The Goblin's Heir

Chapter Forty Three: Cruel Realities

The Unseelie house smelled strongly of wet soil as if it had been buried for many years and recently dug up. The furniture was overturned, the cushions scattered and ripped open, spilling stuffing from their innards. There were claw marks raked into the walls, cutting through the painted stones and ruining the artwork that covered them. The scars were deep, long and vicious, the work of a particularly large goblin I would rather not run across in the pitch dark house. 

"Perhaps Frit should've come instead. I can hardly see anything." I muttered, squinting into the dark. Yet another limitation of this horribly human body. 

"Don't look with your eye then," Cat said over her shoulder. She kept her sword drawn, her body poised and ready should something leap out of the darkness. 

"Good idea." I ripped a piece of fabric from the bottom of my undershirt and laid it over my closed human eye, tying it tight to form a makeshift eye patch. It took a few minutes for my sight to adjust, to switch from the limited human range my brain was used to, to the silver-lit vision of Knut's, but when it did, it was like the room was illuminated by a weak sun, grayed like a world beneath a cloudy sky. Dull but clear. Only the upper reaches of the tall ceilings remained cast in dark gloom.

If Cat noticed the bloody handprints covering every surface ahead of us, she didn't react to it. I grabbed her arm, wrenching her to a stop. "The goblins have been through here already," I said in warning. 

"I know," she whispered back at me. "I see the blood too, but that doesn't mean there aren't survivors here. Faeries are difficult to kill. Unseelie especially so. Is that not what you're constantly reminding us of?" Her eyes shifted away and she pulled herself from me, out of my grasp. "When the goblins served the Seelie, they were hunted until all that remained of them were those within this city's walls. It was only because of Mab that they were able to come back from that and became as powerful as they were...before you. Even once you took over, they adapted to your rule, choosing the wiser path of obedience rather than resistance. They know how to choose their battles, when to fight, and when to bend."  

"All that will do little good against a rampaging, leaderless horde." I huffed.

"If anyone can survive this, the Unseelie people can." She sighed. "They know death better than most of us." A deep well of emotion drenched those words. 

"Are you hoping he's going to appear to save his people?" I asked somewhat timidly. "It doesn't appear that he has."

"Fuck Bran!" She snarled suddenly, whirling around to bare her teeth at me. Her anger was momentary. It faded as quickly as it had appeared, washed away by a wave of gut turning grief.  She clamped her mouth shut and turned her back to me again. I followed behind her, watching her dark head move as her shoulders slumped with despair, bending beneath the weight that pressed down on her shoulders. "I was a fool. I should've listened to you. I thought you were just trying to make my life miserable. I didn't see that you were trying to protect me. I couldn't see how dangerous he really was. I thought he'd never hurt me. I was being a stupid, naive smitten child...You were right, Aunt Matilda. You always are. Damn you." 

Normally, I'd be jumping for joy at her admittance of my wisdom, but I felt no joy in this. Not when her heartache was palpable. "I was disappointed when he left."

She stopped to glare back at me. "Right." She scoffed. "You were probably doing a jig you were so happy to be rid of him."

I shook my head. "I feared he would leave again and break your heart, but I'd hoped he wouldn't. With every bit of me, I hoped he would prove me wrong...he didn't. Unfortunately." 

"Yeah...unfortunate. I'm just glad I never let him put a baby in me." 

I nearly choked on my own spit. "Was that something he wanted?" I asked, stifling a scream.