The Damned (The Beautiful #2)(86)

The bearded man sat up straight, the icicles along his chin chiming with the movement. It was then that Arjun realized he was addressing one of the fabled dwarfs of the mountain. His small stature and grizzled countenance gave him away.

Then the bearded dwarf king peered over his plate at the trio and began to laugh as if he’d been told a fantastic joke.

“You brought me nothing?” he barked, spittle flying from his lips. “You brought the King of Kur nothing?” He thrust his goblet into the face of the tiny blue goblin holding the carafe, who startled before refilling it at once. After draining its contents dry, the dwarf swiped his sleeve across his mouth, his amusement plain. “What about the girl?” he said after belching. “She looks fresh.”

“The girl is here as a guest, not as a gift,” Bastien said. When he spoke, the sound of his voice seemed to carry to the rafters, causing the glasswing butterflies to cease with their fluttering. A sudden hush descended on the crowd.

“And what have we here?” the king in the iron crown said. “Is that a . . .” He paused to take in a deep breath. “Is that a blood drinker on our doorstep?”

All the goblins beside him began to titter, the hob with the mouthful of jagged teeth cackling.

“Do you not know the rules, vampire?” the king said, and yanked a silver blade with an iron handle from the sheath at his belt. “Don’t you know your kind were banished from here more than four hundred human years ago?” He leaned forward, pointing the end of his sword at Bastien’s chest. “Go back to your beloved mortals, traitor of the Wyld.”

Arjun’s soul cringed as Bastien stepped forward. “I know what my ancestors did,” Bastien said.

“Your ancestors?” the bearded dwarf king drawled. “You know the rules, vampire, so why would you risk coming here?”

“What is the punishment for a vampire who crosses into the Wyld?” Bastien asked. “At no time did anyone tell me what the punishment was.”

“I suppose it’s . . . whatever . . . whatever I choose it to be,” the king stammered, clearly unwilling to acknowledge his ignorance. Arjun knew the punishment, but he had no intention of divulging it to this bearded tyrant. The dwarf king slammed down his horned goblet, causing the little blue goblin beside him to shriek in terror.

Laughter rasped from all corners of the room.

“I’ll admit I’m intrigued by your brashness. It isn’t every night a vampire and two ethereals with the blood of the Vale visit our illustrious court,” the dwarf king said. “What brought you to the doors of the famed Ice Palace of Kur?”

“I wish to speak with Sunan the Unmaker,” Bastien said.

All motion ceased in the room. Even the chittering creatures roosting in the eaves fell silent.

“That is a name I have not heard for an age,” the dwarf king replied. “It’s a shame he is no longer with us. Sunan would have enjoyed your story, no doubt. The wise old fool was always fond of stories.”

“Where is he?” Celine asked. “Is there any way we might find him?”

“He does not exist anymore,” the dwarf king said. “Sunan left the Winter Court long ago, even after the iron crown was offered to him.” A snigger flew from his lips, spittle freezing on his beard. “The damned fool objected to the idea of a king so much, he turned down the chance to become one!”

Again the room filled with coarse laughter. Unsurprisingly Bastien kept silent. Not that Arjun blamed him. The vampire’s entire reason for journeying to the Wyld—for taking on such a risk—had been lost in this moment.

“Curse the kings, he used to say. For they never bring anything but bloodshed and misery to their people.” The dwarf barked once more. “I would have to disagree with that.” He shoved his horned goblet into the face of the terrorized blue goblin once more, barely waiting long enough for it to be refilled.

Still Bastien said nothing. He had not taken a breath since the king’s revelation.

The dwarf stopped drinking when his attention fell once more on Celine. “This girl looks familiar. Tell me, child, which member of the summer gentry granted you your immortality?”

Celine frowned. Took the smallest step back. And curtsied. “I’m afraid I don’t know, Your . . . Majesty.”

“Majesty!” the dwarf king crowed with delight. “You must be an earthbound ethereal?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“I love it.” He chortled. “From now on, everyone here will call me ‘Your Majesty.’ Humans are so amusing. Sunan would have liked you, girl. He used to speak of a prophecy in which a creature with mortal blood would be the one to tame the beasts and save our world.” He laughed into his goblet, wine dribbling down his frozen chin. “I miss him sometimes, if for no other reason than his amusing ways.” After he drained the dregs of his drink, he thumped his other hand on the table before him. “Now then, for the matter of tribute. You’ve come to my court without anything of value to offer me. My ice jackals are waiting in the wings to exact the blood price for this insult.” His beady black eyes sparkled. “Unless you can offer me something worthwhile.”

Arjun paled at this, recalling the dying chollima in the courtyard. It was his fault for not remembering that the Wyld was a place where such tribute was necessary. If he did not offer the dwarf king a worthy tribute, it was likely his bloodthirsty minions would take an arm or a leg from each of them, at the very least.