The Goblin's Crown

Chapter Forty Three: Creation

"Are all faeries this enigmatic?" I grunted in disgust, "or is it just some trait passed down through your mother's side of the family?" I continued kicking the sitting goblin's arse.

"What do you mean? I'm speaking perfectly clearly." Lysander said. "Is that...goblin okay?" He muttered, grimacing as my foot drove home harder and harder.

"He's fine," Knut reassured him. "For your sake, don't try to stop her. It's best just to let her tire herself out."

"Nothing in the Fae's world is ever what it seems! The lovely faeries are all bloody bastards or fools, The Hollow's flowery branches are full of monsters and let us not forget that God, man's great creator, is a goddamned tree!" I reared back my foot and kicked the goblin so hard the big oaf toppled over onto his face. "So for the love of all you deem holy, say what you mean! Warn me properly! Damn you!"

"I did." The Seelie smiled wryly at my sour expression, "You don't like riddles, do you, Goblin Queen? It's a very good thing you seized your crown the way you did then." He sauntered towards us, sparing the treeline another watchful glance. "It is just as you said. Here the most danger comes from places you least suspect. Just take a look around," He reached over my head and plucked three green leaves from a branch. "The Branches are so beautiful in their greenery, it is easy to forget that they're dripping with poison." He set the leaves on fire between his fingers and let the ashes fall to our feet.

Suddenly, he and Knut both flinched at a noise I could not hear. Lysander's wings extended out in their full grandeur. The sun's light filtered through the canopy overhead, giving his white feathers a beautiful golden glow. He glared towards the treeline behind him. "They're coming this way, I suggest you keep running, keep a low profile. I will try to lead them into a different direction." He turned to leave. "Take care, Goblin Lords, may we meet again at Midsummer for a victory feast," His voice pitched lower. "and not a wedding." In a flurry of beating wings, the prince ascended back into the sky.

"Let's go." I grabbed Knut, watching the sky warily until Lysander was out of sight. "We need to get as far away as we can." Truthfully, I did not entirely trust Lysander not to lead the Unseelie soldiers straight to us. I'd trusted a faerie wholeheartedly once before and promised myself never again.

We kept moving, making our way further and further into the Branches. With each passing day's journey, the leaves thickened with new greenery, the limbs drooping more and more with bountiful fruit.

Despite his fatigue, Knut insisted on carrying me on his back. The Hollow's blood had given me speed, but the goblins were still faster, their bodies made to climb the world tree.

I heard Knut suck in a deep breath of The Hollow's sickly sweet perfume. "We're crossing into The Summer Branches." His steps suddenly stilled. "Let's break camp here. I need to get started building your horde."

The goblins had our tent pitched and a smokeless fire burning in moments. Knut wasted no time. He sat on the ground facing the flames as goblins began to pour out of him. They swirled around us in a haze of green fog, their devilish faces taking shape within.

I sat near him, watching in awe as he worked, listening to his thoughtful muttering. He listed traits like long limbs and knife sharp claws as he gave them form.

Creating goblins for him was like an artist or a sculptor giving life to an image in his head. He wasn't always pleased with the outcome. Those failures he would discard and begin anew. It was no wonder why Goblin Kings had never been overly attached to their wives before. Just as Knut had said, whether he himself created the bride or not, an artist has an eye for flaws. To think that to Knut I was the pinnacle of perfection. At least someone had finally noticed.