9. Moon

Oh the moon, the moon smiles sweetly at me

And the teeth grinning through the trees

And he riddles and rhymes and he measure the time

It takes you to fall asleep

So I'll turn the whole world into liars

Just to start a new truth

And at first it'll sound like a fable to me

But not so much to you

And then we both can live together

In perfect harmony

And we'll never bring up the question

Where oh where is reality?

Oh the moon, the moon smiles sweetly at me

And the teeth grinning through the trees

And he riddles and rhymes and he measures the time

But you're already asleep

"Lullaby" by Pepper Proud

When she woke under the heavy blankets to the smell of woodsmoke and cold silk, she did not get up right away. She breathed deep, trying to center herself the way she did before a show. I am not afraid, she told herself, trying to get into character. I am not angry. I am…

What was she?

Sober, for one thing. Despite all the vodka she'd pounded before going to bed, she couldn't feel even the faintest glimmer of a buzz. Instead, anxiety was already beginning to twist in the pit of her stomach just from being in that room, on that bed. Despite the bravado she'd felt when she was sitting at home, safe in her own apartment, now that she was here all she wanted to do was pull the blankets over her head and pretend this wasn't happening.

But that wasn't an option. Sarah opened her eyes and glared up at the dark canopy that hung over his bed, concentrating. What was she? What should she be?

I am afraid, she decided. Because he expects me to be. And I'm angry too, at least a little, because he knows I am. She frowned. But I have to be more than that, she realized. I'm…

Receptive.

That was it. That must be what he was hoping for the most, what he would be most eager to see in her. Any sign that she was warming up to him, just a little. It shouldn't take much. A little hesitation at just the right place in the conversation, a curious look before quickly turning away, maybe even a laugh. Nothing she couldn't handle.

She sat up cautiously, scanning the room. She didn't see him at first; he was sitting on the floor by the dying fire, lounging against the stone wall, one leg stretched out in front of him, the other bent. His head was tilted far back, so that if his eyes had been open he would have been staring at the ceiling. He hadn't noticed her yet—it was possible that he was sleeping.

The door was closed, and almost certainly locked. Briefly Sarah wondered if it would be worth trying it—she could wander the castle in search of information instead of dealing with him. Not likely, but worth a shot if she could make it. Carefully, not wanting to wake him just yet, Sarah swung her legs over the side of the bed.

"Ah, Sarah."

Her head whipped around. The Goblin King had not moved from where he sat, but his eyes were open and he was smiling. There was something different about his face; his smile lacked his usual irony, and his face was drawn, almost haggard looking. His shaggy, chin length hair hung limply around his face, and his eyes lacked the lively edge of mockery that always seemed to be lurking in them. They were lined with silvery-blue circles, as though he'd barely slept in the three days since she's seen him last.

She set her face in a frown. She had to be on her guard; she couldn't forget how the sheer force of his personality seemed, magic aside, to be able to bend reality to his will. It would be so easy to get sucked in, to be drawn into his wake, to forget the terrible things he had done simply because he never seemed to remember.

Abruptly she realized that she hadn't greeted him back-she was just standing there, staring. She opened her mouth to speak, then stopped, feeling foolish. It seemed too late to speak now. She expected him to quip something sharp at her, "cat got your tongue," or at least muster up a sneer—but, to her surprise, he didn't. He only sat there, his smile drawn tight across his face. After another moment of awkward silence, his smile twisted and he turned away from her. He rose from the fireplace, stretching and adjusting his clothing with sharp, precise movements.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, studying his pants as he brushed off an invisible layer of dust. "As I recall, even with the spell, there may have been some lingering effects."

"Fine," Sarah said, fighting the urge to fidget. She leaned back against the mattress and slipped an arm around the slim, smooth to steady herself. "Fine—still a little stiff and sore in the mornings, but it's getting better."

"Good," he said. "Good."

They stood there in silence for a moment, neither of them saying anything.

Sarah shifted her feet awkwardly. "I certainly haven't been bedridden," she added, referring to the story he had told her about his own broken bargain.

"No," he said quickly. "I did not think it would be that bad—you did not push it nearly as far as I did."

There was another awkward silence. He shifted from foot to foot, looking as though he had something to say but not saying. Finally, he seemed to work up the courage.

"There is something I would like to show you tonight," he said, looking at her keenly, as though afraid she might refuse.

Awesome—a chance to start building some goodwill. "Alright," she agreed cautiously.

"It's outside the castle."

Even better. More brownie points, and she would get to see more of the Underground. She tried to look taken aback, as though the thought of leaving the castle alarmed her. "I—" she faltered.

"It's not far," he said quickly.

She hesitated for another beat. "Well—alright, I guess."

He smiled-a warm, genuine smile that reminded her suddenly of the strangely domestic moment they had shared the previous night, while she soaked in the bathtub and he read by the fire, chatting amiably—before it had all gone wrong. For some reason, she felt her face grow warm. Panicking, she inwardly cursed herself for blushing, then quickly decided to take advantage of it by looking away, as though she were embarrassed.

"Wonderful," she heard him say, and something in his tone of voice made her turn back sharply—just in time to see the crystal he had flung in her direction.

There was no time to dodge—she closed her eyes and shrieked, raising her arms uselessly as though to ward it off. As it hit her, she felt a warm, tingling sensation surround her, enveloping her from the neck down. When it reached her toes, the tingling faded as quickly as it had come—but the warmth remained, and with it she was suddenly aware was a pronounced feeling of weight, of heaviness. She opened her eyes, looking down.

She was dressed in entirely different clothes.

She raised her arms, pushing back the heavy, fur-lined cloak that now cascaded down from her shoulders to brush the floor. She was wearing at least two dresses, one a dark, rich brown that laced up the front, cut in long, form-fitting panels that hugged her waist and hips and swelled gracefully into a floor length skirt. The broad V-shaped neckline of the brown dress was so low that even Shana would have thought it was indecent, but luckily it was layered on top of another dress made of thin, white material that covered her halfway up to her collarbone and peeked through the gaps between the lacing in the front. Instead of sneakers, she now wore ankle-length leather boots with thin soles that felt almost like moccasins.

Her heart still pounding in her chest, she glared at him, her face hot with anger. "What the hell was that?"

He blinked, clearly surprised by her reaction. "It will be cold where we are going," he said stiffly, almost defensive. "You needed warmer clothes."

"And you just decided you'd, what?" she snapped. "Magic me some?" Worse than that, he had basically just undressed her with his magic. She would swear that the ghost of that awful tingling feeling was still crawling against her skin. Abruptly, she realized that she was no longer even wearing underwear. She clenched her fists; she wanted to scream.

His eyes darkened and his lip curled. "Would you have preferred I set the goblins to spinning and weaving?"

"Very fucking funny, Your Majesty," she snapped, feeling foolishly like she was about to cry. "You didn't even warn me." She wrapped her arms around her chest, hugging herself, hating the alien feeling of the thick, unfamiliar fabric under her fingers, against her body. "What happened to my clothes?" she demanded.

The sneer was back in his eyes, full force. "Why? Were you attached to them?"

She opened her mouth for a scathing retort—then closed it again before she said something that would make the evening completely unsalvageable. Stay in character, she reminded herself, trying to unclench her teeth. This wasn't why she was here—this wasn't how she wanted the night to end. Still scowling, she turned away from him and studied the tapestries, trying to calm herself down.

She realized she was clutching fistfuls of the skirt in her hands and tried to relax her hands. As the material of the gown slipped through her fingers, she couldn't help but marvel at the elegant drape of the skirt, how thick it was despite the fineness of the weave. She'd never worn anything like it. Rubbing the fabric between her fingers, she guessed it must be entirely made of wool. When she was in college, they'd had some costumes made of wool mixed with cotton or synthetic fibers, but not many—even wool blends were usually outside their budget. The cloak, too, she realized, was also made of wool, gray-green and lined with creamy white fur. Along its edges there was an intricate border of complex knots embroidered in silver thread, matching a similar, smaller pattern along the neckline and sleeves of the gown. Certainly, they were warm; already she was almost sweating despite the chilliness of the castle.

"Do you like them?" he asked. He no longer sounded irritated as he had been a moment ago.

"Yes," she said honestly, running a hand over the silky soft fur of the cloak. "They're lovely." She was realizing just much they suited her own taste. These colors, these cuts, the subtle richness of the fabrics and design—they were just what she would have chosen for herself. Did he know that? She looked up, and tried to ignore the expectant expression on his face. Receptive, she thought. Give him hope. "Thank you," she said.

Apparently, that was good enough. He smiled another warm, honest smile, and held out his arm for her to take.

"Shall we?"

She had forgotten how unsettling it was to be transported by him. The sudden, whirling absence of gravity flung her stomach into her throat and made the hairs on her body stand on end. It was only a fraction of a second, but when they landed it took her a moment to get her bearings. She clung to his arm, taking deep breaths and placing a hand over her stomach as though trying to force it back into its correct position.

As she recovered, she began to gradually take notice of her surroundings. The first thing she noticed was that they were outside. Despite her warm clothing, a sharp wind blew her hair back and chilled her cheeks. It was very dark, but there was an enormous full moon, and so many stars—more stars than she had ever seen before in the night sky. Together, they gave off enough light to see by, and by the time that all her organs had finally settled back in place, Sarah found that she was facing a forest. As her eyes adjusted, she could make out the shapes of huge, craggy trees looming in front of her, the trunks thicker than those of any trees she had ever seen. They must have been very, very old. Between their immense trunks grew a thicket of smaller trees and plants. The shadows between the trees seemed to swallow up what little light there was, and Sarah could only see a few feet inside. She doubted that daylight would make much difference—it seemed impossible that the sun could penetrate such a dense canopy. She thought of fairy tales, of Hansel and Gretel lost in the dark, searching in vain for pebbles, and shivered.

"Not a chance," she said flatly, backing up a few paces. "I'm not going in there."

She heard him scoff behind her. "Perceptive as ever," he said wryly.

She turned, a sharp retort on her lips, then gasped and reeled back. She was standing at the edge of a yawning precipice—inches from her feet the grassy turf fell away to a steep slope of craggy boulders and gravel and then, several yards down, dropped away to nothing. As she staggered back the Goblin King moved behind her and she felt a cautious hand encircle her waist, steading her.

"Don't be foolish," he said, but his voice was gentle. "I will not allow you to fall." He reached over her shoulder and pointed a gloved finger. "Look there."

She followed his hand and gasped again, putting a hand to her mouth.

Beneath them, the Labyrinth glowed.

They up very high, at the top of a large hill, or perhaps a mountain. Far off in the distance Sarah could see the castle. The perimeter was brightly lit with many torches, and each long, thin window had a lamp burning in it. But the Labyrinth—oh, the Labyrinth! It was a reflection of the night sky itself, lit with thousands of tiny lights perched along the top of its thick walls. They were carefully arranged—closest to the castle, they clumped thickly together so that she could hardly tell where one light began and the other ended—they almost appeared to be a line of light. The further away from the castle, the more thinly spaced they were, each tiny flame glowing bravely against the darkness that loomed outside the outer walls. Sarah followed the bright, meandering paths with wide, astonished eyes.

"What do you think?" he murmured, close to her ear.

"It's…it's beautiful." The mist from her breath curled in the air as she spoke the words, her voice hushed with longing. If she dared to wish for anything at that moment, she would wish to be down there, within those glowing walls. She wanted it so badly she could feel the yearning in her body, a strong tugging from deep within in her heart. "Beautiful," she repeated.

He moved closer to her then, putting his hand on her shoulder. "I thought you would appreciate it," he said softly.

Startled at his touch, she looked up; he was gazing down at her with such naked admiration that it made her nervous and she quickly looked down unable to stop herself from pulling away. Quickly, he removed his hand.

"Shall we sit?" he asked, his voice more formal, more distant.

Relieved that he did not sound angry, she turned back to see that he was offering her one hand and gesturing with the other in the direction of the forest where were two small piles of cushions arranged on a large blanket several feet from the treeline. Off to the side was a large, wrought iron candelabra that held seven lit candles, each as thick as her arm. The candles cast a warm, yellow glow over the cushions and the covered tray that sat in the center of the blanket. Opposite the candelabra, a tall, steaming iron pitcher sat on a grill over a brazier filled with glowing, dark red coals. Two silver cups were arranged on a smaller tray beside it.

This is a date, she thought, and felt foolish. Of course it was—all her "trips" to the Underground, she realized suddenly, had been dates. This was just the first one that was going according to plan. It was also the most extravagant one so far: the clothes, the display of lights in the Labyrinth, and now some kind of midnight picnic.

She looked back at him, studying him. She saw the tiredness she had seen earlier—the deep shadows under his eyes, and the droop in his shoulders. But there was something else there—an expression in his eyes that she wasn't used to seeing. Something uncertain, almost vulnerable. The way he had looked at her when he had offered her that final crystal ten years ago. Not just a date, she decided. It was too elaborate. An apology?

She almost laughed aloud at the absurdity of it. It was bizarre, an otherworldly distortion of something out of a cheesy romance movie. Still, she was certain she'd hit upon the truth—and it suited her purposes. What better opportunity to put him at his ease, to convince him that she was warming up to him?

"Alright," she said with lowered eyes, satisfied with the hesitant note in her voice. She met his gaze and gave him a nervous little smile.

He smiled back.

It could be worse, she thought as she took his hand and stepped onto the blanket, looking back regretfully at the twinkling lights. A keen wind blew through her hair back from her face, and she suppressed a shiver. It could be a lot worse.

He plopped unregally down on the cushions, sitting as carelessly as he had sat by the fireplace, with one leg stretched out in front of him, the other bent, slouching back lazily and supporting himself against the cushions with an elbow. Sarah lowered herself cross-legged onto the cushions opposite him; she decided to keep her body language close and cautious, folding her legs underneath her and keeping her arms close her body. It wasn't hard; despite the warmth of her clothing, the night breeze was freezing her ears.

He was looking at her with concern. "Are you warm enough?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered quickly. "Yes, I'm fine."

He looked at her doubtfully. "Your cloak has a hood," he said.

"Oh." Sarah reached back and found that he was right. "Thank you." Feeling a little foolish, she pulled it over her head—it was huge, and lined with fur like the rest of the cloak, and divinely warm. As she fumbled with the cloak, trying to wrap it tighter around herself, she was delighted to find that it had pockets on either side of the hem in the front, also lined with fur.

"Wine?"

He was offering her a steaming cup.

"Yes," she said firmly. Despite the vodka she had drunk earlier that night, she had been stone-cold sober when she awoke in the Underground. It would be nice to take a little of the edge off, at least.

They sat for some time in silence. Sarah cradled the warm silver in her hands; she had no idea what to say, and anyway she should probably be following his lead. Instead of talking she looked out over the Labyrinth, studying the way the paths twisted and turned on each other in a strange, chaotic pattern.

"It's a beautiful night," he said.

"Yes," she agreed faintly. She drank some of the wine; it was the same sweet, spicy brew he'd given her earlier, the night they'd made the bargain, and the delightful warmth of it quickly spread through her whole body, all the way to her fingertips and toes, granting her some courage.

"What time of year is it here?" she asked. It definitely wasn't summer, but beyond that it was hard to tell in the dark.

"Late autumn," he said. "Nearly winter—less than a month until Yule."

"It's a little earlier Above," she said. "Still a few weeks until Thanksgiving." Then she felt foolish—of course, he probably knew that already.

"Yes," he agreed. "Our calendars are always closer together just after Samhain. Our weather too. Something about the thinning of the veil seems to align things."

"Really?" she said politely.

"Yes."

This must be the mystical equivalent of talking about the weather, she thought, taking nervous sip of wine. There was another silence. The Goblin King tipped his goblet back and drained it before leaning forward and taking the lid off the tray, revealing a few small dishes.

"Something to eat?" he asked.

More eager for something to do than actually hungry, Sarah held out her hands obediently, and he filled them with a mixture of nuts and whole dried fruits that smelled sweet and heady. Her mouth watered and, delighted, she munched. The walnuts were candied and richly spiced with cinnamon and cloves, and the fruit was a mix of figs and cherries that tasted strongly of red wine, as though they'd been poached in it before being dried. It was all very good.

"The moon is lovely," she offered, gesturing to the full silver orb between mouthfuls. "It's still just a little sliver back home."

"Yes," he said. "That's something that never seems to match, no matter what night it is. The moon is always different."

There was another silence. Sarah began to panic as she chewed, eyeing her remaining handful of food, wondering how long she could make it last. Surely she couldn't be expected to talk as long as she was eating. Was the whole night going to be like this? How was she going to get any information out of him with all this boring small talk? She wracked her brain for something to say.

She stared up at the perfectly round silver moon, larger than any she had ever seen. "It's supposed to make people crazy," she blurted out, immediately regretting it.

He frowned. "What is?"

"The moon," Sarah said, taking another sip of the wine to hide her nervousness. "The full moon." Down here in the Underground the idea seemed to make a lot more sense to her than it ever had before—but maybe it was just the wine.

He was looking at her with a sardonic smile on his face. "It's just something people say," she said quickly. "A superstition. It doesn't really work like that."

"Ah," he said lightly, a glint coming back into his eye. "I see. Like the charm your friend gave you—no more than that."

"No—I—" she stopped, flustered. He was smirking at her. She glared back, and answered loftily: "I don't think so." She took a drink of wine to steady herself. "I mean, I've certainly never known anyone who…you know, went crazy. Just from the moon."

He smiled darkly. "I have."

She waited, but he did not elaborate, only turned his eyes to the night sky, his expression unreadable. She took another sip of the wine, more nervous than thirsty. Finally, he took a long swallow of wine and turned back to her.

"And how is your family?" he asked.

Sarah stiffened. "Fine," she said, her tone guarded. What was he trying to do here?

"Your brother…Tobias, was it?"

"Toby." She could not keep the edge out of her voice. "He's fine."

He frowned, clearly guessing the reason for her curt responses. "No need for concern," he said, sounding affronted. "I have nothing more than a polite interest."

Oh, of course, she thought sarcastically. Can't imagine why I would be so suspicious. Outwardly, she tried to look mollified. It couldn't hurt to tell him a little. "He's fine—doing really well, actually. He's in sixth grade this year."

"And your parents…your father, your mother?"

"My father and step-mother are fine," Sarah said carefully. Although relations between them had thawed long ago, she still couldn't bear to call Karen her mother.

She expected him to get angry, or at least pout at another minimal answer, but instead he looked intrigued.

"Forgive me," he said. "And your mother, she…?"

Why did he keep pushing when it was obvious she did not want to talk about it? She stared at the brazier "I don't want to talk about her," she said, not bothering to conceal her irritation.

She immediately regretted the harsh words; his face closed off all at once, like door slamming shut. After a moment of silence, he turned to the brazier and refilled his winecup from the steaming iron pitcher.

Sarah looked miserably down at her own half-full cup. What was she supposed to do? Did he expect her to bare her soul after a new dress and fancy light show?

That gave her an idea—if he wanted to know more about her, she didn't have to tell him for nothing.

"But," she said, catching his eye and making her voice light and wheedling. "I might anyway—for a price."

That got his attention. He leaned forward, his eyes eager with an almost childlike curiosity.

"A price?" he said, in a casual tone she saw through immediately.

She grinned. "Yup. I will answer—" she considered, and decided to go with the fairy tale classic, "three more questions about my family if you agree to answer three of my questions about your own."

He smiled devilishly. "Another bargain?"

"No!" she said quickly. "No more bargains. Just a—an arrangement." She hesitated, then added, "Between friends."

He tented his fingers, doubtful. "And how do you plan on enforcing it?" he asked.

She thought for a moment. "Simple. If you weasel out of it, I won't speak for the rest of the night."

He raised an eyebrow, still smiling. "Oh, you won't?"

"Nope. I'll just sit here, staring at you and eating your food." To make her point, she stared directly into his eyes, very carefully placed a single walnut in her mouth, and chewed slowly and emphatically.

He turned away, and she thought for a moment that it had been a bit too much. Then he spoke, and she could hear from the excited catch in his voice that she had him.

"I'm not accustomed to "paying" for conversation," he said.

"Well, I can't have you weaseling out of your half of the conversation," she said, smirking. "It wouldn't be fair for me to go on answering all of the questions." We're flirting, she thought, a little alarmed. I'm flirting with him. Would he buy it? Had she gone too far too soon?

But he was smiling widely. "Very well. Which of us will go first?"