"Oh, wow," Roxanne said, eyes wide as she moved towards the tree in the center of the courtyard.
She hadn't really noticed it before; she'd been preoccupied with the Goblin King, and then with the fountain, but now that he seemed to have recovered from his near-swoon, and she'd quenched her thirst, she was able to see how really extraordinary the tree was.
It stood in a low circular basin, upraised a few inches from the paving stones of the courtyard. The bark of the was a smooth, deep brown, and it's branches—
The branches seemed to be from a number of different trees; the boughs held blossoms of a different color—a deep rose color in one place, a soft delicate pink in another, lavender and violet and bright heliotrope purple. And it seemed to be flowering and fruiting at the same time; each of the boughs not covered in flowers was laden with a different kind of fruit: ripe blushing peaches and nectarines, yellow and bright red and near-black cherries, plums in every possible shade, and some fruits that Roxanne didn't even recognize.
The Goblin King, carefully pulling himself to his feet, one hand on the edge of the fountain for balance, looked up at Roxanne, then followed her gaze to the tree.
As he watched her, Roxanne moved towards it, and then around it, her expression filled with wonder. She reached up her hand to a bough and plucked a peach.
Bringing it to her face, she inhaled deeply, eyes closed.
She opened her eyes to glance over at him.
"The rule is waived for food, too?" she asked, rolling the peach in her hands.
The Goblin King nodded. Roxanne grinned at him and took a bite from the peach.
Her eyelashes fluttered as she did it, and she made a noise of surprise.
"—it doesn't taste like a peach," she said, looking over at him again.
"Doesn't it?" he asked vaguely.
Not terribly surprising. He'd never tasted a real peach; he'd been guessing at the flavor when he made these, basing it on what they looked they might taste like; glimpses of peaches he'd caught in the viewing pool, reflections from another world.
He lifted himself to sit on the edge of the fountain.
"No, it's—here, try it," Roxanne said, stepping towards him, holding out the peach.
The Goblin King blinked, and looked down at her hand. He could see the marks left by her teeth, in the fruit, the shape of her mouth left as an indentation in the flesh. A drop of juice slid from the peach and down her hand, over the skin of her wrist.
A dizzying wave of heat and confusion swept through him, leaving him feeling flushed and flustered and foolish in its wake.
"Ah—that's very kind, but—"
Roxanne rolled her eyes and took one of his hands in her own free hand. And the sensation of that, without his gloves, was even more overwhelming than he'd expected; he found himself unable to offer any resistance when she pressed the peach into his palm. She took his other hand and curled it around the peach, too, her own hands over his, holding them in place. The Goblin King stared at the sight of it: the peach, his hands, then hers. She stroked her thumb ever so slightly over the thin skin of his wrist and his pulse quickened beneath her touch.
He looked up at her, suddenly unable to remember how to form words. She gave him a smile that was half exasperation and half—concerned fondness? Was that really what he read in that expression?
"You look like you're going to faint, still," she said. "You really should eat something."
She let go of his hands, then, and moved back a half step; it was a little easier to think, without her touching him, without her so close, but only a little.
He looked down again at the peach, turned it over in his palms, feeling the softness of the skin, the stickiness as more juice slid over his hands and wrist in an echo of her thumb brushing over his skin.
The Goblin King felt himself flush in confusion.
He turned the peach another half turn, so that the bite Roxanne had taken was once more upright, and then he lifted it to his mouth and bit into it.
The Goblin King's eyes slipped closed as he bit into her peach, black lashes dark against the blue of his cheeks. Juice from the peach ran down over his fingers, and when he pulled the peach away, Roxanne saw that there was more juice on his mouth, his lips slick and shining. The muscles of his long throat worked as he swallowed, and then his eyes fluttered open again.
Roxanne realized with a jolt that she was staring.
She turned away quickly in embarrassed confusion.
(we must not look at goblin men, she thought, a line from some poem or other, something she'd read a long time ago, flitting through her head. we must not look at goblin men; we must not eat their fruits. for who knows on what soil they fed their hungry, thirsty roots.)
She cleared her throat.
"See?" she said. "Doesn't taste like peach."
"I really wouldn't know," the Goblin King said in a low voice and Roxanne looked at him again in surprise.
"You've never tasted a peach?" she asked.
"A real one?" he said, and shook his head. "No. Are they better than this?"
"—no," Roxanne said. "Not—better. Just. Just different. You can have that one; I'll get another one for myself."
"That's—very kind of you," he said.
Roxanne reached up and plucked another peach. She turned just in time to see him take another bite. He made a quite noise of pleasure, and tilted his face up to the sun.
She was staring again.
This time, though, she couldn't quite bring herself to look away.
He was—he was really quite beautiful, wasn't he? The blue of his skin and the lean, graceful lines of him, the full curve of his head and the sharp edges of his face.
She didn't know why that seemed so important, that he was beautiful.
(we must not look at goblin men)
Without taking her eyes off of him, she rolled the second peach in her hand.
(we must not eat their fruits.)
Roxanne lifted the peach to her mouth and took a bite.
The Goblin King finished the peach Roxanne had given him, and then rinsed his hands in the fountain. Then he leaned back on his hands and watched Roxanne. She appeared to be greatly enjoying herself with the tree. After she had finished her own peach, she plucked a plum and ate that, too, and then a nectarine, and then a double handful of cherries.
There was something—really incredibly fascinating about her, he thought. Her frank enjoyment as she devoured each new fruit, the way she licked her fingers and exclaimed over every new taste.
Sea and stars help him, what was he going to do?
She was so—entirely unpredictable; she'd led them into the courtyard. To help him. She'd led them there, risked everything and broken her own pattern through the labyrinth because she'd been worried about him. How could he ever have expected something like that?
Everything was all out of order, now, all of his careful plans smashed to pieces, and he didn't even feel angry. Just—
She'd been concerned for him.
He'd known that she was kind—a contentious sort of kindness, born of an awareness of her own ability to hurt. It had been one of the reasons he chose her.
He'd known that she was kind.
He just hadn't expected that kindness to extend to him.
Roxanne threw away the stone of her second plum, then met his eyes and grinned. She crossed back to the fountain and washed her own hands, took another drink.
He'd have to improvise everything from here on out, the Goblin King realized. There was no other way to deal with someone as unexpected as her.
Roxanne splashed some water over her face, then looked over at him.
"Feeling better?" she asked. "You look a little better."
"Yes," he said, and then hesitated. "I—appreciate your concern for—for my well-being, Miss Ritchi."
She gave him a glance that seemed amused.
"On the subject of my concern for your well-being," she said, "I'm serious, you really shouldn't wear so many layers of black when it's this hot."
The Goblin King made a face, glancing up at the sun and then back at her.
"The heat is an unfortunate side effect of the necessary brightness," he said.
(and the brightness really was necessary; shadows always had less power with the sun shining so brightly overhead.)
Roxanne's look of amusement deepened. Of course she didn't understand the implication
"And the overheating is an unfortunate side effect of wearing too much black clothing," she said, reaching out to place two fingertips against his shoulder.
The Goblin King went still at the touch.
"I…I look best in black," he said, scarcely aware of what he was saying.
Roxanne frowned and tilted her head. She stroked her fingertips across his shoulder, looking critically at the material of his shirt. The Goblin King felt himself stop breathing.
"I don't know about that," she said. "You'd look just as good in white, I think. Blue or purple would be nice on you, too—and green would bring out the color of your eyes."
She glanced back at his face and something in his expression must have surprised her, because she pulled her hand back and swiftly stepped away.
"Anyway," she said briskly, "you definitely don't need so many layers, regardless of the color. A cape in this weather is really just unwise."
"—I wanted to look impressive," the Goblin King said blankly, feeling a bit like he might be getting faint again.
"You don't need it."
The Goblin King went very still, but Roxanne had turned away again, and was looking at the tree once more, as though she hadn't said anything so very extraordinary.
"Did you make it like that?" she asked.
"Make—? Oh—the—the tree?" the Goblin King said, forcing his mind to focus on the change in conversation only with a great deal of effort. "Yes, I—yes."
Roxanne made a quiet noise and moved back to the tree, walking around it, looking up at the branches. She reached up and touched one branch. The Goblin King rose and moved to stand beside her.
"Do you—do you like it?" he asked, his heart fluttering, the way it had when she'd said his flying goblins were beautiful.
"It's amazing," she said still gazing up at the branches. "How did you do it? All the different kinds, and the way it's got flowers and fruit at the same time…"
The Goblin King shrugged, looking at her, watching her looking at the tree.
"It's one of the more difficult types of magic for me," he said. "I'm best at illusions and the shaping of metal. And music. But I can manage plants, with enough effort. It's about—telling each branch that it's a different thing, telling one it's the branch of a plum tree, another that it's the branch of a peach tree. The flowers and fruit work on the same principle; for one branch it's summer, for another it's spring."
She looked at him, frowning.
"I thought you couldn't lie," she said.
"I can't," the Goblin King said, "that's why it works. Because when I'm able to speak the words, it makes them true. It's—the words don't shape the magic, precisely; that happens by force of—it's not exactly by force of thought or will, but it's similar. And the words solidify the magic, sort of—fix it in place."
She looked at him, an expression of avid interest on her face.
"Actually," the Goblin King said, biting his lip and smiling, "to be honest, I usually cheat a bit and use music, sing instead of talk. It's easier for me."
"God, this is all so amazing," Roxanne said, sounding a little breathless. "Would you—would you show me?"
The Goblin King's head still ached a little from the magic he'd used already, but he hesitated only half a moment.
"Yes, I can—I'll show you something. Something small."
Roxanne watched as the Goblin King moved around the tree. He was looking closely at each branch, inspecting them as if he was searching for something specific. Finally he stopped in front of one particular branch. He nodded to himself, and then beckoned to Roxanne. She moved to stand just behind his shoulder.
The branch he'd chosen was one crowded with pink blossoms. He reached up to touch it lightly.
"Watch," he said, voice soft, and then, just as softly, he began to sing.
He sang in a strange language, something with sliding sibilant sounds and consonants that clicked together strangely. It was beautiful, in spite of that, or, oddly, perhaps because of it, and though Roxanne couldn't understand any of the words he used, she had the strange conviction that she somehow knew exactly what he was singing about.
(the fullness of summer days filled with warmth and light, the satisfaction of ripening into completion)
And as he sang, the petals fell from the bough and fruit began to swell and grow, green at first, and then yellow and blushing.
Roxanne reached up with wondering hands and pulled down a ripe peach.
The Goblin King kept singing, the song changing, syllables rolling off his tongue faster, now.
(the shaking off of old things, the necessity of getting rid of what was no longer needed, the gratification of freedom from burdens)
The peaches still on the bough grew overripe and then withered away, the green leaves turning dry and brown before falling away from the branch.
In Roxanne's hand, the peach she had picked was still full and ripe.
The Goblin King sang on, the song slowing into a kind of lullaby.
(the quiet bliss of rest and sleep, sleep, sleep)
Beneath the Goblin King's fingers, frost formed on the bare branch, in spite of the heat of the sun.
The Goblin King's voice was rough around the edges now, but still he sang, the song shifting once more, his tone lightening.
(rebirth and renewal and the joy of newness, of becoming)
And the frost melted from the bough, green buds swelling on the branch before bursting into bloom.
Roxanne reached up and touched the petals of one flower and the Goblin King stopped singing. She plucked the flower and turned it between her fingers—flower in one hand and fruit in the other, both from the same tree. The Goblin King took a stumbling step forward and placed his hand flat agains the trunk of the tree, leaned there, his breathing ragged.
"That—" Roxanne said, "that was—unbelievable. You call that 'something small'?"
"It—should be small," he said, voice rough, "I must be—more tired than I thought."
He winced and shook his head, as if to clear it.
"Are you okay?" Roxanne said, worried, pushing at his shoulder to turn him so she could see his face.
He waved a dismissive hand and leaned his head back against the trunk of the tree, his eyes closed, the long, graceful line of his throat exposed.
"I shouldn't have asked," Roxanne said guiltily, "I'm sorry—"
"No, no," he said, opening his eyes and giving her a smile that only looked a little pained. "I didn't realize; how could you be expected to?"
"I'm still sorry," Roxanne said. "I should have been thinking."
The Goblin King's smile went a little sharper, more wicked around the edges.
"You did at least like it?" he said. "It would be terribly disappointing if I gave myself this headache for nothing."
"It was amazing," Roxanne said, "I've never seen anything so—" she gestured with both hands, peach in one, flower in the other.
The Goblin King watched her, waiting for her to continue.
"—it was—it was really magic," Roxanne said, worried she sounded childish, but unable to think of another way to explain.
The Goblin King tipped his head slightly.
"You saw magic before this," he said.
"Yes, but this was—it was different," Roxanne said.
She hesitated, the Goblin King watching her still.
"it was—it was magic the way I always imagined it," she said softly, feeling shy.
The Goblin King's lips parted; Roxanne didn't wait to see how his expression changed, but turned away and ducked beneath the branch, putting it between them.
"Then I'm glad I did it," the Goblin King said, "headache included."
Roxanne turned to look at him again, between the peach blossoms that separated them. He was smiling at her crookedly. She felt herself flush, and laughed to cover her embarrassment.
"I told you that you didn't need the cape to be impressive," she said, voice teasing.
The Goblin King laughed, too, a surprised sound, and Roxanne ducked beneath another branch. He followed her, still laughing.
"I suppose you did!" he said.
Roxanne tucked the flower behind her ear and slipped the peach into the pocket of the mint green silk pajamas she was still wearing.
"Really, though," she said, smiling over her shoulder at the Goblin King, the two of them weaving in and out and between the branches, "it was impressive. Thank—"
"Don't," the Goblin King said, voice suddenly sharp and forceful. "Don't say that."
Roxanne stopped moving, confused, and turned to face him.
"Don't…?"
"Don't thank me," he said, voice still sharp, almost glaring at her, "don't ever thank me. Don't ever thank any of the fae. Thanking implies that a favor has been done, that a debt is owed, and believe me, Miss Ritchi, that is a position in which you never want to be."
"Oh," Roxanne said. "All—all right. That's—I appreciate you telling me," she said carefully.
The Goblin King let out a relieved sigh.
Roxanne touched the branch nearest to her, feeling the texture of the wood beneath her fingertips. The tree was still just as beautiful as it had been a moment ago, when they were laughing, but the beautiful happiness of the moment was broken.
"It's so lovely here," she said quietly, "it's easy to forget that we're in danger. But we are in danger, aren't we?"
"Yes," the Goblin King said.
Roxanne looked over at him. He did not meet her gaze, but picked a flower from a nearby bough, another flower from a different branch, and began to twist their stems together, his eyes on his hands.
"So it is dangerous for you as well as me," Roxanne said.
The Goblin King looked up at her sharply, his eyes wide.
"I didn't mean to tell you that," he said.
Roxanne gave him a wry smile.
"I figured," she said. "Can you tell me what we're in danger from?"
The Goblin King pressed his lips together and shook his head. His eyes dropped and his hands began their movements again, picking flowers, twisting and knotting the blooms together.
"You're in danger," Roxanne said, ticking points off her fingers, "I'm in danger, too. Presumably we're in danger from the same thing, is that right?"
She watched him closely, but he did not respond or look up from the flowers he was weaving together.
"The challenge is for me to solve the labyrinth and find out what's at the center," Roxanne continued, "So, logically, solving the labyrinth should make both of us safe."
She paused. Again the Goblin King did not look up or respond, but this time his head twitched, very slightly, as though he was trying to keep himself from shaking it in negation.
"Solving the labyrinth won't make us safe?" Roxanne said incredulously.
The Goblin King looked up at her, eyes wide.
"I didn't say that," he said.
"Why am I here, then?" Roxanne said, ignoring this, "Don't you want me to—to fix things somehow, so that both of us are safe?"
The Goblin King gave a bright, careless laugh and smiled a wicked smile, his broken green glass bottle eyes glinting at her.
"No," he said. "Oh, no, Miss Ritchi! Both of us safe? That isn't the idea at all."
Roxanne made a noise of vexation and he dropped the flower crown he'd made on her head. She regarded him from beneath it, frowning in frustration.
"I wish you'd at least give me a hint about what you want me to do," she said.
He smiled at her again, sharp edges and the gleam of teeth.
"How do you know I haven't?" he said, and slipped away, between the branches.
Roxanne followed him back to the courtyard, frowning still, but in thought now.
Had he given her a hint without her noticing? How could he have?
Roxanne took a drink from the fountain as the Goblin King picked up his cape, with its tall collar and its heavy, spiked shoulder pieces, and swirled it on, the gesture theatrically dramatic. Roxanne frowned yet again, in displeasure this time.
"You're going to get overheated again," she said. "At least leave the gloves—"
She stopped.
There was a rumbling noise in the distance, though it was growing closer every second. It was an ominous noise, a thunderous kind of thudding and clanking and groaning.
"What—?" she began, and then a giant wheel, its rim edged with boots, crashed through the far wall of the courtyard.
It barreled over the stones of the courtyard, the boots on its rim slamming down as it rolled. Which might have looked ridiculous if it hadn't been so very large and also heading straight for them.
The Goblin King grabbed her hand.
"I think we should run!" he said.
Roxanne did.
notes: The tree in the courtyard is based off of The Tree of Forty Fruit; a real type of fruit tree, created by grafting branches of different type of fruit trees together.
The poem with the line "we must not look at goblin men" that Roxanne remembers is Goblin Market, by Christina Rossetti. Roxanne actually misremembers the next line, which should be "we must not buy their fruits. who knows upon what soil they fed their hungry, thirsty roots". She remembers it as "we must not eat their fruits. for who knows on what soil they fed their hungry, thirsty roots." Her misremembered version simplifies the language and fits the poem even more fully to her own situation.
Thank you for all of the wonderful reviews! I really appreciate every one of them so much. And I hope you all enjoyed the new chapter!