Chapter Five
Storm Front
Berk waddled up to him with a determined look in his beady eye. He shoved a small scroll in Jareth's hand.
Jareth groaned. Of all things, he most despised hearing land disputes and procrastinated them as long as possible. Goblins were a stubborn and competitive species, particularly when defending themselves against other goblins. What little logic and reasoning they possessed, goblins immediately dismissed for yelling and insults. It was not unheard of for a dispute to be resolved by each of them tearing down their own homes in the heat of an argument to prove a point. Once razed, the property then again defaulted to the city's sole control.
Jareth scowled at Berk. "This is precisely why I appointed you."f
The goblin threw up his hands in exasperation. "I canna listen to these, they don't make no sense."
Jareth rolled his eyes, but opened the scroll and skimmed it. "Oh gods," he sighed. The first complaint regarded a patch of eye-lichen growing in a crack on the property that crossed the city wall to the southern region of the labyrinth. One neighbor wanted to exterminate it. The other wanted it to stay and spy on the neighbor.
Nevertheless, settling the dispute not only provided him a distraction but also served to keep his citizens occupied. With so few duties and chores available, and the storm not appearing to let up anytime soon, Jareth could not deny the prudence of cleaning house and preventing a backlog if—when—it was time to clean up the city and deal with the inevitable aftermath.
As he marched through through the snow, Berk trailing behind, Jareth surveyed the city. Most of the citizens milling about outside, stubbornly attempting to work and homestead only nodded and grumbled in acknowledgment as he passed. A few widened their eyes and whispered excitedly to each other. Jareth caught mutterings of "She has returned!" and "I saw her meself!"
He resolutely ignored them, jutting his chin high. A few kicks to the more vulgar ones would have been satisfying and just, but he mercifully refrained.
Jareth did not waste time when he arrived at the site of the dispute. He crossed his arms and stared at the neighbors, each attempting to out-yell the other. He caught insults about "Your dear mother" and "three-headed camels" in at least four languages before he yanked each by their ears.
"Enough!"
They yelped in unison and immediately silenced their squabbling. Their cheeks reddened and brows wrinkled. Jareth released his grip. The neighbor to the west removed his cap and hastily bowed. Snowflakes landed on his bald head and melted on contact. "Yer—yer Majesty," he wheezed.
"I do not have time for this," Jareth hissed. "We will settle this now." He glared at the silent goblin, the neighbor to the east. "You. Speak."
The goblin muttered and stammered, shifting from one foot to another. Jareth waved him off and walked over to the eye-lichen and leaned into them, trampling the garden.
Eye-lichen moved as quickly as they grew, which was not fast at all. In the cold, trapped in the crack of a frozen wall, Jareth almost mistook them for dormant when one large green bulb opened and peered at him. He waved his hand over the patch, casting a burst of warm air to thaw them. "What say you, lichen?" In all likelihood, their seeds germinated here long before the goblins' grandparents built their homes.
Jareth listened carefully to their coos, deciphering each pitch and note. "Is that so?"
They were sick of the fighting and desired a transplant, but worried about exposed roots on the other side of the wall; the interior of the labyrinth.
"Very well. There may be use for Hedgehog after all. I assume he is cowering in a foxhole somewhere." Jareth stood up straight and attempted to transport to the other side of the wall.
Nothing.
Jareth tried again. He remained in his spot, garden mud—and likely dragon manure—covering his boots.
He stifled a groan, exasperated at facing yet another turn against his intentions. First, the block which prevented him descrying Sarah. Then, the storm's fury and the mysterious summons. And now, he could not even magic himself across the labyrinth borders.
This kind of powerlessness in his own kingdom did not suit him and left a bitter taste in his mouth. He clenched his jaw.
A nearby access gate granted entrance to the corridor. Jareth turned to Berk and the feuding neighbors.
"Berk," he nodded to the captain. "See to it that all three of you stay here—without bloodshed." He did not await a response and turned for the gate. He pushed with considerably more effort than he would have expected to use.
Inside the labyrinth's corridors, shielded from the city, the distant wind howls and shrieks of young creatures playing in the snow faded. The silence draped over him, dense like a wool cloak.
Jareth's instincts piqued, a reflex from centuries of training and experience. His shoulders tensed as his sharp eyes flickered and observed his surroundings.
Not a single flake fell. No eddies spun in the corners. His breath did not condense when he exhaled. Without the subfreezing temperature, Jareth would have thought he was indoors.
Jareth headed toward the lichen roots. Less snow accumulated in the narrow corridors, protected by the tall walls, but it felt denser, and the few steps took more effort than trudging through the garden.
This is not right, he thought.
You are correct, another voice—not his own—responded.
Jareth stilled, the lichen gone from his mind. The hair on his neck stood straight. In all his centuries on the throne, he could count on one hand the times the labyrinth spoke to him directly.
He chose his words carefully. "What do you want?"
Though they were equals, his relationship with the labyrinth required mutual respect and authority; he ruled the land, but the labyrinth operated on its own. That Jareth often referred to it as "his" was a courtesy on the labyrinth's behalf.
Whispers breezed by his ears. I do not want, Jareth. We need her. You cannot accomplish this on your own. His hair fluttered although the wind did not blow in the corridor.
Bring her to me.
He considered the terms they established early in his rule: his law could not violate the labyrinth's autonomy, and in turn, it could not dictate how he led his kingdom. By and large, the challenges runners faced were of the labyrinth's intention and with little interference from Jareth.
Jareth's nerves frayed, a few ends snapping under the pressure of the past few days and his frustration with it all.
"Let me remind you that neither of us commands the other," Jareth clipped, his tone icy. He pulled his shoulders back and kept his eyes moving, scanning for any change or sign of danger. "You have no business demanding anything of me, any more than I have authority over your actions."
The temperature plummeted and nipped his cheeks. Jareth blinked several times to soothe his stinging eyes in the dry cold.
I have done so once before, Goblin King.
"I sincerely hope you are not threatening..." Jareth trailed into silence as understanding dawned on him. "You sent the crystal and summoned me Aboveground to Sarah."
I will protect our realm at any cost.
The silence remained dense, but the atmosphere lightened. Jareth opened his mouth, then closed it again, stunned by the discovery. Questions whirled in his mind, but he could not grasp one long enough to think it through. His face pinched and furrowed with confusion.
Bring me Sarah, the labyrinth repeated. Soon.
Before he could respond, Jareth blinked and found himself back in the pitiful garden. The wind screamed in his ears and his hair whipped against his face. He stared at the wall, dumbfounded.
Berk and the neighbors squabbled behind him. Armor clanged, and the goblins swore loudly as they swung at and kicked each other. In the din, none of them noticed their ruler's reappearance.
Jareth turned on his heel and beelined for the castle, barreling through the goblins. They yelped in unison as they landed, trembling, awaiting swift punishment for both ignoring him and getting in his way.
None came.
Instead, Jareth grumbled to a stunned Berk about paperwork regarding the lichen transplantation. His cape flapped and billowed behind him, never touching the snow and filth around him.
He approached the castle gates and glanced up at the second-tallest tower, where Sarah was sequestered. Everything had turned upside-down in mere days.
How you turn my world... Jareth scoffed at the irony of his long-forgotten words.
He marched back into the castle. Servants and sentries slipped and stumbled in the mud-slicked foyer in their rush to avoid his path. He stepped over them without effort, boots clicking against the stone floor. He did not bother to remove his fur or gloves as he set himself on the throne.
If the labyrinth wanted Sarah, he would most certainly deliver her to it.
Sarah jolted awake from someone shaking her shoulder. She shrieked, grasping at the covers and entangling her legs.
"Miss Sarah lady! Up! Wake up!" Tak peered at her, nose to nose.
Sarah gasped as she found her bearings and disentangled herself from the bed. "What? What is it?" She made to stretch, but Tak hurriedly pulled on the skirt of her nightgown, yanking Sarah over to a wardrobe.
"Hurry! No time!"
"No time for what?"
Tak yanked on the fastenings to her gown and started undressing her. Still half-asleep and too confused to argue, Sarah did not fight the maid's efforts. Far seedier types and more anonymous faces had seen her body in various states of undress in recent history; Sarah harbored no modesty. That Tak moved so quickly—Sarah wondered how she reached up so high for such a short stature—did not even permit her to fret about nudity and underthings. Within a minute, Tak stepped back and admired her handiwork: a simple burgundy lace-up gown over a chemise.
"I'se still gots it!" She clapped excitedly. "I hasn't dressed a lady in a long time!" Tak grasped Sarah's hand and pulled her out the door.
"Hey—wait! Where are we going?" Suddenly, the castle seemed strange and foreboding. Squirreled away in her room, with others coming to her, Sarah did not have to worry about where she was in the castle or how to get around. But now, she was being led through unfamiliar territory.
Tak shook her head but did not turn around. "No time, no time! Hurry! Go faster!" Her skirt swished as she waddled, Sarah in tow.
The corridors seemed endless, twisting one way and turning in another that followed no architectural logic. Sarah focused more attention on remaining upright and not tripping over her gown than she could spend trying to retrace her steps. "Tak," she gasped, stooped over to accommodate the goblin's short arms. Her hamstrings burned in protest. "Where—are—we—going?"
Without warning, Tak stopped on a dime. "Here." She unceremoniously pushed Sarah from behind through a door that opened of its own volition.
Sarah stumbled forward; this time, she could not right herself and landed on her hands and knees in a semi-dark room. The door slammed shut.
"...shit."
In the partial darkness, Sarah squinted to see her surroundings. Her eyes adjusted and she saw that several rows of shelves occluded some of the windows, diminishing the light. At least it's not an oubliette this time.
A fire ignited to her left. A massive fireplace glowed, the flames roaring, filling the shadows with firelight. Heat radiated meters away; only when goosebumps rose on her skin did Sarah realize how cold the temperature was outside of her room. She clamored to her feet and chafed her arms.
With the fireglow and its four-foot flames, Sarah could see the rest of the room in detail. Desks of various sizes, antiques, and states of organization scattered across an open floor. Most of them faced the hearth in some fashion, though not in any organized pattern. Several stacks of books were piled near the desks and the ends of the shelves, some too large to store as they were as wide as the length of her arm.
All her time of constant movement Aboveground, shifting situations and equally shifty personalities afforded Sarah the blessed ability to, in some ways, live in the moment. Despite that she was in the castle in a magical universe she kept secret her entire life, locked in a cold room with no instruction, and could barely stand from exhaustion and illness, Sarah could not help but smile at the idea that the Goblin King's study would be a harried mess.
She relished having a moment to entertain and distract herself, and so she gingerly approached the opposite end of a shelf, lit by the gray light of the window rather than the yellow-orange glow of the raging fire.
As she walked, she traced her hands over the spines and crests of the books. Sarah recognized several titles, both ancient and modern, and some in languages she did not know, or had never seen. She vaguely wondered if they were alphabetized, or how else they were organized—if they were at all.
She turned to the window and watched the city below. At present, Aboveground in New York, the sight of mothers screeching for their children to come inside and eat your supper was common sight in the winter. Yet here, though the weather was the same, Sarah felt the same disorientation as she felt when taking a spring break vacation to a warm place: something just felt wrong.
Sarah climbed into the windowsill, drawn to the snowfall outside. Grateful to be off her feet, she absently rubbed her bruised knee with one hand and sidled closer to the opening. The disorientation buzzed inside her and morphed, warming in her core. She felt just like she had earlier when Sélan examined her.
The snow mesmerized her—she caught individual flakes in her vision and watched them all tumble and fall. Sarah remembered less and less of the library and the castle. She only wanted to watch the snow.
Some flakes sparkled. They reminded her of the swirling glitter when she first met the Goblin King; of the dewy layer of magic in the forest that shined even in the darkest passages; of the baubles and jewelry that dripped down the revelers' necks in the ballroom.
Sarah inched further toward the ledge and reached out. Snowflakes sprinkled her hand and wrist. Each ignited a sensation inside that Sarah had never felt before—tiny fireworks exploding in her chest next to her heart. This must be magic.
She recalled Sélan's parting words. Do I have magic?
As quickly as it arose, the sensation faded. She shifted back to the present, recalling her surroundings. The library.
A presence materialized behind her.
She turned back inside the ledge to see the Goblin King standing at the opposite end of the bookshelves. She did not react. At least, not on the outside. The warmth of magic faded.
He stared at her and slowly stepped forward. His face hadn't changed from the last time she saw it: pale and angular. His blue eyes bore into her, but she could not discern his expression. He neither frowned nor smirked.
Cold anxiety and panic replaced it in quick succession. He's doing this deliberately, she thought. This is what narcissists and sociopaths do. He wants me to say something first, so he can twist my words. She licked her lips and gulped. I won't. I won't speak first.
Jareth moved closer.
This is the same thing Cassius does. He stays stoic and expressionless and doesn't say or do anything, only waiting for me to talk and—
The distance closed between them. Jareth tucked his chin and lowered his face. His gaze never wavered. Slowly, he smiled.
Oh, god. Oh, no.
Sarah could smell him now as he flattened a palm on the ledge and leaned toward her. The same dryness, just enough to make her hair rise, permeated from him.
Sandalwood. Sarah closed her eyes. Bergamot, and a touch of nutmeg.
When she opened them, his face stared square into hers, their noses mere inches apart.
Sarah remained still as he raised his other hand toward her face. He had her caged into the window. She refused to break their eye contact.
A single gloved finger pressed against her mouth. "Sarah," he said, his voice as silky as she remembered, "I can read your face. Not your mind."
Sarah sputtered, muttering incoherently. Jareth didn't pull away, but he made no further movement or gesture.
No way out.
Jareth did not expect to equally relish such closeness to Sarah and an urge to hang her out the window by her hair. Cornering her into the ledge sufficed: she could only retreat backwards and out of the window.
As he watched her, Jareth caught every muscle twitch and shift of her gaze. Sparks and emotions raced across her irises, and her pupils flexed with each memory and thought.
And now, he stood with his hand on her face. He easily slipped his palm along her jaw. Sarah tensed, but remained silent.
Jareth forced himself to drop his hand to her side, unsure whether he wanted to throw her out of the window himself or take her right there on the sill.
He settled for encasing her without contact, to encroach on her personal space without touch. Perhaps she may taste what I have experienced all this time.
Jareth maintained eye contact. Sarah's eyes clouded, though she did not speak or make a move.
"Sarah," he continued, rhythmically tapping his fingers on the stone ledge. "I'm surprised at you. Maybe...even a little impressed." His eyes crinkled as he smiled at her, wide and saccharine.
A millimeter of closeness between Sarah's brows betrayed her thoughts. "What for?"
Jareth flexed his shoulders. "All this time, and not once have you declared how unfair all of this is." He rolled his eyes round wide to indicate the scope of Sarah's teenage tantrums; his hands remained firmly planted on either side of her. He didn't want to detach from her space just yet.
Sarah eased herself off the ledge and pushed past him. Her fully-knitted brow and set jaw reminded Jareth of the last time she had walked away.
"Fairness is subjective. Especially here." He did not expect such confidence in her tone.
Jareth narrowed his eyes but widened his smile. "Do elaborate."
Sarah wheeled an about face. "I think you're the one who should be explaining things."
Jareth arched an eyebrow. "Is that so?"
"Why am I here?"
For that, Jareth paused. In truth, he did not yet know the answer to Sarah's question in full, and could only guess. Jareth knew that he was summoned to Sarah and that she was in danger, and that the labyrinth demanded her to return to it. Though he strongly suspected Cassius had far more in mind with Sarah than just abusing his power to wed her and exploit her magic, the words could not form.
Jareth had to think quickly to not let on that he possessed as little information as Sarah did, was just as confused as she was, and worse, that he was merely following orders and summons—something very much unlike him.
"Why do you think you are here?" As the question poured from his mouth, it occurred to Jareth that he knew little of Sarah's situation. The question he posed as a device only to keep the conversation moving shifted to turnabout—neither knew what the other was doing.
Sarah's eyes shifted again, but her face did not betray her. "I certainly didn't ask for it. You know I didn't wish for anything."
"Answer my question."
"Answer mine first. I didn't ask to come back, but you took me anyway. I am here against my will, and as a prisoner, I demand to know why I am being held here."
Jareth roared with laughter, throwing his head back and his wild hair danced about his shoulders. "I assure you, you are not a prisoner here." Yet, he finished bitterly.
Sarah's cat-like eyes narrowed, focusing on their prey. Her stare remained unbroken. "Then tell me exactly what is going on." Sarah's tone neither feigned bravery nor let on she was unsure of herself. She stood squarely with her hands at her sides. She faced him directly.
It occurred to Jareth that she may be of more use to Cassius dead than alive.
Enough is enough.
"Let us sit." He slipped an arm around her shoulder and turned her toward the fire. Sarah nodded, again tense under his touch, but did not say anything further.
Jareth led her to the desk nearest the fire and offered a chair opposite himself. She visibly relaxed and set in the seat, while he walked around to the desk's corner and perched on its edge. He waved his hand, and charcuterie and cheese board appeared, with a bottle of mead and two goblets.
He poured some mead into both goblets and offered one to her. "Stakes are high, Sarah. Your life is at risk along with my kingdom."
"Honestly, it doesn't surprise me." Sarah accepted the goblet and sniffed at it, but did not sip from it. She gazed at the fire, unfazed.
"And why might that be?"
Sarah closed her eyes and leaned back into her chair. "I have my reasons."
Jareth stilled. He clenched his goblet, frustrated with this adult Sarah that could neither be intimidated nor reasoned with to cooperate.
"While your commitment to confidentiality is admirable," he began, "I daresay that the threat of both our lives and livelihoods supersede your code of honor." He took a swig of the mead—much needed already.
"What do you know about a man named Cassius?"
Sarah stilled. Where her fingers gently tapped against the goblet before, now gripped it. Her knuckles blanched. A chill shuddered between them, something that should have been impossible next to the roaring fire. If Sarah noticed, she said nothing. Jareth wondered if she had done it herself, and if so; whether it was deliberate.
"I know some things." Sarah fidgeted and shifted her weight from one hip to the other.
"What kind of things? Did he say anything to you?"
"It's irrelevant. I know he was involved with the Underground." Sarah took a large swallow from her goblet and looked Jareth straight in the eye. "What I find interesting is how closely both of you work together. I have questions of my own, and I'm curious about what it is you know about him."
Sarah's tone was earnest; she spoke with conviction. She did not break eye contact with Jareth as she spoke.
"I do know he is not to be trusted."
Sarah scoffed, and then again, followed with a hearty guffaw. "How rich, coming from you! The narcissist extraordinaire himself! How dare you call someone else untrustworthy?"
Jareth bristled, ire furrowing his brow and tightening in his abdomen. "You chose not to accept my offer. If you're insinuating it was deceptive, I can assure you, Sarah, it was very real." Much like this situation, he thought desperately. This is not working in my favor.
Sarah stiffened, her face taut. "This is not the time for that conversation. There was no real choice, and that is not something I'm willing to discuss any further." She crossed one arm over her body and turned to face the fire again, ignoring him as much as she could.
Jareth set his goblet on the table. "What I do know about Cassius is that he is not safe."
Sarah scoffed again. "And you are? How can I trust you?" Her voice pitched upwards, uncertainty wavering in her voice.
"Sarah," he started, and looked her over. In his mind, Jareth recounted the events and changes, Cassius' letter, the labyrinth's demands and behavior. The uncertainty and unprecedented storm and the magic that drove it. Everything he knew all pointed to one thing—and because he had no definite proof, he could literally not indicate any of it to the object of all the trouble and misery. "You must know that he is the most unsavory of characters."
"Believe it or not, I already figured that out for myself," Sarah sneered.
Jareth gritted his teeth. In some ways, they were too similar. "I do believe it."
Whether it was the mead, her exhaustion, or life experience steeling her nerves, Sarah thanked her lucky stars that she held herself so well against the Goblin King during this confrontation. This was not exactly the situation she'd envisioned when she'd let herself imagine meeting Jareth again.
A part of her wanted to believe that Jareth told the truth. His eyes did not shadow and shift the way they had when she last faced him. In fact, they looked familiar as they had when he first rescued her from the house—she shivered at the memory—deadly earnest.
But what was she to believe? A warm, crackling fire and a glass of mead surely could not sway her. She already knew that Cassius wasn't trustworthy, and so Jareth's warning fell on well-versed ears. Sarah had never trusted Cassius as far as she could throw him; she merely had no choice but to follow him.
And just because the Goblin King was not Cassius did not render him any more trustworthy or in any way believable. Cassius was responsible for truly terrible things. But he did not commit acts such as poisoning her, setting innocents against her, or shifting time for his own benefit.
All the same, Jareth was in no way responsible for the things Cassius had committed against Sarah.
A pregnant moment stretched into an enduring silence. Jareth stood and slowly paced in front of the fire. He stopped once or twice and opened his mouth, but did not speak. Sarah waited wordlessly. She had learned over time to let those who believed they led precarious situations to actually lead it and she would follow or divert as needed. Confidence could be a dangerous thing.
As he paced, though, curiosity sparked in Sarah. She wondered how Jareth knew of Cassius. Surely the Underground was large enough that other realms and kingdoms existed; Sarah lamented the idea that its most apparently prevalent species was the charming, but ultimately stupid and useless, goblins.
In all the time Sarah had accepted that Cassius was part of the Underground, she suddenly realized she never imagined in what capacity. Given all the time he spent in with her in New York, Sarah wondered if she imagined that he simply did not have any rank and merely a measure of power to exist Aboveground.
But if Jareth knew of him, she reasoned, there was no way he could have simply been a civilian or subject. Jareth was not the type to rub shoulders with peasants and low ranking nobles unless his duty required it. Unless they served him a purpose.
Sarah startled when Jareth spoke again, as she had lost herself so deeply in thought.
"It is truly unfortunate that I have no way to convey this to you," he continued pacing but glanced at her every few steps; one hand holding his chin. "Yet all I can offer is what I have already stated. Cassius is not safe, and I urge you to strongly consider everything he says—or does."
Sarah tilted her head as she watched him. She had ever known or witnessed the Goblin King simply unable to do something. It was more characteristic of him to simply take what he wanted or will a circumstance into existence. If he was unable to do so now, that meant he was either dealing with an equal to match his power and abilities, or handling something entirely new.
Or, just plain lying to her. He'd done it before.
Sarah swallowed as the idea dawned on her—what if this really is as serious as he says? Though she had never seen him in direct combat, Sarah guessed Jareth would not permit anything dangerous to infiltrate his fortress or otherwise ask for help unless he truly needed it. He was far too proud.
"Well, what can you tell me about him?"
Jareth stopped and caught her gaze. The warm glow from the fire behind him illuminated his hair. His brows did not arch and his face remained calm and focused. "Not much, unfortunately."
"Well, why not?"
Jareth sighed, long-suffering. This had bothered him for centuries. "Etiquette was so highly valued by our ancestors and trained into our forefathers that it evolved and dictated rules of engagement. Without particular conditions and requirements, unless someone outright names their explicit intention to commit an act, we cannot do anything."
Sarah turned it over in her mind, piecing together what Jareth said. "You mean to say that you are magically and legally barred from hearsay? You cannot actually tell me what is going on."
"Even magic has rules, Sarah."
Sarah still did not understand why she was here, regardless whether or not she wanted to be.
She waited for him to say something further. Jareth appeared to do the same as he watched her. His gaze softened and Sarah suspected he may have...pitied her.
His unusual eye with its enlarged pupil caught her attention as she studied his gaze during their silence. In the past, she had simply accepted it as some side effect of his magic or status, but in their awkward stare-off, she couldn't help but wonder about it.
"What happened? To your eye," Sarah blurted.
As soon as she said it, Sarah realized that if it was rude Aboveground, her asking something so direct to a monarch Underground might have borderlined on treason.
The softness in Jareth's gaze disappeared. His lips twitched, but he did not break his silent stare. Sarah held her breath, regretting her rudeness. He turned back to the fire.
"I faced...a trial, of sorts. You could say I took a test."
Now with curiosity burning her insides, Sarah pressed further. She couldn't resist. "Did you pass?"
Jareth turned back to her, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He looked at her for a long moment.
"Yes."
And without any further explanation, before Sarah could say anything else, Jareth set down his goblet and wordlessly left the library.