. That would be all it took. That little morsel of magic would gobble up his soul without a second thought. He would be Hoard, Eliza would be his, and the druid would be free.

Eliza begged, pleading for her life. Her long, pale blond hair whipped around her face. As Roan stood still, sanity took residence. She was exactly as the druid had seen her at Anfri’s burning. Eliza had dark golden hair now. The color made her skin glow—lit with an inner fire he had done his best to taint. Roan let his breath ease out. This Eliza wasn’t real. The druid was using fear, his fear and his nightmare of a world without Eliza.

He raised his hands. “Do it, Elryion. Prove how far you have fallen.”

The druid shoved the Eliza-illusion into the lava-lake. Roan’s stomach lurched, punching his ribs. He reached out a hand, barely stopping the magic from leaping to do his bidding. The instinct to save her was so powerful he almost obeyed even though he knew the truth. Her death was over in a second. It may not have been real, but the loss was. He had lost Eliza. A man would have cried. He was just numb.

Unable to tempt Roan into surrender, the druid took flight. The crow lived to fight another day. Another day when Roan would lose to a man who was as lost as he was.

Roan climbed out of the dust and lay down. Two thousand years and he was just as fucked now as he had been that first day. If it had only been him cursed, he would have ended it long ago. He couldn’t die without taking his brother with him. He lay motionless. The cold from the ground seeped into bones that should have turned to dust centuries ago and left no trace of his passing. He was old. He was tired. He was alone.

***

Roan found Dai sitting at the desk where he spent most of his days. A pile of scrolls and maps sat to one side. Occasionally Dai would find a report of some misdeed they were commanded to commit and they would toast the bad old days before they’d had control. He’d seen evil men rewarded. Good men assassinated. They’d changed history without anyone knowing who they were. He wanted Eliza to remember who he was—not the goblin he was becoming. He’d screwed that up.

“Finished your pissing contest with Elryion?” Dai looked over the gold rim of his glasses.

Roan slumped into a seat. He ran his hand over his face. Gray dust clung to his skin like he was already halfway goblin. He’d made himself walk back to the caves. Distance in the Shadowlands, like everything else, shifted to make the individual suffer. In his case, he was sure he’d walked a solid day with his sword in his hand, looking out for goblin scouts who wouldn’t hesitate to challenge him for a crown he was ready to surrender.

“This might cool your heels.” A faint smile crossed Dai’s lips as he tossed Roan a pouch.

Roan caught the dull black leather bag one-handed. He tipped the contents into his palm. The black gems were beautiful but lacked the lure of gold. They seemed to absorb the light then reflect it, like it was their own fire and they burned from within. His hand warmed, the magic that tied him to the Shadowlands gone. In shock he threw them down and the gems scattered over the table.

“What are they?” Roan flexed his fingers to assess any damage that had been done.

“Black diamonds.” Dai took of his glasses, his fingers going through the empty gold frames. He had no need for lenses. “They are said to protect the wearer from the Shadowlands. I take it they work.”

“I’m not an experiment. Without our magic, we are at the mercy of Elryion.” Roan summoned a glass goblet of water. His throat was dry after his walk. He relaxed a little when the goblet appeared. The diamonds hadn’t stolen the magic permanently.

“With every battle you get closer.” Dai placed three small silvery bars on the table. “If the diamonds stop the fade, I say wear them.”

“Is this what you’ve been searching for?” Roan toyed with a diamond, feeling the retreat and advance of magic but no movement from his heart.

Dai looked away, distracted by a scroll on his desk. “Not exactly.” He traced a line of text. “Black fire fell from the sky, blessed by the gods. No evil survived.” He opened another scroll.

Roan pinched the diamond between his fingers and stared at his brother. He wanted the simple answer, not the thesis including references. “What exactly were you looking for?”

“These diamonds were ripped out of the earth. I chased every reference, searched every tomb. The diamonds that fell to earth remain missing.”

Or never existed. It wouldn’t be the first time the writers of old had been less than honest in their scribblings.

“Would the sky diamonds have broken the curse?”

Dai shook his head.

Roan clamped his teeth together. They had fake mythical diamonds that appeared to protect the wearer. That did them no good when he faded. He put the diamond down.

“How does this help to break the curse?”

“A stay of execution, brother.”

“What good is a stay of execution when the axe will still fall?” Roan pulled out his gun and placed it on the table. Could Dai not feel the drag of the Shadowlands? He didn’t want a reprieve, he needed a cure. Death would suffice.

“We will find a way to break the curse. I need more time.” Dai’s gaze flicked between Roan and the gun.

“How much? A decade? A century? Another thousand years?” Roan traced the smooth contours of the metal. He flicked the safety off. It would be over in an instant. No more fighting. No more weight in his chest. No more tugging on his soul. Peace and an eternity of dining in the Hall of the Gods. They wouldn’t deny him. They denied no warrior who fell. He hoped they wouldn’t force him to be reborn. He wasn’t sure he could manage another lifetime after this one.

Dai pulled the gun over the table. He thumbed the safety back on. “Is the gray that close?”

The muscle in Roan’s cheek twitched. Dai wasn’t ready. He couldn’t take his brother’s life just because he was tired of living.

“Until today I had hope.” Roan closed his eyes and made himself breathe. “I believed that one day I could have everything I’d been denied by the gods. A wife, a family. Things men take for granted.”

Roan used magic to pull the gun back into his grip. He knew he shouldn’t be drawing on the Shadowlands, but it had become habit. And it would be a hard habit to break. He holstered the metal, saving its promise for another time. “That day will never come.”

“What of your queen?”

“There will be no queen.” Roan traced the edge of the goblet. The glass returned to sand. Water splashed over his fingers, and he let it spill onto the desk, washing the diamonds that would stop him from using the magic that was claiming his soul. “She knows me for what I am.”

***

Sleep wouldn’t come. Eliza sat on the bed with her knees drawn up to her chin. The bedside light’s glow left half the room in shadows. She checked the clock again. One o’clock in the morning. Hours remained of the night. It wasn’t fear of Steve that prevented sleep. Every time her head lolled and her eyes closed, luminous yellow eyes appeared in her mind. She could almost convince herself they weren’t human. But the lust and pain that raged behind the surface were too familiar. She’d seen them in the clear blue eyes of a Celtic king.

She had to stop thinking of him. She didn’t want to summon him by accident. In frustration she threw back the covers and gave up on sleep. Eliza opened the guest room door and peered out. The house was silent. She padded down the hallway, placed her hand on a door handle, then hesitated. Would going back to where it had started answer any of her questions or breed more ugly, unwanted questions?

There was only one way to find out. She pushed open the door and turned on the light. Forgotten treasures of her childhood lined the shelves. Certificates hung on the walls. The bed was made. The white and rose quilt was pulled tight with disuse. A doll and a stuffed lion were propped on the pillow, waiting for the child to return. She touched the lion’s ear. He had been her nighttime protector. Her cheeks tightened in a sad semblance of a smile. No monsters would dare come near her while she slept with Ruff at her side. Now her faith was too damaged to believe. She pulled her hand away and her fingers came away dusty. The room needed airing.

Across the hall was Matt’s room. Untouched since the day of his death. Her father had just closed the door, unable to pack up the room. Her father may not have agreed with Matt’s choice to shun the four-generation-old family business and study medicine, but he wasn’t cruel enough to cut him or his unscheduled wife and child out of the trust.

When Steve had moved in three months after her father’s death, their first fight had been over where to sleep. In the end he’d bought a new bedroom suite for the master bedroom and she’d given in. The first of many fights barely fought and too easily lost. Now he wanted to turn her old room into a home gym. It was a constant sore. A reminder that this was her house and would always be hers, not his. The pale pink roses should’ve been updated years ago, but her mother had picked the colors, and Eliza had never had the strength to erase what little remained of her mother.

She glanced at the photo on the bedside table. Her mother’s perfect smile and easy elegance captured as she placed a kiss on a twelve-year-old Eliza’s head. Too gangly to have grace, and the braces a hindrance to beauty, her mother had decided that Eliza should concentrate on her studies. The stage was not for her. Her mother had been right. Eliza was more than happy to drop the drama club and step away from the limelight.

With her mother’s death, her father had shrunk. Work had become his sole passion. Eliza closed her eyes. The day she’d been accepted into law school was the first time he hadn’t looked through her in search of his wife. The acceptance letter was still pinned to the corkboard. She opened her eyes and ripped down the letter. Once it had filled her with pride, now it was worthless. She scrunched the paper and let it fall to the floor.

It had been five years since she’d studied law. Her shoulders sagged.

She’d be lying if she’d said she missed it. But working as a legal secretary at the family firm, the half-hidden looks of pity from the other lawyers, rankled.

Had law ever been her dream? Or just a cry for attention?