Into the Green 1-3: The Goblin Market, Winterborn and The Darkling Prince: Into the Green

By Jennifer Melzer

Drawn Underground by the kidnapping of her sister, faerie changeling Meredith Drexler must brave the horrors of a world no longer familiar in order to embrace her destiny and rescue the girl from a wicked goblin king. 

To save Christina, Meredith bargains with a heart that is no longer hers to give, sacrificing herself to protect all she loves. 

The fae kingdom is in shambles, all hope for a return to the light and beauty of old lost when their rightful queen allies herself in marriage to the Goblin King. When she sends them a gift, and begs they spirit her son, Jack, Upland to keep him safe, hope sparks anew in the hearts of those tasked with preserving and protecting all that was once green and good. 

But there is another. A child born from bargains and darkness, Krayven has only ever wanted one thing: his mother's love. Cold and beautiful as starlight, he trails after his queen, an unseen shadow vying for affection she would never lower herself to give. Her secrets are many, and he unravels them one by one, discovering within himself a darkness most foul and enticing. 

This compilation contains the novel-length The Goblin Market, the novelette Winterborn and The Darkling Prince, a novella.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dragon's Gold
• Release date: Jul 15, 2015
• ISBN: 9781516306718

Book preview

CONTENTS

THE GOBLIN MARKET

WINTERBORN

THE DARKLING PRINCE

THE

GOBLIN

MARKET

INTRODUCTION

"We must not look at goblin men,

we must not buy their fruits:

who knows upon what soil they fed

their hungry, thirsty roots?"

Christina Rossetti—Goblin Market

I’ll see you tomorrow dear, Mrs. Grisham called. Be sure to bring another dozen eggs. We'll need at least that many if we're meant to get all this baking done.

Of course, ma’am. Christina wound down the path leading away from the Grisham farm. I look forward to it.

Wilhelm, you see her safely home. You hear me?

I will, Mother.

Christina swung her basket along the hem of her dress and skipped a step before leaning into Wil. Her lithe form fit perfectly against his powerful frame, and Wil lowered his thick arm across her back. He dropped his face into the fragrant curls of her rich, chestnut hair and breathed her in. Christina always smelled of springtime, and after a long winter of little contact with her, it was a most refreshing scent.

My mother worries too much.

She’s a good mother. Christina pressed herself closer to her companion. She coddles you some and pecks at you like a hen, but only because you need looking after.

I need looking after? He pulled away to lower an incredulous gaze over her. I think I take good care of myself.

Christina laughed and drew him near again. Who does your washing and cooking?

I…

And who makes sure you get out of bed in the morning?

Well she…

You’re completely hopeless, you know? Without your mother you’d fall apart.

Which is exactly why I hope to marry long before I’m without her so I have time enough to train the lucky woman who’ll take care of me. Wil’s face reddened beneath the blond patches of beard he’d been trying to grow all winter.

Christina giggled. "Whoever she is, she’ll have a lot of work on her hands if she’s ever to outdo your mother."

Whoever she is… As if Christina herself hadn’t been planning her wedding to Wil Grisham since she was six years old. She’d already decided she would help him tend to the farm, and in a few short years they would have half a dozen little children of their own. Until that day arrived, she enjoyed playing the game with him, leading him on and pretending she didn't already know he only had eyes for her.

Well, I am all Mother has since father passed away, Wil reminded her with a sheepish sense of pride. Maybe she holds on just a little too tightly sometimes, but it’s mostly ‘cos she’s lonesome.

Christina lifted the hem of her apron to dab beneath her eyes. Your poor, sweet dear of a mother. She shook her head. If only my mother had lived, I’d have wanted for her to be just like yours.

She adores you, you know, Wil said. She just asked the other day why it’s taking me so long to ask you to marry me.

Christina turned sideways, her eyes wide with mock surprise. She asked you that?

Not every boy can say his mother approves of the girl he loves.

She blinked as though stunned. Wilhelm?

It’s true, Chrissy, I love you. His tone was strangled with apprehension. There, now I’ve gone and made a fool of myself, but it’s true. I love you, and I want to marry you.

Oh, Wil. she turned her gaze toward the grass. The blades were still yellowed from the long winter. She toed the tip of her shoe along the vegetation and clasped her hands behind her back. It all seems so sudden now that you’ve said it out loud.

She felt the immediacy of his presence behind her, and from the corner of her eye she thought she saw him hesitate. Would it be inappropriate to put his hand on her shoulder?

But you have been thinking about it too. I know you have. And all winter long I ain’t had nothing else to think about, and I decided that I won’t rest until you’ve said that you will have me.

Wil.

This time there was no hesitation when his firm hand fell on her shoulder and spun her around to face him. Still avoiding his stare, she scanned the shadowed outline of his family’s farm just below the dying gold of sunset. She trembled a bit at the prospect of committing her future so easily and avoided his eyes, which sought her out in dire need of confirmation.

I promise if you marry me, you will never want for anything. I will take such good care of you, and you'll always be happy.

Hesitation set in. It wasn’t that she hadn’t always dreamed of a better life, a life in which she was the center, in which there was no guilt or reason to doubt her very existence. But what about Merry? She started to turn from him again, resisting the strong grip of his hands on her.

What about Merry?

She’s my sister, Wilhelm, Christina said. I am all she has, and if I leave her, what then?

You won’t be leaving her, Chrissy. We will still be just a walk away from her… He gestured toward the hilltop in the distance where their tiny cottage was nestled. You can see her every day if you want to, I promise.

Christina pulled her lower lip between her teeth in deep thought. She withdrew from his grasp and shook her head. I don’t know, Wil. She followed his gaze toward the cottage on the hilltop. I need to think about things. You cannot possibly expect me to make such a hasty decision.

Wil was silent, his eyes still on her even though she refused to look at him. In his heart he knew that there was no one else, nothing that could ever bring him peace the way just walking beside her did. He cleared his throat and lowered his hands in front of him.

You’re right. I have sprung this all on you rather quickly. He tilted his head in the hope she might look at him. I wouldn’t want you to decide against marrying me because I pressured you.

Before she reached out for his hand, she lifted her chin and a slow smile drew at the corners of her mouth. You are a good man, Wilhelm Grisham. I will think on things and give you my answer in three days.

He nodded concession, and then she dropped his hand.

And now if you’ll excuse me, I think I will finish the rest of the journey home alone so I can think, she decided.

I don’t mind walking you, he insisted. Mother said I should…

I know that, she said, but I think I want to be alone now.

Abashed, Wil’s face flushed red again. Of course.

She stretched up onto her tip-toes and brushed her soft lips against the stubble on his cold cheek. Goodnight, Wil.

Goodnight, he echoed.

Christina retreated without looking over her shoulder at him, but she felt the burn of his stare on her back. She didn’t have far to go. In fact, she could see the lantern her sister left out for her, and the sun had just begun to lower into the bosom of the mountains in the west. She knew Wil well enough to realize he would keep her in sight at least until she disappeared into the valley separating their households,

Her mind raced with his proposal. She couldn’t deny she had been waiting for him to ask her to marry him ever since the very first time he kissed her two years prior. Yes, there were other kisses, other boys who fancied her a great deal, but none of them were as firm and reliable as Wilhelm, and while many of them said they loved her, no one’s eyes lit up the way Wil’s did when he said it. Just thinking of him made her giddy enough to bounce and pirouette with laughter.

She couldn’t wait to tell Meredith, but the thought of her sister dampened her mood once more. Surely Merry would tell her to go, be married, but after their father disappeared, Meredith gave up everything to give her younger sister the best life possible. She took on mending by the pile to earn enough money to feed them, and tended to a roost of chickens, which produced enough eggs to earn them a little extra from time to time.

In the spring and summer Merry tended to their garden like a slave to some strange passion. Sometimes Christina watched her sister from the cottage, a woman possessed, face smeared with dirt and hair decked with leaves as she examined flower buds and mended torn stems. Once, she’d even seen Merry whisper softly to a ladybug perched on her fingertip before it fluttered its wings and flew away. When she asked her sister what she’d said to the ladybug, Merry shook her head and asked, What ladybug?

She was three and twenty now, having sacrificed her youth and marriageable years to take care of her sister, and Christina worried there was very little hope for Merry’s future at all. Her beautiful, selfless sister would live alone and die an old maid, and Christina would never forgive herself.

It wasn’t fair, and Christina deeply resented their father for leaving them alone. Meredith deserved a better life than the one they’d been given. Maybe marrying Wil would be best in the end, as it would offer Merry a freedom she’d never known. But on the other hand, what if Christina’s marriage left Meredith completely and eternally alone? Christina pictured her older sister, estranged from the world in her small cottage, surrounded by a horde of cats. She'd become old and embittered with resentments until nothing was left of her but the dusty old cobweb of her soul.

Christina’s heart felt weak, and as she became so consumed by her thoughts, she hardly noticed the alluring green light emanating from the center of the valley. Eerie music toddled out to meet her, and the illumination in the valley grew brighter with each step until the peculiarity of the sound evolved into something so loud and twisted, she stopped in her tracks and took in the scene unraveling before her.

Swaying green lanterns dotted the darkness, illuminating a host of bodies that moved like shadows against the bruise-colored backdrop of expanding darkness. The bodies bustled between rows of tents, and carts and tables sprung up from just beyond the valley’s reach winding into a traveling marketplace.

A distant gruffle of voices scrabbled in the dark, grunts and coughs, strained stretches and hollers of reproach, but the nearer she drew to the action, the more avid their conversation became until a particular song caught her attention.

Come buy, come buy! Oh so juicy, never dry. Be the first, first to try, fruits so sweet, come buy! Come buy!

That one solid voice flickered out like an old candle, but then another followed singing the praise of perfect peaches, pretty little plums and pears, pert papaya, pleasant pineapple and precious pomegranates. A third song rang clear, naming every apple ever known to man, from the pink lady to the royal gala, red delicious, tart for baking, golden spotted so sugary soft they melted on the tongue. Temptation and rhythm flowed from every word, and though she had eaten heartily, thanks to Mrs. Grisham just an hour earlier, Christina felt a sudden lurch of hunger inside.

Mesmerized, she sauntered along the open pathway of the market, throngs of bustling bodies pressed around and against her. Strange, green skinned men with sharp ears and even sharper razor tongues, greasy hair and gruff voices. They pushed and rustled and bustled about as though she wasn’t even among them, but then a pair of eyes the color of seeping pus spotted her and called out in a gravelly tone, Sweeties for the sweet?

His scarred face drew ragged with a cunning grin that grew wider with her obvious discomfort. I say, sweeties for the sweet? His unfamiliar accent was thick and villainous as tar.

Christina took several tentative steps forward, closing the distance between her and the long-winding table decorated in fruits that wouldn’t come into season for months. Mouth-watering melons, bunches of rich, red grapes, white grapes, purple, green…there were bowls of red and black berries, cherries, strawberries, plump purple damsons, currants and figs, dew specked gooseberries, orange wedges, grapefruits…There were strange fruits, exotic fruits, and fruits she could not imagine had been grown anywhere on the Earth, but each of them was lovely, perfect and tempting. Her eyes ran greedily over every colorful display and her mouth watered for just one taste.

A treat for the sweet?

Oh. She hadn’t realized how close she’d come. Christina actually had to stop herself from reaching out to touch the smooth skin of an apple. I have never seen this market here before, she noted. Where do you come from?

She took note of how wretched the little man in front of her was to behold, and how his companion vendors, who sold everything from armor and weaponry to sparkling trinkets and wares for the kitchen, were equally hideous. Their small black eyes glinted horrible green in the light from their lanterns, and their wicked gazes roved over her as though she were some tasty morsel meant for them to nibble on.

From the dark grove beyond, we bring word that our king is searching for his lost queen.

The king? she asked. We’ve had no word here about the queen, Christina said. Has she been kidnapped?

Worse still, said a strange little with voice as thick and sticky as molasses. She’s up and run off before the wedding.

Christina peered over her shoulder at him and he grinned; two rows of malice-sharp, yellowed teeth gleamed against the creepy light. Of what queen do you speak? Surely not Elsbeth?

The little men exchanged queer expressions and then the fruit vendor said, We don’t know no Elsbeth. The vendor reached a filthy hand down into the platter of cherries. He filled his palm and then stretched the hand toward her. Have a sweetie. A blackened, pinkish tongue slipped out of his mouth and traced the edge of his cracked lower lip. No finer fruits will ever be found. Have a cherry. Try a berry. Help yourself.

But I haven’t a coin to pay you, she said.

The market produce glistened magically, as though bathed in magnificent moonbeams. Christina could almost taste it as she imagined the juices bursting in her mouth when she punctured the skin with her teeth. The aroma of strawberries so luscious they were near overripe wafted up to meet her, mingled with the bouquet of freshly cut melons of every kind.

She had never felt so hungry, and suddenly the thought of not tasting just one little blueberry devastated her. She slouched into a pout.

No coins, the weird little man snarled. Go on, then. He brought a tray decorated by a colorful assortment of fresh cut citrus. Have yourself a little taste, love.

I shouldn’t, she hesitated out of mere courtesy, but inwardly she battled against herself to resist.

Why deny? He taunted. Go on, he said. Just a little tasty for the tasty.

Christina veiled her excited eyes with heavy lids, but the quickness of her hand when she reached out to pluck a treat from the platter gave her eagerness away.

Behind the shadows, the goblin vendor grinned.

There’s a good girl, he said. Go on then, help yourself. Have an apple.

The first fruit she’d popped into her mouth was a plump little raspberry that exploded gloriously against her tongue. A dribble of juice spilled onto her lip when she gasped, but she quickly licked it away and reached with greedy hand to pluck a firm red apple from the table. Her teeth snapped through the flesh and the succulent sap leaked down her chin. Christina suckled the sweetness from her lower lip, and wiped a hand across her chin before devouring the apple right down to the core.

Grapes spurted delectable liquid, warm ripe strawberry juice coated her throat, and her head swam with desire to gobble every piece of fruit on that table.

A crusty voice called from behind her, Lookit her go!

Another added, A right greedy little pig, that one.

A voice more powerful and commanding than all the others observed, A greedy pig indeed. It was musical in its incantation of that simple observation, but Christina was so consumed by her desire to devour she hardly acknowledged the regal power behind that voice.

She dug her fingers into a basket of berries, her hasty touch bruising and squeezing while she stuffed as many into her mouth as she could fit. Other hand reaching, she barely gasped when a hard grip seized her by the shoulder. The small escape of breath that left her was not surprise, but fear that she might be denied one more taste of the sweetest, most perfect fruit she had ever sampled.

Tell me little girl, the hand spun her around quickly and she stifled a cry of protest. Do you always take far more than you are offered?

His shadow alone overpowered her slender frame as peculiar shades of twilight mixed with the otherworldly green light of the lanterns. She looked up into the carefully etched features of his face, which hovered inches from her own. He was handsome in ways Christina had never even dreamed men could be. He was tall and the rippling fabric of his cloak lay over broad shoulders. Unlike Wil, who was strong from hard work, this man was powerfully built, an obvious warrior born from a long line of men bred for battle.

He looked down the length of his slender nose at her, one eye hidden beneath the sleek cut of his ebony hair, while the other reflected the light back at her. The slow wind moved through his hair to reveal the other eye, milk white beneath the slice of a hideous scar.

She shied back with a frightened intake of breath that forced her to swallow the mouthful of berries she’d only just pushed between her teeth.

I had no coin… and the little man, help yourself, he said… Her frightened voice tapered off into a whisper. He said to help myself.

No coin, said he? Amusement colored the man’s tone. But surely you didn’t think that meant no payment.

Christina wrenched herself from his grasp and dove toward a display of juicy grapes. She popped one into her mouth and then another, her teeth busting through the skin as the juices exploded against her taste buds. I’ve never tasted grapes so sweet.

Perhaps the color of your eyes, he said, or a year’s worth of memories.

Her jaw tightened as she turned to look back at him over her shoulder. Who are you?

I am Kothar, pride lifted his sharp chin. I am king.

Laughter bubbled from deep inside of her so powerful that even she was surprised by the sound of its peals echoing off the silent hillside. A king, you say? She croaked and clutched her sides, which ached with her own unexpected amusement.

Kothar’s gaze narrowed over her, and his mouth tightened with disdain. Not a king. The king. A throng of shadows circled around him and stared hungrily at Christina. Name a fair price for the damages done here tonight, he urged the small army behind him.

Three of her curls! A sluggish voice leapt from the crowd.

I want her teeth! another said.

Let’s take her eye.

Now, now, Kothar held up a hand to stay their demands. Perhaps the debt can be paid with truth.

Christina’s mind grew numb and stupid with the slow poison of indulgence. She wavered unsteadily where she stood, the spinning inside her mind making it difficult to remember even the simplest of things. She lurched sideways, her head dizzy and her belly sick. Her throat tightened and constricted with spasms of nausea, but no matter how her desperate body heaved in protest, she could not expel the goblin’s fruit from her body.

The man in front of her stretched and wavered right before her eyes, and she reached toward him to try and steady herself. Christina tumbled forward, the fabric of his cloak slipping through her trembling fingers. When next she turned her head, she was on the ground staring up at him.

Tsk, tsk, Kothar tutted.

Thoughts circled through her mind as the market around her spun. Once around, twice and then she saw the distant orange glow from the lantern Meredith had hung out to guide her home.

Merry, a limp hand reached toward the light. Help me.

Clear, powerful laughter wrapped in a collection of jagged chuckles circled around her.

Even now the poison of your own greed creeps slowly through your veins. Kothar knelt over her. A sharp grin sliced across his expression. It’s only a matter of time before you sleep.

I… Words felt like briars in her mouth. I want to go home.

Of course you do, there was no sympathy in his tone. But first we require payment for what you’ve taken.

The sound of a thousand ragged voices seeking vengeance caroused around her. Terrified she tried to draw her hands up over her face, but even they were numb and heavy as lead on the ground beside her. Her body began to wretch and heave to no avail, and though she tried in desperate horror to gain control of her senses it was no use.

Above her, the king reached into the folds of his cloak and brought forth a locket. Unclasped, the hinge swung open to reveal a faded image painted within. Christina’s eyes could scarcely focus on the picture, but there was no denying the golden rings of hair, thin oval face and perfect smile.

Merry, she whispered, reaching for the locket in Kothar’s hand.

Kothar swiped his hand away, the locket clicking closed within. His unscarred eye grew wide with curious excitement as he studied the portrait inside. You know this girl?

Christina swallowed against the dryness in her throat and rasped, Merry.

Her name is Merry, you say?

Her head felt so strange that she couldn’t even feel it move in agreement.

Where can I find this Merry?

She tried to say no, but her eyes betrayed her when she looked toward the distant lantern atop the hill. Kothar’s gaze followed, his lower lip trembling as the slow wind whispered through the hair that fell loose upon his cheek.

Glorngk, bring the girl water, Kothar commanded before he pushed up off the ground and hovered beside her. His gaze was still fixed on the swaying lantern, fist clenched around the chain that held the locket.

Christina’s eyes felt heavy and thick with tears. Her mind was even thicker; the thoughts trudging through it like heavy boots in quicksand. She was going to die, but it had been worth it. She would do it again too, all for the taste of a single berry, and then a rush of cold, slick water washed across her face. The water was rank and stagnant, but she swallowed greedily, choking as the creature continued to pour.

Clarity flickered through her mind, and though very little made sense, she felt strong enough to pull herself up from the ground.

And then she was standing, and with the last bit of strength she had, she began to stagger away from the market, in the direction of the swaying lantern on the hilltop. Her legs felt like heavy tree trunks growing roots each time one of her feet touched the ground and behind her the hypnotic song of the market began to play once more.

Should we stop her, Sire?

No, Kothar shook his head. Follow her to the house on the hill and wait for me there.

CHAPTER ONE

Meredith told herself when she sat down to read, she wasn’t going to fall asleep in the chair. Even as the hour grew, she resisted the temptation to look at the clock every few minutes and reminded herself that Mrs. Grisham loved to dote on Christina. The woman adored her little sister, and would do everything she could to keep her there for supper, and afterward she would have Wilhelm walk her home, but Meredith worried nonetheless.

Christina had a careless way about her sometimes and was always getting into trouble no matter how carefully everyone else seemed to watch her.

After hanging out the lantern, Meredith settled into the chair beside the fireplace with her favorite book. The book belonged to her mother when she was a girl, and the decades of use and appreciation showed heavily on a cover so worn the gold-embossed title had almost completely rubbed off.

Meredith was rereading her favorite story, a tale of two princes in competition for the love of a goddess disguised as a young peasant girl. The princes were brothers and the enmity between them so strong that not even the blood bond they shared was powerful enough to bring them back together. As the younger brother was thrown from his horse in the midst of his most dangerous task, Meredith leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. She hugged the book to her chest and felt herself easily begin to drift off to sleep.

Dreams set in quickly, and Meredith found herself swaying between bodies on a crowded ballroom floor. She reacted stiffly to the gloved hand that clutched her close, but soon the masked stranger twirled her elegantly through a host of bizarre faces. They spun again and leaned into a dip before he drew her upright and once again they spiraled across the dance floor palm to palm. Fur-faced creatures with sharp, pointed ears and sunken eyes mingled with gawping cat-eyed women who purred with laughter as they swirled around Meredith and her mysterious partner.

Far off in the night she heard the lonely gong of a bell tower striking once, twice, thrice, and for a moment her mind grasped for some meaning in the bell’s toll.

Four, five, six clangs of the bell against the silent night.

Time.

Seven, eight, nine…

Elegant couples swished and swayed this way and that in perfect mimicry of some grand, high gala.

Ten, eleven, twelve…yes, twelve.

Twelve o’clock, but where was Christina?

A silent pause lingered after the echo of the twelfth bell, and she felt there should have been something more, something else to follow, but nothing came. It was as though in that single moment time stopped to catch its breath. Her dance partner surged forward, causing Meredith to stumble over herself. Echoes of cackling laughter rippled through the dream until they were completely silenced by a thunderous thud that brought Meredith out of her dream gasping desperately for air.

Like time, she too had been holding her breath.

The book fell from her lap onto the floor. Meredith blinked drowsily through the remnants of dream still clinging to the slow spur of consciousness fluttering in her mind. Ears burning, heart throbbing, a droplet of sweat rolled down her side from just under her arm into the fabric of her shift. She shuddered, a bodily attempt to ring the last bits of that strange dream from her mind, and then she heard the song. Slow. Melodic. Not quite a waltz. The instrument was a distant human voice.

She sat upright in the chair and scanned the room, her eyes immediately drawn to the wide opened door.

Chilled air mixed with the fire’s warmth and pried at her bedclothes like fingers. Meredith clutched the fabric of her nightgown closer and started for the door.

Christina?

The humming followed as Meredith stepped up to the door and gripped the heavy oak in her hands. Bare feet cringed against the slab of flagstone just outside the cottage and she scanned the garden with curious, careful eyes. The lantern she had hung out for her sister wavered against the slow wind, the flame flickering low on its wick.

She had no idea how much time passed since she’d fallen asleep, but a surge of fear gripped her. It was dark and if her sister had not yet returned, where could she be?

The song ebbed out to meet her again, and she realized it came from inside the cottage.

Chrissy? She called over her shoulder.

Still standing in the doorway, Meredith looked up at the display of clouds passing away from the face of the near full moon. Pale light reached beyond the wavering ring around the celestial body and shone softly over the dry and ragged remains of last year’s garden. Her eye was drawn to a small form in the shadows that hopped into a strand of light, revealing its long ears and twitching nose. She sighed relief, and then reached up to take down the lantern.

Christina?

One day that girl was going to learn that an open door in the middle of the night was like an open invitation to danger. Any manner of creature could just walk right in, from raccoons and bears to strange travelers.

Meredith scowled, still rubbing the goose bumps from her bare arms. She closed the door and lowered the lock before walking the lantern to the table and blowing out the stubby candle inside.

On the way to the bedroom, she noted another wide open door and shook her head. Christina was already in bed.

The least you could have done was woke me. Meredith held a hand across the flickering flame of her candle to keep it from blowing out with her movement. I hardly need to start the day with a stiff neck from sleeping in the chair all night. Sometimes you are so inconsiderate, Chrissy.

Candlelight infiltrated the dark bedroom, illuminating the empty bed, and inside Meredith’s heart leapt with fear. Cold air rushed forward to meet her, and the curtains ballooned out from the window on the other side of the room. The fabric fell to rest again, but therein hovered a swaying shadow. The melody came from within, Meredith realized, as the night breathed out again, exhaling the curtains into the room. It was her sister, arms hugged tight against her frame, body oscillating to the rhythm of that eerie song.

Christina? She placed the candle on the bedside table. Chrissy?

No answer. The girl kept humming. Meredith swallowed her fear and stepped closer, hand reaching to grasp at the curtain swaying outward again.

Christina, what are you doing?

Christina whispered, Look, Merry, into the valley. See their lights, all gold and green? Tiny lights in the marketplace.

Meredith stepped up behind her sister, lowering a gentle hand on her shoulder. What are you talking about, Chrissy? Lights in the marketplace? She noticed immediately that the bare skin of Christina’s shoulder was exposed and cold—so cold that she withdrew her hand with a quick, startled breath. Christina, you’re freezing. Come away from the window and get into your bedclothes.

Goblin boys and goblin men, she raised her voice above a whisper, a frantic pitch within the moonlit darkness. They’ve set up market in the valley. Weapon makers, smithies, toymakers, and the fruit, oh Merry, the fruit… She barely turned her head, profile bathed in watery blue light from the moon, open eyes unblinking. I can still taste it in my mouth like it is dancing on my tongue.

You aren’t making sense, Meredith reached for her again. Come away from the window and get back into bed before you catch your death.

Christina did not resist the guidance of Merry’s hands. I saw the king, and he was terrible and dark, but so beautiful, Merry. Oh to be his queen… I would have done anything.

Enough of this nonsense. Meredith braced her sister’s shoulders and pushed her down onto the bed. You’ll be lucky not to catch a cold. What were you thinking? She rummaged through the drawer for a warm nightgown.

A real king, Merry. Christina grasped at Meredith’s nightgown from behind. He had your picture in his locket and he made me pay in truth. I am going to die, aren’t I?

You’re not going to die, don’t be ridiculous!

Meredith was frightened, but she hid behind her maternal instinct and pretended to ignore the unnatural frigidness of the girl’s skin, the long tear in her blouse and dark stain upon her lips. You are hallucinating, she reasoned. You must have already come down with some sickness. And no wonder too, running around in this cold half-naked.

I was wicked there, perfectly unladylike. A tiny giggle bubbled from her. Goblin king, choose a bride. Goblin king be quick, betimes. Before the night is through, my king, choose your queen, give me your ring!

As the words flowed from her, Christina blinked blankly up at her sister, and Meredith trembled.

But he won’t, you know. He waits for the one who was promised him. No other bride but you will do.

Hush now, and get into these warm clothes while I close the window. Meredith said.

The quiver in her voice should have given her away. Fear gripped her as the strangeness of the situation consumed her. She stepped away from the bed, went to the window and for a moment she faced the chill air and parted the curtains. She peered out into the silvering darkness. The last of the clouds parted and the swollen moon hovered just above them like a watchful mother. Long, silver rays illuminated the valley just enough that she could make out a long string of eerie green lights and several shadows stalking awkwardly in the dark.

Behind her Christina rose, but instead of changing into her bedclothes, she twisted and turned her body, humming again, and dancing like a puppet strung up on invisible strings.

I feel Death’s arms around my soul and we are dancing, Christina moaned. So close we should be on fire, and yet he is cold. So cold, Merry. Like poison in my blood. Goblin poison.

Christina wavered in her balance and Meredith lunged forward quickly to catch her before she fell.

You’re scaring me, Chrissy.

It took all of Meredith’s strength to draw her sister toward the bed, and once they were there she allowed her to fall into place before leaning in over her to make sure she was still conscious. Is it poison in my blood, or goblin blood run through these veins?

Enough talk of goblins, Christina!

For a moment the girl was silent, her breath more labored than before. It’s the poison, she finally said. Goblin poison… in the fruit.

The bedside candle flickered, glowing brighter as the hungry flame lapped the air around it. Orange light illuminated Christina’s gaunt face, revealing the hideous truth about the hue of her skin: it was blue as moonlight, darker under the ridges of her deeply sunken eyes which closed just long enough for the curved black lashes to rest atop her cheeks. Meredith had only ever seen so pale a face one other time