Chapter 38. Snakes in the garden

Circe watched the sunset, standing on the windswept cliff high above the palace gardens at Avalon. The last days of the winter festival were drawing to an end and soon she and her father would be taking their leave of the High Courts. She sipped from the goblet in her hand, as she watched the sun dip into the cool waters of the seas that surrounded the lovely isle. Though the vintage was exceptional, as were most of the wines served here, it left a bitter taste in the mouth of the woman looking out to sea.

"Contemplating someone's down fall?" Her father asked as he came to stand beside her.

Handing him the goblet she nodded. "A Goblin's down fall father."

Talagon knew his daughter would not speak so openly were she not assured of their privacy. Still he didn't relish speaking here, "I prefer we not discuss that here or now." He sipped the wine.

Circe looked from the sea to where the lights in the palace of the High King were being lit. "It was folly," she stated coldly. "Him, the almighty High King, giving the Keys to the Goblin Kingdom to that prancing upstart fop."

"Jareth is the son of the High King, I am not," he reminded her in a terse tone. "Mind that tongue of yours."

Placing her hand upon his sleeve, but still looking down at the grounds of the grand estates of the High King, she laughed. "No one can hear us, Father." Her eyes were indifferent, and her lovely face seemed exceptionally dreadful. "They are all too busy with the distractions of playing their own little games of court intrigue."

Not convinced, the man cautioned again. "Daughter, there is too much at stake to take chances." He drank deeply of the goblet now. "We must employ prudence."

She looked at the man with self-assured eyes. "Of course, Father, of course." She took the goblet from his hands once more; "Soon though we shall begin putting all our little players on their stage. Beginning with sweet little Tanya Winderspire." The woman pursed her lips pleased it had taken so little effort to ensnare the naive girl. "Foolish child."

Talagon gave her a shrewd smile. "Sometimes I do believe, my dear, that you have more disdain for our ilk than I do."

Shrugging the young woman licked the traces of wine from her lips. "I detest waste, and I see so much of it." Her voice was sarcastic as she spoke to her parent and coconspirator. "I don't understand why the High King has allowed things to become so…"

"Lax," offered her father.

"Laissez-faire," she corrected him. "We are becoming a joke, and not a funny one at that. In the world of the mundane we are not even regarded as real any longer. They do not fear us, nor do they revere us." She looked again at the palace of the High King. "All the blame for that lies at the feet of the High King."

Sighing he nodded in agreement, Talagon moved to stand behind her. "Once we are rid of that which stands in our way, we can move to strengthen our kind." He whispered at her ear. "There are many who long again for the days of power."

Circe passed the goblet once more to her parent. "To the days of power, Above as well as Underground."

Her father drained the cup.

--

Oberon sat alone in the highest spire of the tallest tower in his beautiful palace. No light, just the window, he clasped his hands and leaned forward in his seat to rest his arms on his thighs. A ragged sobbing breath escaped his lips.

The High Queen moved quietly up the steps to the King's secret place. He came there when the frivolity got to be too much for him. She had seen him steal away from the merrymaking and revelry, and had let him have some time to himself. Now the guests were looking for their King, and she knew he would not want others to know about the tower. "Oberon," she called softly. "May I enter?"

"Do so, wife." He called back to her.

She found him staring out the tower window, seated still with his hands clasped, however now his regal chin rested on the clasped hands. Looking in the direction of his gaze she asked softly. "Is something amiss, my King and husband?"

"It has begun," he stated in a dark murmur.

Tatiana moved to the window, eyes scanning the darkening landscape. "Where, who?"

Oberon shook his head, "No, that I will not give to you."

She looked from the window to the man. "We can still stop them!" She moved to kneel at the side of her husband. "We could at least warn the boy."

Placing a hand to her face the High King gazed at her with tender eyes. "You know as well as I we must remain neutral."

Dropping the veneer she wore, the High Queen placed her head to the knee before her. "I don't want to lose the boy," she moaned.

"We won't," the King promised. "Come sweet wife, pull your self together, we must return to our guests." He rose, pulling her to her feet as well. "Paste on your pretty smile, Tatiana. We must appear unaware."

She nodded, and the veneer returned, but before she'd allow him to take a step she whispered. "What will you tell Linda?"

Oberon sighed, thinking of the sweet mortal who carried a child for him. "Nothing, not just yet, perhaps…never," he moved past his wife who frowned, then painted on her smile.

--

Jareth returned from his walk, looked up and saw the light in the tower. Like a moth drawn to the flame he transformed from man to owl and took wing. He transformed back to man once he entered the tower. Looking at the guards who were seated watching the woman, he gave them a gesture to send them away. Sarah looked up at him, and then looked away again. Jareth approached, she was seated on the edge of her bed, staring at the fire in the hearth.

"Sarah," he sighed as he cupped his hand to touch her face.

The young woman looked up at him, defiance and pain overflowing in her beautiful green eyes. "Why didn't you just kill me?" she whispered dejectedly.

Roughly he pulled her from the chair, once she was standing; he tipped her face up to his. "I could no more destroy you than I could destroy me." His voice held a hard edge. "Hurt you, yes; break you, with out batting an eye lash… but never end your existence." His arms encircled her waist. "You are Tagaan or Rhuukarlaan, we are bound by ties that few have ever experienced."

Sarah nodded, "All because I wished away my brother…"

"No," he corrected her. "It began long before that." His admission drew her undivided interest. "I will not speak sweet nothings to you." He stated coldly. "Not now."

"Good," she pulled free of his embrace. "I don't want your…words." She moved away from him, away from the bed and temptation to forget what she'd read and revel in the passions she knew he awakened in her. "In fact, there is nothing you have that I want. Except my dreams and my freedom, and someday Fairy Boy, I intend to get them both back."

Jareth smiled, a fitting and spiting Sarah was far more entertaining than a brooding one. "I've asked Donatien Sade to return and continue your training." He directed his speech to her casually.

Sarah paused, before moving to the furthest point of the tower room, near a vile rack made to humiliate its captive sexually. "What is the point of all this, Goblin King?" She touched the rack. "You've broken me; I behave like a good little pet in public, don't I?"

Regarding her, the King raised one elegant brow. "I doubt you could ever be really broken, though I will continue try." He growled in the back of his throat. "Do you know what that is you are holding onto, woman?"

Looking at the rack with an expression of disinterest, Sarah sighed. "Should I care?"

"It is called a St. Andrew's cross," Jareth ignored her less than enthusiastic response. "I would think you'd find it…fascinating."

"I'm not interested in the least," she said trying to sound convincing as she tried to move away from the implement of bondage while staying as far from the bed as she could get.

The Goblin King was already beside her, gripping her shoulders. "I think you'll find this little toy very entertaining."

"Let me go," she warned.

"Never," he replied forcing her to take a seat on the racks narrow seat. His hands worked quickly to cuff the wrist closest to him.

"Stop," she barked. "I'm not in the mood for this…"

"As if I care what kind of mood you're in," Jareth grabbed the hand that went to prevent him from finishing the restraint and soon that one was also bound. "Now your ankles, my Tagaan," he murmured as he moved to her legs that were lashing out trying to connect with his shin. "Now, now Sarah," he chuckled. "Is that anyway for a good little girl to behave?"

"Jareth stop!" she shouted just before he shoved a ball gag into her open mouth. Her head went back, and she banged it on the wooden slats of the cross in frustration. She looked at him with outraged eyes.

Jareth knelt between her legs that he was now forcing apart. "OH don't fret so, I've no intentions of ravishing you." He ran his hands up her thighs and then down to the roundness of her fanny. "Not just now, at any rate. This is just one way of getting your attention." He murmured as he continued to stroke her body. "You have a very bad habit that must be corrected," his teeth showed, and his smile was no pleasant. "You keep refusing my offers." He sighed. "I cannot allow that to continue. First you refuse the gift I brought you so long a distance, than you refuse my offer to allow you to concede, and you destroy a perfectly charming ballroom… refuse your dreams, and now you even refuse to be moved into my chambers." Her scent changed, it had the moment he began to run his hands over. His eyes widened, pleasantly. "Why Sarah," he mused. "You're getting turned on, aren't you, you dirty little girl you." He chucked softly again, moving his hands to her breasts. Her soft moan was his reward. "Pity I have no intentions of taking care of that just now." He teased; Sarah looked at him with frustration. He moved his hand up to the gag and paused. "If you shout, or bellow or even bark, back in it goes. Understand?"

Sarah nodded, and waited until the gag was gone before she moved her jaw. "God I hate those things."

Jareth tossed it aside, "You would prefer an ring gag perhaps?"

"No," she protested softly. "Jareth let me out of this contraption."

His hands had moved back to her breasts and were messaging softly. "No, you'll stay put until I've had my say." He watched as she settled back, and turned her face up to his. "Good." He leaned forward. "You refused my offer to have you in my bedchamber and," he paused not ecstatic at having to admit anything to her. "You were right to do so."

Sarah leaned her head back on the wooden frame of the rack she was cuffed to. "Well I'll be…" She could see it was galling him to have to admit anything to her. "You didn't think it out did you?" she accused coyly. "This whole gambit, you didn't think it out."

"Did you?" he turned the tables on her. "Did you really think out what your revenge was going to set in motion?"

"No," she sighed. "I was going on raw instinct and nerves, and a lack of dreams." She thought of the night only a little over two months ago. "I allowed Lilith too much leeway, and she used my condition to move things way beyond where I wanted them to be." Looking at the King, Sarah sighed. "You would never have returned my dreams to me, would you?"

The hands on the soft flesh of her breasts tightened becoming painful. "No, I was never going to return your dreams, not even if you asked me nicely."

"And all that talk about a rematch was just smoke and mirrors to make me feel even guiltier when you held your mock trial." Sarah accused.

"Would you have taken a rematch knowing the outcome would surely not be in your favor this time," he questioned with an edge to his voice.

It was a few moments before Sarah could find the words to speak. "No, I would never want to cross you again. Twice was enough for a life time."

"I didn't declare the war," he reminded her coldly.

"Didn't you?"

Jareth stood up and began to pace. "When you refused my offer of staying in my chamber, I was stunned." He was reflective and clasped his hands behind his back. "You're reasoning has given me pause."

Sarah watched him, he moved slowly, thoughtfully. "And what is your… opinion?"

He shrugged, before coming back to stand before her. "I have no desire to take a Queen." He stated flatly. "Too few care about the Goblins as it is, and a Queen who does not understand them or care for their needs would be a disaster."

"From what I observed at the Solstice festival, you may not have much of a say." Sarah offered softly. "There were a few notable ladies preening for you."

"Let them," his disdain filled his voice.

Sarah shook her head, "Jareth, you're the son of the High King, even you are not so dense and dim-witted not to see that the Court is going to demand that you take a Queen."

Stormy eyes moved over her, achingly. "I offered my throne once, it will not be offered again." He walked toward the window. "You may stay here in your tower, Tagaan," he didn't look back at her. "I won't offer you my chamber again." There was pain in his tenor. "Your training will begin again in the morning. Della and Daisy will see to your being delivered to the training center." Just before turning to owl, he waved his hand and the bindings fell away from the girl. In the next instant he was winging his way out of the window.

Sarah moved to the widow, gazed out with little relief. Rubbing her wrists she wondered how she was supposed to endure the rest of this life. Sadly she watched the white owl soar into the night sky.

--

Bryn pushed her food around on her plate, not really eating. Devon did much the same thing, and neither of them seemed disposed to speaking. Finally, having had enough of this charade, Devon tossed his napkin on the table, and leaned back in his chair to look at his mortal. "Say something," he demanded.

"Trouble is coming." She sighed placing an elbow on the table, and cradling her chin in her hand.

Devon winced; he didn't question, nor argue. He agreed with the girl, trouble was coming. "If I could pack you up and put you somewhere safe…"

Rising from the table, the young woman moved to stand behind the Fae Lord, she placed her hands on his shoulders. "I would refuse leave," she said softly. Her hands moved slowly down, as she bent closer, placing her face along side his.

"Sweet Bryn," he whispered against her skin.

"We cannot stop the wheels in motion, Devon," she murmured. "But we can safe guard against the bumpy ride ahead."