- CHAPTER TWENTY -

Talent had kept her alive. Talent and skill and pure grit. Her brothers could not afford to kill her, so they tried to kill her spirit. The tonnes of rock carved from the underground quarry had crushed down upon her, year after year, decade upon decade, but she persisted. She persevered, perspiring under the weight of her own survival.

Her survival was her defiance, her own personal revolt. She would not let her spirit die, even if all she had left was her ability to endure. She knew her spirit would endure, from the moment she was dropped down into this deep, dark hole, because her heart was stone. It was hard and unmovable. It could be hammered and chiseled and broken but it was impossible to destroy. They could grind her down to dust but she would still be there, the grit under their nails, the dirt in their eyes.

Grit. It was all she had left. She was convinced if she held out for long enough, if she just endured, the opportunity would come for rebellion.

The opportunity came in the shape of three young humans. She knew it the moment she saw them enter the Pit. She was harnessed up, hanging down the steep walls of the quarry, pickaxe in a blistered fist, when she first noticed them.

Well, she did not notice them at first. She noticed the goblin whose ropes were cut loose. The sound of his scream and splash was what tore her attention away from the stone beneath her pick.

He was not the first to die that way, and she did not expect him to be the last either. Many had gone over the edge. Some were pushed. Others jumped. Their few attempts at insurgencies had ended this way. Early, when they still had the fight in them, they had once bludgeoned a guard to death with their pickaxes and trowels, managed to get all the way up the shaft before their manacles began to glow furnace-hot. Dragon breath hot. By the time they had reached the top, several of her friends had fallen screaming to their deaths, unable to stand the heat on their wrists. The rest were knocked down by the battalion of guards who came rushing in, then thrown over the edge of the Pit.

As always, Morgana was spared. Too talented to kill. Her torture was witnessing the death of the rebels who fought for her escape. Her friends and allies.

Those who could no longer endure slavery would jump. What waited in the water below was better than toiling until death. It took a slow-burning rage to resist the allure of the quick death. Morgana was often tempted by it. Out of despair, out of guilt. Still, she trudged on. It would be a dishonour to die when so many had fought for her to remain alive.

In this particular instance, the goblin who fell was followed by the coil of rope cut free from above. He was not jumping to his death. He was being punished.

It took her a moment to focus on the action taking place above. The guard pulled away from the edge, weapon still in hand. Three humans stood not far from the edge of the ravine, expressions panicked and white. They were like three ghoulish spectres, the ghosts of past, present and future. They stood swaying in shock.

Morgana was shocked, too. She hung limply from her rope, just as the grey skin of her arms sagged around her taut muscles. Humans! Humans never entered the Goblin Kingdom. They were certainly never taken as prisoners. They had never been in the Pit.

She had never seen a human before.

They may very well be her opportunity.

By the time she had pulled herself up to the ledge of the quarry, the humans were in discussion with Hege. Morgana had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. Hege still fancied herself a dignitary's wife so of course she would elect herself as the sole member of their welcoming committee. Morgana could not help but distance herself from one of the only other goblyns in their number. Hege was a rebel by association only. She had never believed in the cause, but her husband had. He had died protecting Morgana, and she was imprisoned for her attempts to protect him. Unlike the other rebel goblyn, she kept her long matted braid. The others, both in the Pit and above it, had followed Morgana's lead and cut theirs loose. The guards often scorned them for it, mistaking their defiance as disgrace.

Goblyns wore their hair in long braids to distinguish themselves from goblins—the longer the braid, the greater your status, as it meant you could pay servants and wetnurses to do your bidding. Many poorer goblyn would cut their hair to their waists when they became mothers, to stop children from pulling on their hair. In fact, it was a telltale sign a goblyn was with child when several inches of hair would disappear some short months after being wed.

Orlick had cut Morgana's hair when she took up training for the trade. He had cut it all, cropped it down so she was bald. Long braids around furnaces were not a smart idea, he had said. She did not argue.

Morgana did not approach the humans yet. She wanted to take time to survey them. They looked young, perhaps only just reaching maturity for their kind. She had not seen humans before, so she could not tell for certain. The males were pale, one with ash white hair and one with jet black locks. The girl was flaming red. Her matted curls had been cut. Unevenly. Loose around her shoulders like a swirl of dragon flame, some ringlets longer than others. She looked fierce. Morgana liked her instantly.

It only took a few seconds of eavesdropping for Morgana to make sense of the situation. Hege was attempting to compensate for Rowl's curtness. She was speaking in soft, maternal tones.

"No one survives that drop," Rowl said, his wry arms crossed. He was much older than he looked. One of the oldest goblins here. One of the original King's guard, one of the few who agreed with his decision to crown Morgana.

He was also alive purley for his talents. He was a great military strategist and was the only one who could craft a double headed pike—his invention, the reason he had been hand picked by the last true King. Her brother could not risk losing that knowledge.

Morgana's brother had stopped the tutelage of further metalsmiths. The Academy no longer taught this most ancient trade. Paranoid that he would be usurped, it had been halted when he took the throne. So the ancient crafts and knowledge of the goblins, honed for so many millenia, had rusted away. Only jewellers and artisans were allowed to take up metalwork. Anyone caught teaching their sons how to weld and forge without the King's permission were tried and imprisoned in the Pit.

So this miserable place had become a time capsule of knowledge and skill, tightly controlled by the Royal Guard. Where weapons were required to be forged, they were summoned. Where armour needed to be made, they were called upon. Should it come to it, should things truly fall to despair, the remaining prisoners had discussed jumping to their deaths. The loss of knowledge would destroy their Kingdom's future, but it would be the final blow to weaken a King bent on keeping the throne for eternity.

It was a plan built on hopelessness and despair. To jump would be a final defiance, but would also mean that none of the rebels would survive to rebuild. The throne would become even more vulnerable, ready to be seized by any of the Royal Guard willing to replace the last King. The traditions of the Goblins would be even further splintered and lost.

The boy with the ash blond hair stood stock still by the canyon's edge. His face was ash white, too, almost the greyish tone of goblin skin. His grey granite eyes were fixed hard on the black pit below his feet. It was as if he were listening intently, straining for a sound.

There was no way that human eyes could adjust to the dark like goblin eyes could. Morgana could see through the depths of the shadows, could make out the details on the rippling water at the bottom of the quarry. She chose not to look. She did not want to look.

"If you work hard like the rest of us, you don't ever need to worry about that drop," Hege was saying, smoothly, with a prim but pointed smile.

"Work hard how?" the girl asked. Morgana liked that it was the girl who asked.

"The amount of stones you turn over at the end of the day will equal the amount of bread you are given," Hege explained, rustling through her sack. She pulled out several small gems. Cheap stones to be used for cosmetic purposes. Maybe jewellery or as decorations on perfume flasks. They would not be worth much, even when traded with humans or hags. "You can keep these for tonight so the guards can provide food."

"Ah, Hege, you do not owe them charity," Rowl snapped, speaking in their native tongue. Morgana noticed that the humans immediately grew uneasy now that they could not understand. Even the ash blond male turned away from the quarry's edge. He inched closer to the girl.

"Aren't you the least bit curious why they're here?" Hege replied, still smiling sweetly. "Don't you want to know how they got to our Kingdom in the first place? Why they haven't been killed?"

"They told us what they want. They have come to liberate us," he said with a scoff. He gestured to their cuffed wrists. "They are fools. They cannot get up these walls. Arrogant to believe a human might succeed where we have failed."

"We are not defenceless and we're not without a plan," the black haired boy said. He seemed to be trying to guess the context of their talk.

They were bold for their young years, just as she had once been bold. Just as Rowl had once been bold. They had not lived to watch their friends die at the hands of their own kin. They had not lived for countless years in a crushing Pit. They had not spent every day digging deeper, getting closer to the certain death that waited at the bottom. They still had hope and youth.

"Tell us this plan, then," Rowl snapped.

"First, we'd like to speak with Morgana," the boy replied. "Could you introduce us?"

They turned to search for her. Hege cast her eyes back to scan the quarry wall but Rowl's gaze landed on Morgana almost instantly. He smirked.

"I think she is capable of introducing herself."

Rose had never imagined who Morgana was or what she had looked like. Reflecting back onto this moment, she would be ashamed to admit that she had never imagined Morgana as a whole complete being. She had reduced her to an empty stick figure, a shadow puppet without personality.

The goblin before her was small but muscular. She had a strong, aquiline nose and sharp ears. Her hair had been crudely cropped as closely to the skull as possible. The skin on her face was slack, but her eyes held a tight, intelligent gaze. She stepped forward from the edge of the canyon, closer to them, her gaze darting over their faces in a calculated search, the way a Seeker's eyes dart around for the Snitch.

Albus stooped low, bowing the way they had been instructed to bow for the King. Rose grinned. She and Scorpius did the same. She felt her neck exposed for a moment, conscious that these goblins all held picks and shovels, but no one moved. No one even breathed. They were stunned by the gesture. When they had straightened up, they had stolen the attention of every goblin present, their mouths slack. Except for Morgana. She still held fast to the same calculated stare, unmoved.

"I do not want prostrations," she said. Her voice was just as harsh as any other goblin's, but Rose liked the grating sound. It contained a strength that betrayed her small stature, like pieces of granite colliding. "I want plans."

They followed her along the ledge of the quarry, walking around its wide circumference until they came upon a crevice in the wall that led into a narrow cave. It was even darker here, without any source of light. They sat. Rose felt her ears prick as her blue eyes tried to compensate for the dimness. She could feel Morgana's stare but could not place it in the dark. All she could make out was the shadow of her figure opposite, legs crossed.

"Tell me why you are here," she said.

Albus and Rose took turns telling the story. They had to keep backtracking, further and further, as Morgana prompted them with more questions. Down in this ditch, she had been cut off from her own Kingdom and the rest of the world. Whatever knowledge she knew of her brother's forgein policies came from the few recent additions to the Pit. They had to begin their story three years earlier, when the goblin strikes began to impact the Wizarding world, when a new Minister for Magic was elected on a platform of promoting greater tolerance towards goblins and their demands.

Rose could remember the day she had first gotten an inkling that something was brewing in their own political sphere, some sort of sinister potion that poisoned the public opinion. It had been towards the end of summer holidays before the start of her fifth year. Her prefect badge had arrived by post. The Potters had come over so she and Albus could celebrate. They had cut a cake. They had been encouraged to go outside and chuck a Quaffle around, thinking it was their own idea, while their parents sat around the dining table with their untouched cake. Stressing. Fretting. Fearing the worst was about to come.

This was before she had become friends with Malfoy. This was before she even knew he was a prefect. This was before she began taking any interest in politics. This was before she had understood that good intentions and popular rhetoric could be easily manipulated, before she had realised how the commentariat could control the common wizard or witch better than any Imperius Curse.

"Wand rights," Morgana said, her voice cold. "As if our magic is not enough?"

Her derision for the King was clear in her voice.

"For Romnuk though, it wasn't about the wands or the bank or anything else," Albus said, breathless as he tried to keep track of what he had explained. "He just wanted the Sword of Gryffindor."

"Ragnuk's Sword," she muttered. Then, a long sigh. "All that blood spilled over a weapon, and for what?"

"Romnuk wanted the Sword to plan his own coup," Rose said, and so she took over the story.

Morgana did not sound surprised as Rose explained how Romnuk, tasked to be the head of the royal militia, turned to betray the King. After all, Morgana knew her brothers better than anyone else.

They were now beginning to explain their own part in this all, the role of the Order, the need for a new treaty.

When they paused to see if she had any other questions, Morgana surprised them.

"Your third friend. Why does he not talk?"

Scorpius twitched beside Rose. She felt the weight of his silence. How differently he may have told this story.

"He was injured on our way here," Albus said slowly. "He lost his tongue."

In the dark of this cramped crevice, they could not read each other's expressions. They did not know Morgana had intended this. Her vision was almost perfect, even in pitch darkness. It gave her an advantage to observe them when they could not observe her.

"So, you say you have a plan. How is it you have not been killed?"

"The King is after a Philosopher's Stone. We have given him a counterfeit."

"A counterfeit Immortal Stone?" she asked, her tone sceptical. "He will surely realise."

"Has he ever seen a real Philosopher's Stone to compare it with?" Albus replied.

Morgana made a sound of agreement, suggesting they were right, that this was clever, that they may very well have outsmarted a goblin. "And what of this stone, then, if it is a counterfeit?"

"They don't know how to brew the Elixir, but we do. So they have kept us alive."

"Smart," she acknowledged.

"And the Elixir isn't an Elixir of Life. The Stone will produce a poison that will slowly kill the King."

"Smart and lethal," she agreed.

"What we need now is to help you take the throne."

So they explained what they hoped to do next. They explained their plan.

For the first time in many, many years, Morgana felt hopeful.

It was not a feeling she wanted to nurture for long.

These three humans had no true understanding of her Kingdom. Their silly plans made that clear. They were like Nifflers chasing false gold. Their survival so far was mostly luck. Luck, and grit. She had to acknowledge that they had grit, if nothing else.

"It will not work," she said.

"How can you be so sure?" the girl prodded.

Her gaze was unfixed, unable to find Morgana in the dark.

"Firstly, you have no way out of this Pit."

"Not true," the girl replied. She reached down into her garment's collar, rustling for a moment before she extracted a beaded bag. It was cheaply beaded. Not goblin made, but she could feel the magic pulsing off of it the moment she opened the fabric lips. She reached inside, as if reaching inside the mouth of something. After digging around elbow-deep, she pulled out a wand.

Morgana recoiled. The skin on her neck crawled. They had carried their wands all of this time. They were smarter than she had believed. They were more cunning.

How could she trust them?

With a flare from the end of the wand, they were bathed in gentle light. They could now see her just as well as she could see them. She watched them study her. She did not give anything away.

"With our wands, we can levitate out of the shaft," the girl said.

"No," Morgana snapped, now frustrated. Arrogant wand bearer. They were always so arrogant. She could feel her hope curdling. She pointed at the manacles on her wrists.

"These stop you from climbing out. The closer you get to the top of the shaft, the more they boil your wrists. They are goblin-made. No wand will work against them."

"Well, what if we attack the guards when they come down the shaft?" the boy who could speak said. "Surely they have a key?"

"No," she snapped again. "Do you not think we have tried all of this before? Do you think the guards are so daft as to carry keys? Believe me when I say there is no way out of the shaft."

The girl waved this aside impatiently, as if batting away nargles. Human arrogance.

"Let's say we find a way out. Could the rest of the plan work?"

"To begin with, it would require access to goblin metal." Metal which was now in scarce supply and guarded heavily ever since the strikes. Every since the majority of their labourers had ended up down in the Pit with her.

"We have it," the boy replied. "You would need to melt it down, but we have more than enough."

It was now hard to decide whether it was arrogance or confidence. She could not decide. She could hardly believe them. Her hope fraily raised its head like a dragon kept in captivity. Did she dare dream of escape?

"How do you have goblin metal?"

"We have several crates full of goblin armour," the girl said. She lifted the small beaded bag and jingled it. The clatter inside sounded like a cargo ship overturning. Morgana stared. She now understood why her brother converted wands. This sort of magic could not be duplicated by their crafts.

"Goblin armour?"

"Yes. Stolen from Romnuk. That'll work, won't it?"

She nodded mutely, not trusting herself to speak. Perhaps this was what she had hoped for all along.

Then she remembered the first weeks of insurrection, when she had first come of age and been nominated for the crowning. Those memories were stained in the blood of supporters and friends. Regular goblins had taken to the streets with pickaxes and ploughs to attack the royal army. They had been cut down like wheat. It would not be so simple, even with Romnuk captured and the King preoccupied with a false Stone. It would mean certain death, perhaps even her own. She looked at these three humans, who had not seen her streets run red with blood.

More than metal, more than Stones and schemes, they needed something else that was in far more scarce supply.

Hope.

They finally exchanged names. Rose and Albus used their surnames, something Albus typically loathed during introductions, but Rose had no issue in doing. Their surnames meant something, even to Morgana. She nodded with recognition. They introduced Scorpius also, whose grey eyes remained cold as ice. He gave the rightful heir of the Goblin Kingdom nothing but an impassive, blank stare.

Morgana replied with a twisted smile. She nodded in the direction of the Pit, outside of their crevice.

"You remind me of my fellow prisoner, Alec," she said.

"Why's that?" Albus asked on Scorpius' behalf.

"He once was held in high esteem by my brother. The Manager of all Resources. When he spoke out against the King during the strikes, the Royal Guard cut out his tongue."

Scorpius did not so much as wince at the comparison.

"However," Morgana went on, smiling slowly. "Alec was always a creature of few words. He spoke with weight, where necessary. I find that his silences convey more condemnation and judgement than his words ever could."

There was a sound outside of their crevice, like a low whistle. Morgana sighed and slowly raised herself into a crouch, her head stooping to avoid the low ceiling. She gestured toward the Pit.

"Come. The guards return."

Upon remerging, the three humans found that the goblins had responded to the spectacle of their arrival in different ways. Some were busy at work again, or at least feigning their work. Others were standing with arms crossed, leering in their direction. Others still had gathered in small circles and were whispering with speculation. All activity ceased as they came out of their hiding place.

Morgana made no grand introduction to those who carefully watched them. Instead, she strode around the cavernous lip of the Pit back to where Rowl sat, sorting through his gems and stones. His heavily scarred hands did not stop, even as his eyes found the human entourage.

He grunted something in Gobbledegook. Morgana's dark eyes twinkled, as if with stars.

"Rowl, meet Rose Weasley, Albus Potter and Scorpius Malfoy."

Unimpressed, Rowl only offered them a quick once over.

"Would you believe Orlick played a part in ensuring they got here?" Morgana added.

Here, Rowl's brows raised, creasing the many folds of his forehead. He finally stopped counting his stones, scratching at his jaw as he surveyed the three.

"Perhaps banishment has suited Orlick more than he once thought."

There was a sound high above them of metal clanking and chains being moved. The mine shaft's lift grated slowly down towards the Pit. A guard leaned leisurely against the cage, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his short sword. Rose couldn't help wonder why no one rushed at him to kill him. Then, she remembered Morgana's rebuff—that the manacles on their wrists would burn their arms before they even reached the top.

The prisoners assembled into a loose line, their back to the edge of the Pit. Rowl got slowly to his feet with a guttural groan, as if every muscle in his body ached at the movement. He gathered up his gems and swept them back into their sack.

He snapped something in his native tongue at the young witch and wizards, which could only mean move.

They followed him into line, Morgana roaming away to take a place far from them, somewhere near the middle. She did not look towards Rose, Albus or Scorpius as the mine shaft's lift reached the ground. The grill slid aside and the guard lumbered out, hauling two sacks after him.

Each prisoner counted out their precious stones. They went into the guard's sack, and from the other at his side, he retrieved loaves of bread or cabbage. This continued down the line, the guard moving painstakingly slowly. No one touched their food. They waited, watching the guard as he progressed. He moved past Morgana as if she were anyone else in the line. Still, the others watched. They were waiting for him to reach their new arrivals.

Rose, Scorpius and Albus handed over the meagre supply of stones Hege had given them upon their arrival. The guard scoffed. With a sneer, he gave them each a leaf of lettuce. They said nothing.

Then, the guard turned for the shaft, dragging the gemstones behind him. The metal groaned and screeched again as the platform slowly raised him back up the shaft, out of sight. The moment he was gone, the oil lamps surrounding the high caverns guttered out and they were left in utter darkness.

There was a swarm of movement around them as the goblins moved away from the lip of the Pit, getting settled along the cavern edge. Rose, Scorpius and Albus didn't dare move in the dark, not when one slight misstep could send them over. Rose fumbled for her wand.

"What've you got there?" Rowl muttered.

Rose cleared her throat, trying to adjust her eyes in the dimness. She couldn't see him.

"Would it be okay if I were to light my wand?"

Rowl hissed. Then he laughed from between his teeth, the sound almost a whistle. "You do have some surprises for us."

"Can you see?" Albus asked.

"Most goblins who live in the Mountain can see without any light. The longer we spend above ground, the more our sight deteriorates. One of the many reasons we do not want to be ground dwellers."

With a quick Lumos, Rose lit the top of her wand. Rowl shrunk away from the light as if he were a weed of Devil's Snare. The eyes of the goblins turned towards them, glowing in the dark like owls in the treetops. Watchful and wide. She lowered the beam to the ground, swallowing hard. Despite her weapon, she felt cornered, like a small trapped rabbit. They were outnumbered.

"Come away from the edge," Rowl snapped, moving towards one of the small circles of prisoners sitting against the cavern wall.

They followed tentatively. Rose's wand had changed the disposition of many of their fellow inmates. Some showed black eyes wide with fear. Others bared their teeth, as if they might try to rip her wrist off if she so much as flicked the wand in their direction. The mood had shifted to something hostile. They carefully sat down beside Rowl and Morgana, who was already cleaving up her bread.

"Some fresh meat," Rowl grinned as he settled into the circle, his eyes on the witch and wizards.

The other goblin said nothing. His thin face was drawn and sombre.

Morgana smiled to herself. She turned her attention to the cabbage, peeling the leaves.

"No cruel words," she warned. "It's their first meal with us."

"Not much of a meal," Albus admitted. He laid down the single lettuce leaf in his lap. It's white veins glistened in the wandlight.

Rose examined everyone in the cavern. The goblins were sitting in small groups, placing their bread and cabbages in the centre and dividing them into roughly equal shares. They passed around the food. Everyone got a similar amount, no matter what they had contributed to the centre.

Morgana watched Rose watching the others. She smiled slowly.

"The way it used to be and was meant to be in our Kingdom," she said. "We all work hard and we all get an equal share. That is the true spirit of our kind."

She said this proudly. As if she were showing them the dazzling mosaic halls of the throne room.

Despite his rough exterior, Rowl put the egalitarian sentiment into action as well. He placed squares of carved up bread inside the boat-like leaves of the cabbage, passing them around to those in their circle. The silent goblin took his with a gentle nod. Albus, Scorpius and Rose each received the same portion. So did Morgana.

Not much, nothing left to spare, but no one hoarded their dinner.

Rose knew she would be starving by morning. She stared at the thin cords of muscle in Morgana's arms. Tasteless, textureless bread crumbled in her long grey fingers. How did she work so industriously? How had she survived?

"They have quite a tale to tell," Morgana told the others, munching on her bread.

Rowl grunted. The other goblin raised his heavy brows.

"Go on," Morgana said. She said it directly to Rose. Her dark eyes glistened like the water sliding down the stone walls.

Rose cleared her throat and began to retell the story. It wasn't long until other goblins had paused their chatter, had paused to eavesdrop, then turned to listen. It wasn't long until murmuring in that strange, rough tongue began to filter through the air. They were translating for those in their number who didn't understand. Rose's voice echoed back to her, over the rock and stone.

She held the captives captivated.

What did it take to start a revolt?

High above the Pit, in a different hollowed out mountain peak, the Royal Quarters were abuzz like a nest of pixies that had been brutally overturned. Goblins attempted to peek into the throne room, guards and servants alike. Glistening like liquid silver, its rubies like drops of blood, the Sword of Gryffindor jutted from the elaborate centrepiece emerging from the mosaic floors. Sheathed within the stone, the magic hummed from it like a plucked tuning fork, even though it stood in silence.

The first thing the King had done was send the guards into the antechambers, with the high doors bolted behind them. With only his advisor in the room, the King pushed out of his throne, descended his dais, and attempted to remove the Sword.

It did not budge. The King quickly gave up, panting heavily.

"I want it out," he grunted, returning to his throne. Grigarex swiftly bustled to the Sword, wrapping his long, spindly fingers around the hilt. He heaved and pushed. The Sword did not budge.

The humiliation was enough to wish the humans were beheaded. The Sword had been brandished for all to see. To emerge from the throne room without it unsheathed would suggest that they were right, that the humans had some claim over it. The guards outside the doors, murmuring amongst themselves, would begin to question his authority.

Even as the King trembled with rage, he knew he could not kill the humans. He nestled his ringed fingers into his robes to retrieve the Stone. It glistened as red as the rubies on the Sword, its slick surface whispering eternal secrets to defy death. He ran his pointed nail down its surface, as hard as he could. The grating sound split the silence but the Stone remained unblemished.

He looked up, to where Grigarex continued to pull against the Sword.

"Stop that," he barked, his temper burning as red as the Stone and the rubies. "If I couldn't pull it out, what makes you think you can?"

Grigarex immediately stopped pulling at the Sword, hiding his hands behind his back.

"We will have someone come to appraise it," Grigarex said. "It may be a counterfeit designed to distract us."

"I want it removed from the rock," the King replied, a clear order. He held up the Stone. "I want this looked at too. I want the Elixir of Life."

"We will put our best scholars on it."

"If it comes to it, I will use the humans to make it."

"They are cunning and cannot be trusted," Grigarex warned.

The King ignored him, turning over the Stone in his thick fingers. Where the light caught it, the Stone turned a vivid carmine, in the shadows it became a deep currant red. Dark as clotted blood.

"This must remain a secret," the King decided, his black eyes gleaming. "I do not want anyone to know about the Sword. Ensure the guards who witnessed it are locked away until we find a way to remove it. Give them gold. Ensure they won't talk."

Grigarex bowed deeply and departed. Alone in the great chamber, the King glared at the Sword. It taunted him from the centre of the room, a vulgar finger jutting out of the stone.

He would find a way to claim the Sword and make the potion. Then, he would announce himself as the true and rightful successor of Ragnuk, the final King who had fulfilled the feud of the first.

The goblins crept like mice into crevices along the walls of the cavern, as far from the edge of the Pit as they could. They slid into cracks and holes, like the one Morgana had led the trio into when wanting some privacy. None had approached the humans after Rose's grand story. They still watched with misgivings as Rose gripped her wand, pressed into the wall.

"Need somewhere to sleep?"

It was the female goblin they had spoken to earlier. The only one with such a long braid. She clasped her spindly fingers in front of her.

"Is there a reason you all sleep in the walls?" Rose asked nervously. Albus winced. She wondered if the question was tactless.

The goblin didn't seem to mind. She gave them a practised smile.

"Comfort," she said. "This chamber can feel very exposed. We like dark places."

Rose wasn't impartial to dark places either. She looked up, at the walls that slid into darkness. She glanced down, towards the lip of the Pit. A tight crevice may ensure they didn't topple over the edge in the dark.

"I will find you an empty nook," the female goblin said.

They followed her as she began to feel along the walls with thin, long fingers. Her nails grew into jagged points.

"What is your name?" Albus asked.

"Hege."

"Are there many other female goblins here?" Rose asked.

"Goblyn," she corrected.

"Sorry?"

"The females amongst us are called goblyns."

The pronunciation was almost indecipherable to Rose's ears. Maybe it was a slight emphasis on the second syllable of the word, a softening of it. Hege had made a point of it though, so it must have mattered.

"No," she added, a moment later. "It is myself, Morgana and one other. Most goblyns are invisible and remain behind closed doors for the duration of their lives. Few are noticed enough to end up here."

"So they're unlikely to rebel."

"Not quite," Hege said, her thin smile becoming asinine. "Their dissident views are simply not detected."

Hege stopped along a curved section of the cavern's wall and ran her long nails down the stone. The rock parted like lips opening to breathe. Yet the air that was exhaled from the tight crevice was stagnant and stale, like bad breath.

"This should suit you fine," she said.

She smiled and turned away, to head to her own sleeping space, when Rose asked a final question.

"Did you end up here because you revolted against the King?"

Hege did not turn back around. Her sharp shoulders raised and fell. Her voice remained polite and cool.

"When they butchered my husband and my sons, I swore to never bow to that King again. I have no interest in Morgana taking the throne, but I'll do anything to see the King fall."

Rose understood. She remembered the weight she always carried on her back now, the weight that felt heaviest in her nightmares. How often revenge drove people. How often it was hidden behind polite smiles.