White Stag (Permafrost #1)(10)

“I’m glad I please you.”

“Oh, you do. And I’ve seen the growth in you these past months, which has led me to decide you’re ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“A change.” His lilac eyes turned on me expectantly. “The change.”

Understanding seeped into me like trickles of ice water. There were a few fates for humans in the Permafrost. Some ultimately died here, human until their last breath; sometimes thralls were released on their goblin captor’s death; and sometimes they stayed under the new lord who replaced them, depending on the binding spell holding them to the Permafrost and the will of the late lord. And sometimes … sometimes those who had certain desirable skills or traits, who were able to biologically adapt to the Permafrost, those who had a close camaraderie of sorts with the lord they served, who were judged as a good addition to the species … they changed. From rituals, time spent immersed in goblin culture, and the slow biological evolution their human bodies went through, those humans became goblins eventually. Changelings.

No. I stood so fast the chair toppled over, realization hitting me like a wave. No. No. No. My heart raced, the emotions I’d tried so hard to rein in already spinning out of control. No. No. He’s lying. The look the serving man gave me flashed in my mind. His eyes called me a traitor, plain and simple, but they’d seen something else as they walked past. Something I was blind to until now. I was changing.

“No,” I said, stumbling back. “You’re wrong. No.” Panic set in and I looked around me, anywhere for a way out. The only door was where the man had entered, and it sat directly behind Soren. “I’m not—my body isn’t—”

No. No. I stopped all pretense of trying to hide my emotions; anyone with ears could hear the terror in my voice. Sure, I could think like a goblin. Sure, I knew how to reason like them. I knew how to be serious, and I knew how to weasel my way out of situations. I was as well-versed in their courtly life and laws as a human could possibly be. But that was because I had had a hundred years to observe them. I was not like them. You can digest their food, wield their weapons, feel their power … The voice in my head wouldn’t go away.

Sadness was not an expression Soren usually wore; it was one that terrified me now.

Friends. For someone like him, a friendship was less about emotions and more about what you could get from someone; or at least that was all I was willing to accept from him. A friend was someone who you were more likely to protect, less likely to kill, whose company you sought even if it wasn’t required. A friend was someone who could technically insult you with sarcasm without you being compelled to kill them.

A friend was someone you’d gift elaborate hunting clothes, clothes that now had much more meaning than they did a while ago. From the outside looking in, it would be hard for someone to think Soren and I were not friends.

You do know I regard you as a close friend, don’t you?

Soren stood, taking his time while coming toward me, as if I were some animal caught in his trap. That’s what I was, too. I stood completely still as he brushed his hand across my cheek. His fingers traced over the fresh scars.

“Are you afraid of me now?” he asked.

I turned away from him, unable to speak. But it wasn’t for fear of him, more for fear of myself and what I could become.

“You’re still human enough to think I’m doing this to hurt you,” he said softly. “But I’m not. This is because I care for you. Because I see your potential, your power, the force you could become. The state you’re in right now—human—we’ve always known they were the weaker species. It’s written; your kind was made from ash and elm while mine was made from blood and fire. It’s not your fault the gods gave you the weaknesses you possess. Even the strongest of my kind feel the lure of emotions. We just can resist the temptation.”

My breath was shaky, rasping in my throat. “I don’t—I won’t—” Refusing was in vain. There was nothing I could possibly do if he made up his mind. I couldn’t stop my own self from evolving—if I truly was—unless I killed myself, and that option had been taken from me a long time ago. If this was what he wanted, then this was what he’d get.

But I still begged like a pathetic child. One who should’ve known better.

I cringed as he brushed my hair behind my ear. “I promise you’ll understand soon. I vow it. We’re friends, Janneke. I am doing this for you, as a friend.”

I stood there. Every cell in my body ached to scream, to cry, to beg, to run and fight and argue until he reconsidered. It would prove to him I had a human’s cowardice, at least. It would prove I wasn’t like him, not every bit. But I was silent, the words I could’ve said drifting off into empty space.

“You’ll join me on the Hunt,” he said. “In place of my men-at-arms or healers. You’re smart and capable. And I don’t have to worry about you killing me to take my power. As I said, the transition will be easier that way.”

I pulled away, touching the place where his hand had been as if it stung.

My eyes burned with held-back tears, so I was surprised at the stillness in my voice when I finally commented, “Is that all?”

“We leave tomorrow,” he said. “At dusk. You will be ready. Get some sleep.”

Numb from head to toe, I nodded and began to leave the room. You can’t fight this, a voice told me. It was always going to come.