White Stag (Permafrost #1)(16)

“I mean, I am beautiful,” he said.

“You’re insufferable, you mean.”

The corners of Soren’s lips threatened to turn up into a smile as he moved to lounge on a chair across the room. No, “chair” wasn’t the right word. It was more like a throne. The dark wood was carved with animals, both predator and prey, and vines that twisted around them in a never-ending circle. The back had the image of Jormungard, the serpent who circled the world, eating his own tail. Soren then leaned forward on his elbow and stared.

“You know,” I said, “staring at me like that is really creepy. Even for you.” The serious tone I’d tried to take on was ruined when I couldn’t hold in my laugh.

He frowned at that. “Does your kind normally do that?”

“Do what? Laugh? Yes. Often.”

“No, I mean, does your kind normally have that really cute nose crinkle when they make certain facial expressions, especially ones of humor or anger? It looks absolutely hilarious on you. In a good way, I mean.” He continued after a moment of silence, “From the look on your face, I’m guessing no. I’m also assuming you didn’t know that. Don’t be offended. It really is quite endearing.”

“Oh, bite me,” I said.

“Really?” he asked, surprised.

“I’m finding it really tempting to punch you.”

“You already punch me,” he said.

“I mean, without your consent.”

His eyes sparkled with humor, and he let out a laugh. I twitched, my skin crawling with millions of imaginary bugs. Clenching my fists to keep myself from brushing off my arms, I waited until his amusement died down. Why did goblin laughter have to be so shrill?

“You know, I never noticed how vulnerable a human is when they sleep.”

“You sleep,” I said, voice taking on an edge. “Tell me how vulnerable you are.” I paced across the large room as my reality began to dawn on me again. If I was going to get out of this, I would need to distance myself from Soren. Pacing was a bad sign; it was what trapped, injured prey did when cornered. But that was what I was. If I have to gnaw my own leg off to escape from the trap, so be it. Not to mention if I didn’t get some of this pent-up energy out, Soren and I truly might start going at it, and I wasn’t sure that was something he would be actually mad about.

Soren’s eyebrows furrowed. “You think I sleep in that bed?” he asked.

“The alternative is just as unlikely,” I said, haughty.

He cocked an eyebrow. “A young lord falling asleep in the Erlking’s palace is like a rabbit sleeping under the tail of a wolf. It doesn’t happen.”

I turned on my heel to face him. “What were you doing this whole time?”

“I already said, I was watching you. It was quite relaxing, actually.”

“I’m glad you had a relaxing night at least, then.”

He tilted his head to the side. “You know I can give you something for your nightmares, right?”

I shook my head. “I don’t want to be drugged.”

“You say that like I’m going to heavily sedate you, not give you something to help you sleep,” he said. “If that’s what you want, though. I imagine they may get worse after the incident with Aleksey.”

“He was plotting against you. I did what I had to.”

He nodded again. “I see. I suppose that’s twice now.”

“You remember?” I asked, thinking back to the castellan with bloodred eyes and suppressing a shudder.

“I remember,” he said simply. But when he met my eyes, they said much more than his words.

For a second my heart froze. Gratefulness wasn’t a good look for a goblin, and it wasn’t one I was used to. For a goblin to openly admit to remembering a debt he owed his thrall … it was unheard of. But, then again, Soren had never treated me in any other way. He’d definitely treated me better than his uncle.

Lydian had been the one to take me captive after burning my village to the ground. I was great sport, the only known survivor of a goblin raid, and Lydian wanted to see how long I lasted. It was two months, maybe three, until I found a shred of power known only to me. A bent, iron nail, taken from the ashes before and forgotten by me in the haze of red I came to know. When I thrust it in his calf, he didn’t think I was so amusing anymore.

But, technically, by winter law I had beaten him in a fight. He couldn’t kill me, then. So, when his young nephew came, newly made a lord through the murder of his kin, I went from a plaything to a gift. An insulting gift.

He hadn’t expected Soren to see the fight in me. But he did.

And here I was, almost a hundred years later, reaping the benefit of winning that fight long ago.

Lost in my thoughts, the jangling of bronze locks and keys and the creaking of ill-used hinges made me jump. I turned to see Soren reach for something carefully wrapped in doeskin while being mindful of his damaged hands. At least they would heal quickly due to the magic of the Permafrost.

“I have something for you,” he said, holding out the wrapped object to me.

I stared at it, unsure. A gift given in the Permafrost always had to be repaid.

Soren obviously knew what I was thinking, because he sighed and said, “Think of it as a repayment for saving my life.”