Wintersong(73)

Josef asked something, and François shook his head. Josef’s shoulders slumped, his fingers crumpling the parchment in his hand. A composition? No, no notes. Words. A letter—

Fog covered the glass once more. “Sepperl!” I cried, but when the mist disappeared again, my anguished call died in my throat.

A young woman knelt beside a bed. For a moment, I thought I beheld my own reflection, until I noticed the gleam of gold peeking out from beneath her headscarf.

Käthe.

Wearily, she put aside her stained apron and made ready for bed. She was about to pull back the covers and crawl beneath them when she paused. Reaching beneath the pillow, Käthe pulled out a sheaf of paper.

With a jolt I realized it was the little Lieder, the composition I had left behind. Für meine Lieben, I had written. For my loved ones.

My sister fingered the lock of hair tied with twine to the piece. Her blue eyes swam with tears and she hugged the piece to her chest. I was not dead to the world above. The mist closed in again.

The sacrifice I had made, my marriage to the Goblin King, seemed foolish now. My life, my future, my loved ones—I had thrown it all away for selfishness. Because for once, just once, I had wanted to be wanted. Desired. The Goblin King had said he wanted me, and I had taken that desire and staked my entire life on it.

Was my sacrifice worth it? I felt hollow and bereft, yet the grief in my heart had palpable weight, bearing me down to the ground. I could not breathe. I carried the burden of my love for my family, and it threatened to suffocate me.





THOSE WHO HAVE COME BEFORE

“Is she all right?”

“Don’t know. It’s hard to tell with mortals. They wither and fade so quickly.”

“She’s filthy.”

“Must have been a fine night then.” A snicker. “Well, that bodes well for us.”

“Should we wake her?”

I stirred at the sound of voices in my room. Twig. Thistle.

“Sure. Lazy layabout.” Thistle. I recognized the contempt in her voice through my haze of exhaustion and grief. Her dislike was comfortingly reliable, like Constanze’s.

Constanze. The stab of homesickness roused me, and I groaned and sat up. Thistle leaped back with surprise, her hand poised for a slap.

“What is it?” I rasped. The painting above my fireplace once again showed the Goblin Grove. Several hours must have passed; the snow was much thicker now.

“Can’t spend the entire day lying in bed,” Thistle said. “Or on the ground, as the case may be. Funny.” She grinned, showing all her sharp teeth. “I thought you mortals preferred the comforts of a bed, but here you are, sleeping in the dirt like a proper goblin.”

I rolled my eyes as Twig helped me to my feet. My half-tied dressing gown fell off my shoulders as my joints creaked and protested against the abuse. Human bones were most certainly not meant to sleep on dirt floors.

“She has gone native,” Thistle said to Twig. “Not even a second thought for those quaint mortal notions of modesty!”

I tied the dressing gown properly about myself. “If you’ve come to wake me, at least have the decency to bring me a proper breakfast,” I groused. Twig made a motion to go, but I shook my head. “Not you, Twig.” I pointed to Thistle. “You. You go.”

Thistle made a face, but disappeared in a twinkling. Twig gave a deep bow, her cobweb-and-branch-laden hair scraping the floor.

“Twig,” I began. “What is that painting above my fireplace?”

An inscrutable expression crossed her face. Between my two attendants, Twig had seemed the more sympathetic one, but I was reminded that despite her kindnesses to me, she wasn’t my friend. But she was the closest thing I had to a confidante in the Underground, and I sorely missed the companionship. I sorely missed Käthe.

“You touched it, didn’t you?” Twig asked.

I nodded.

She sighed. “It’s a mirror, Your Highness.”

“A mirror?” I glanced at it again, but all I saw was the Goblin Grove, blanketed in white. “Then why…?”

“That one,” Twig said, inclining her head toward the gilt-edged piece above the mantel, “was brought from the world above. Like most of the mirrors there, it’s silver-backed. Silver follows her own laws here in the Underground. She won’t show you your reflection; she’ll show you what she wants you to see.”

Josef. Käthe. My heart twisted with pain.

“That’s why we warned you not to touch it,” she said. “Your thoughts, your feelings, your questions—that’s what gets reflected back at you, not your face.”

“Is what the mirror shows me not a true vision, then?” I desperately needed this magic mirror to be real. So I could watch Josef grow up to be the man he was meant to be. So I could see Käthe blossom into the woman I knew she could become. So I would not forget what it was to live, even as life itself forgot me.