By the time sleep came, the sun was not far behind. Then it was Arulan, her singsong voice calling them to peel open their eyes and partake of the breakfasts which had been prepared for them. “You’re as bad as his majesty is this morning, yet I’d wager you got to bed earlier than he.” She was wrong in assuming that. “So tell me,” she plopped on the edge of Sarah’s bed, “how was the ball.” Sarah only shrugged, unsure how to best answer the question being asked of her. “Come now girl, you must have something to tell me.”
Everything and yet nothing to tell. She wished she could talk about Maeve, but she feared that would disrupt the relationship Arulan had with Jareth. Sarah wished she could talk about those foreign pangs of jealousy which she seemed to harbor in her, but that too seemed sinfully inappropriate. There was always Darien to talk about, but that led to the combs and the necklace and more that she felt the elf would not appreciate. Or Tiberon, but that would segue to Maeve and the jealousy. ‘For what is on it’s face an easy question, there is no easy answer,’ Sarah thought.
“The food was marvelous,” She finally spat.
Not fooled by her decoy, Arulan pursued, “So marvelous that you haven’t the room for your breakfast and divine enough I gather that you stayed awake all night wondering if you could sneak back to the kitchen unnoticed for a snack, thus explaining why your demeanor is what it is.” Sarah nodded. “What do you take me for? An elf who was born only yesterday? Was it like I told you it would be? That first dance, did you make it through without tripping and falling?”
Oh, that tripping and falling were all she had to worry about now. “It was precisely as you said it would be up to and including the first dance.”
“What did they play?”
The mortal shook her head, picking at her food, “I’m afraid I’m not terribly familiar with your music, besides, it had no words.”
Arulan smiled, “Not surprising. Words are taken rather seriously in the Underground. If his majesty were to have danced with you to a song which had words, well depending upon the words, it could have been very bad.”
Thinking a moment, Sarah’s face blushed. The second time they danced there had been words. First she danced to them with Tiberon, got lost in the story of two lovers who hid from one another in a masquerade, denying what they knew was true, playing fools. But it was Jareth who ended the dance with her securely in his arms. “What do you mean it could have been very bad?”
“Well it could show the king’s weakness or it could have indicated that he had feelings for you that weren’t appropriate given that you are...”
“A mortal?”
Arulan shook her head, angry that mortals had been so readily accepted as all alike when in fact they were as different as garden gnomes and wood nymphs, but it was always one cultures way to fear and punish that which they could not readily understand, “But truth is you’d be subject to the same scrutiny even if you were an immortal who had not descended from the royal’s line.”
“Be that as it may, I was not well received. I shouldn’t say that. I was received graciously by most who waited in the line to greet me, but aside from Jareth, Deverell and Turgomon, the only ones who would associate with me were Darien and Tiberon.”
Catching her head with her palm, Arulan moaned, “No wonder the others shunned you. The two worst apples in the bunch and they end up your escorts for the evening.”
“I wouldn’t say my escorts?”
“As I hear it from some of the staff, you were seen dancing in the gardens with Tiberon.”
“Well if you already know so much, why bother asking me anything?” Sarah was somewhat insulted by Arulan’s not telling her sooner that there had been talk among the castle.
“I wanted to give you the chance to tell me that it hadn’t happened, but I see now that you cannot.”
“It was harmless,” the mortal insisted.
The elf looked at her as if to say, ‘Nothing Tiberon does is harmless,’ but the words never came. “I would be leery of wolves who come bearing violets if I were you.”
“And count only upon the king for my safety and my salvation?” she asked rhetorically.
“Jareth has only your best interests at heart.”
“Jareth has neither interest nor a heart.” Sarah regretted her words before they finished falling from her lips and yet, that was the cruel thing about language, it could not be undone. Sure a romantic would tell you that words could be taken back, forgotten, but they would always have been heard, even if they were forgiven.
Arulan rung her hands, “That isn’t so. His majesty has a heart, a generous and a kind one at that. I don’t know what it is that makes you stay so blind to that fact.”
“I can’t be like you. I won’t. Dote on his every word, fulfill his commands, all the while watching him use his charm on other women, women like Maeve. Charming them with his fancy words, singing to them with his eyes, touching them with such innocence and chivalry, until they melt in his arms fully surprised at having been seduced starting with their minds and ending in their bodies, effectively enticed from the inside out. And that’s only the beginning. When he’s done with them, he goes on, another pretty face with bedroom eyes and pouty lips, leaving the woman behind foolishly believing that she owns some piece of him, some thing which she knows she cannot keep and only prays he will come back for.”
Is that what she had thought? That Arulan was one of Jareth’s conquests? Kept conveniently about the castle nonetheless. Torn between defending her own honor and explaining Maeve away, the elf stumbled on her words. “Is that what this is about? Maeve was invited last night.”
“Yes, Maeve was invited last night.” Even Sarah had to admit to the drawl she used to accent the fey’s name.
“Oh dear, I bet she put on quite a show for everyone.” The mortal’s ears perked with interest. “Fitting herself to Jareth’s hip pretending as if she hadn’t betrayed him long ago.”
“Betrayed him,” Sarah asked.
Her lips wanted to explain, but it wasn’t their place. “Know this, I have said too much all ready, but what I have said should be enough to comfort you.”
“Comfort me? As if I care what women he sees! I’m trying to help you!”
Smiling, Arulan hurried for the door, “Even feelings which we refuse to admit are still felt.”
***** ****** ******
The king lie in his bed, eyes open, but not seeing. His mind jumbled with incongruous thoughts, of Maeve, of Sarah, of Tiberon. All the while he knew they would be leaving for the Eastern sectors come Monday morning. If he had been thinking more clearly, he would have gotten out of the bed and set about to training Sarah on how to use her magic, despite the friction between them from the night before. In fact, he wouldn’t mention the previous night at all, he’d only walk into her room and demand that she come outside to work.
Arulan interrupted him, “You invited Maeve to the ball! What were you thinking inviting her?”
“I didn’t invite anyone to the ball, if you want to scold someone, go and find Turgomon.”
“Well whoever did it, how could you allow it?”
“I didn’t even look at the invitation list until the night before the party. I was busy overseeing the final touches on her highness’ room.” It was early and the king had gone to bed late, this confrontation was not what he was expecting first thing in the morning.
“The two of you! Never have I in all my days seen two people who deserved one another more and yet kept each other at such a distance. Sometimes I wonder if she isn’t right, I mean, she’s a mortal and being taken from her world...”
“Sarah wished herself here.”
“That might be, but still, so far from home, away from everything that seems normal to her, I can almost overlook her stubbornness. To boot, she’s only known you for about two weeks out of her whole life whereas you have had the opportunity to watch her grow for over fifteen years. Sarah has no idea that she loves you and from what I see, you don’t give her much reason.”
Jareth sat straight up in his bed, tossing back the duvet as he cast a spell to simultaneously render himself fully dressed. “Precisely why must it eternally be me to give reason to this child?”
“Because, you codgery old fool, you are the one with the advantage.”
“And what makes you think this is all worth my effort?”
“Love, true love, is worth any effort we can give it. You know best what a life without love can bring. Would you be so stupid as to let the only woman you have ever loved walk out of your life again, when for all intents and purposes, she should never have been allowed to walk back in?” Arulan wanted to grab him by his squared shoulders and shake him until he saw things the way she did.
Jareth stood, straightening his garments, he asked, “And are you willing to bet your life and everything you have that the mortal has these feelings for me in return?”
“Aye your majesty,” she said earnestly.
“Well I am not.” He intended to storm off, leave the room, perhaps go and see what Deverell was up to in his training, but he stopped just shy of the door, “I stand to lose my entire kingdom by admitting my feelings for a mortal child whose only going to be here another five weeks Arulan, you must understand why I can’t do it.”
“But if you knew, knew for certain that she felt the same way, there are things which could be done. You know it’s true. You were willing the last time, willing to risk it all.”
“Need I remind you how that turned out.” Arulan’s head hung. It was a reminder she did not need. “Do not put your hopes so deeply in a mortal woman, they are creatures who are seldom certain of their feelings and much else for that matter.” Arulan looked at the door after it slammed shut, watching, waiting for him to return. Though she was a hopeless romantic by nature, her faith in the mortal was more than just wishful thinking. Question was, how to convince the king.
***** ***** *****
“Draw from your boot. That’s it. Now, take the blade between your thumb and forefinger, right, right and aim, good, good, and throw.” Deverell listened carefully to Dalkeil’s instructions and yet when the cold silver left his hand it ricocheted off the wall and fell to the stone floor below.
“Damn,” he said.
In the background Jareth chuckled madly, “Dalkeil, perhaps we should just kill him now and spare him the pain later.”
“Sire, I didn’t realize you’d be coming today.”
“Or you’d have given the boy a larger target that he might impress me again?”
“In his defense, your highness, he’s not had much rest and it was only his sixth throw.”
With a nod of his head, Jareth retrieved the dagger from the training room floor. As effortlessly as he brushed his blonde locks from his eyes, Jareth nimbly took the blade between his finger tips and set it sailing through the air confident that it would land dead center in the bull’s eye. Of course it did. “There you have it boy, something for you to aspire to.”
“I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t taken this job,” he mumbled beneath his breath.
The king’s finely tuned ears would have heard him had he merely thunk it, “You are free to leave my service at anytime you feel it necessary.”
Boldly Deverell approached the king, “I swore a promise to the Cleric. Try as you might to chase me off, but I won’t go. Not everyone runs from you your grace.”
“You impress me Deverell,” he said nudging his eyebrows. “I say that not so much for my benefit as for yours. I know how much it means to you to hear these words. I only hope what I see in you, the fire I’m impressed by, intimidates our foes. Lord knows, your skills with a dagger won’t do it.” A firm swat landed the king’s left hand on Deverell’s shoulder. “Dalkeil, my good man, might I borrow the chap for a bit of my own instruction. I’m leaving with the girl in the morning, he needs to know his way around my office.”
“Of course your majesty,” Deverell bowed.
Instantly, Jareth transported them to the office. He showed Deverell the ropes, went over what correspondence he should reply to and where everything else should go, what qualified as an emergency and what did not. “Should something come up which you do not feel you can handle, Arulan will know how to reach me. The Triumvirate is requiring the girl to spend a minimum of two days in each sector. Monday and Tuesday we’ll be in the Northeast, Wednesday we’ll be back at the castle.”
“You needn’t run home on my account,” Deverell said.
The king rose his eyebrows at the young fey, “Yes, well, you’re managing without me is not my only concern. The Northeast sector is not a friendly place. I don’t wish to expose the mortal to it any longer than is absolutely necessary.”
“I see.”
“Thursday morning, we’ll leave again, this time for the Southeast. We’ll not stay more than two days there either. I don’t want her with Tiberon any more than she must be.”
“I don’t know that she would agree with you your grace.” Jareth cocked his head to the side, “The lady spent quite a bit of time with the Representative at the ball. Where you to ask me, I would say she rather enjoyed his company.”
“I don’t believe I asked.”
“Yes, your grace.”
“Now as I was saying, these are my books. You are welcome to consult any of them. Read them for your own edification if you so desire; however, these,” the Goblin King indicated a shelf of leather bound volumes, “are my journals. Neither for your curiosity nor your consultation. You’ll find some stationary in the top right drawer of my desk where you can jot down the day’s events and when I return I will make the journal entries. Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes, your grace.”
***** ***** *****
Dressing for the day, Sarah chose something simple, an airy yellow shift dress and sandals. For a minute or more she debated tying the medallion about her neck. She looked herself over in the mirror. It wasn’t her nature to want to quarrel with anyone, but Jareth pushed her buttons. Best she not push his back she decided, positioning the black band around her throat. As it always happened, she gasped as it changed form into a long golden chain that made the medallion hang just beneath her breasts. Twisting it between her fingers, Sarah tried to focus on the female energy she had felt when she wore the necklace. What vexed her most was that if it was his mother’s energy in the necklace, why did it embrace her now, when the Leanan Sidhe had sent Sarah running from her tomb. Thinking about what Darien had told her, about her looking like the Sidhe, made her pulse quicken. Turning away from the mirror, she let the medallion hit against her chest. A new goal drove her as she tried to forget the similarities between her and the king’s mother. Much else had happened in just one night’s time and frankly, Jareth had avoided her long enough.
Determination drove every stride as she made her way to his office. A small fist pounded on the heavy wooden door. “Come in,” the king pleaded, wanting the noise to stop as he swung open the door for his guest. Stumbling through the door came the mortal. “Can I help you?”
She was about to lay into him when she saw Deverell at his side. “I didn’t realize you had company.”
Jareth clapped his hands together, “I think we were just about done.”
“Yes, your grace,” Deverell responded.
“You feel prepared?” He put up a hand to stop the young fey from leaving before he was sure.
Deverell met him square in the eye, “Indeed I do.”
The king nodded his permission for the young boy to be excused. Then turning his attention to the girl he asked once more, “Now then, you needed something?”
“I wanted to talk to you about your mother’s things.” Jareth took a seat on the couch, kicking up his legs and crossing them at the ankle. Before Sarah could continue, his fingers interlaced behind his head. “I must admit, I don’t particularly feel comfortable wearing this necklace.” For how angry she had been last night and STILL this morning to some degree, even Sarah was impressed by her mature calm. “I don’t think I like the idea of being anyone’s property.”
“Let alone mine?” There he went, setting her off as usual. The king sat forward, “Sarah, that necklace does more than claim you as my property. It will protect you from ne’er do wells who would as soon boil a mortal as shake its hand.”
“But by that same token am I not marked for any one who wishes to stake the king?”
“There are far fewer persons in this realm who wish to hold my throne than would take advantage of an opportunity to harm a mortal.”
“If that’s what you say.”
Narrowing on her his eyes grew suspicious, after all she had taken on new acquaintances that were not exactly to his liking. “Have you heard otherwise from your new friend?”
“Who? Tiberon? Really Jareth, you’re paranoid. Tiberon has no plans to take over your kingdom.”
“Are you certain? Sure it’s not on his to do list, right between court mortal and purchase viper for household pet?” When he heard himself, those childish sardonic tones escape him, the king knew he’d sunk to her level.
“Court mortal?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know. That’s what he’s intended since you wound up in his sector your first day here.”
Rolling her eyes, Sarah continued her inquiry, “Why would he want to do that?”
“Aside from the fact that you are a very beautiful woman?” When she did not reply, he went on, “As I’ve told you before, Tiberon and I have never gotten along well. Once, long ago, I professed my love for you, the entire kingdom knew this. In his readiness to smite me, Tiberon must believe that I still love you. At the very least he knows that I am responsible for you while you are in the Underground. Either way, to court you would suit him nicely, either a way to attack me personally or my abilities as king.”
“Don’t you think you’re being a bit dramatic? Everyone who was at the ball last night knows why I’m here, knows the Triumvirate themselves asked me to stay. If someone were to try and stop that, try to make you look foolish, don’t you think the Triumvirate would have something to say?”
Eyebrows arching high into his forehead, Jareth narrowed his gaze on Sarah, “The Triumvirate does not rule this kingdom. They’ve said everything they have to on this matter by saying they were leaving it up to me. Do you question my authority?”
“Question it? No. Believe that it may not be at it’s best after your little show last night with Maeve? Yes. You did look a bit distracted last night if you ask me.” Her arms folded over her chest satisfied at having found an opening through which to retaliate against his crude comments.
“I danced with a woman and you find that somehow equivalent to your shameless flirtation with my Representative.”
“Shameless flirtation!”
“Yes, taking violets from him in the garden. Dancing with him in the moon light. Shall I go on?” Embarrassed, she lowered her head. “Not asking my permission to dance with him. Allowing him to hold you so tightly. Maintaining such distinct and prolonged eye contact.”
“Enough!!” Sarah breathed deeply in and out. It was true. She had done all of those things. What’s worse were the thoughts she had, the ideas that he couldn’t see that filled her mind while she engaged in all the illicit behavior he could see. “Enough. I admit to being swept up in his charms. I admit to appreciating the fact that someone here felt enough trust in me to make himself emotionally available.”
“You were the one who said you only wanted sex,” Jareth reminded.
Sarah sat beside him on the couch. With all the sincerity she could muster when rage filled her from head to toe, she clearly stated, “That is not what I said.”
“Then what do you want?” The Goblin King looked at her, breathlessly waiting for her reply. Perhaps Arulan’s efforts were not in vain. If she would admit to having love in her heart for him, true and honest love, then he would no longer have to hide, no longer have to deny himself.
“I want you to stop treating me like you own me. I want you to let me make my own choices.”
Deflated, he looked away, “I don’t see whereas I have much to say about it, do I?”
“No, no you don’t,” she was hesitant, unsure of what she was saying, desperately trying to make it sound as though she meant the words.
“Well then, if you don’t mind, I have work that needs doing before this evening’s meal, not to mention things to ready for tomorrow’s trip.” Jareth remained focused on an ambiguous patch of stone in the fireplace, refusing to meet her stare, even if it burned into the back of his skull like a hot poker.
Regretting now, what she had done, how she had upset him, Sarah tried a kinder tone. “We’re going on a trip tomorrow?”
“To the Northeast. Tomorrow you begin your work.”
“But, I don’t know how. I haven’t even had a vision in days, maybe I don’t have the magic anymore.” Her voice shook with every word.
“As long as you believe you have magic, it will be yours to use.” The king’s eyes fell upon her, “Unlike most things in your mortal world, magic will never abandon you.” In her lap, she felt Jareth’s hand cover hers. Closing her eyes she let the electricity run through her body. Every joint, every muscle suddenly alive, overflowing with a force she felt unable to control. From all around her there came a soft glow. “You have much magic left indeed. It was my intention to work with you tonight, teach you how to harness what you feel and direct it where it’s necessary, but since you don’t seem to be able to remain in my company without provoking me...”
“I didn’t provoke you,” Sarah jumped to the defensive. The Goblin King only raised an eyebrow at her, wordlessly indicating that she had proven his point on his behalf. “I mean, if it’s okay with you, I would prefer you teach me the things you had intended to. Magic, after all, is your area of expertise.”
“After dinner then. I’ll let you decide where you would like to take the lessons.”
“Why not our rooms?” He looked at her with a combination of interest and confusion. “We can work until we’re exhausted and not have far to crawl to find our beds.”
“I believe I’ve been asked to allow you to make your own choices.” Sarah smiled as she left his office. When the door closed behind her Jareth told himself, “I only hope you continue making the correct ones.
***** ***** *****
Dinner was a solemn affair. Neither Deverell nor Turgomon had much to say with just recently being reprimanded by the king. Dalkeil and Gribbin only looked at the others wondering what had transpired and between whom. Even the opinionated Arulan kept to herself. On the positive side this hurried dinner along which gave Sarah more time to study magic with Jareth. She sat in her room after the meal had ended. Debating what to wear, she stacked a pile of sample clothing near her bureau. The shift she had worn that day, a different dress, a pair of jeans and sweater, night clothes. All before settling on a sweat suit the tailor had made based on a description of such a garment which the mortal had provided. Next she decided where she should be sitting when Jareth arrived, the bed, the couch, a chair, the foot locker or the floor. They all had there merits and their drawbacks, but it was the floor that finally won out. It had been nearly two hours since dinner and no Jareth. Sarah decided to do a bit of stretching while she waited.
The Goblin King entered her room through the door in the wall they shared. He found Sarah on the floor in a rearranged sitting area, having moved the table back and out of her way, she sprawled one leg to either side and bent forward stretching her arms over her head. The sweats she wore exposed her midriff leaving the king with a full view of the small of her back and the top of her well rounded hips. Before clearing his throat he eyed her with approval. At the first sound he made, Sarah popped up from her stretch. Her long hair was tied back in a pony tail, pulled back from her clean fresh face. Jareth hated that she constantly appeared attractive to him. To say the least, it was distracting.
“I see you’re ready to begin,” he spoke once he was sure he had her attention.
Sarah stood, pulling her sweat shirt down until it met the waistband of her track bottoms. “Uh, huh,” she said excitedly. The mortal noticed the king was not in his typical attire. He wore loose fitting beige cotton drawstring pants and a V-neck top that almost looked like a doctor’s scrubs, only bone white. Traditionally, gloves covered his hands, white this time. Oddly enough his feet were bare. At the sight of this, Sarah smiled. Partially because she found it humorous and partly because his feet were as extraordinarily long as his fingers.
“Well, we’re not running any marathon’s so you can take off your shoes.” He sat on the floor his back to the couch. “Sit facing me,” he instructed. “We’ll start with some simple concentration exercises.” Jareth crossed his legs, resting his elbows on his thighs and allowing his arms to fall palm side up to the floor. Sarah just watched him, entranced by his comfortable attire and peaceful air. “Like this,” he said flopping his hands about. Sarah imitated his positioning. “Now close your eyes.” For a moment after her lids fell shut, the king continued watching her. “Listen only to the sound of my voice.”
‘Not really a problem,’ she thought as she tuned out the sound of the night breeze coming through the crack she’d left the window open. Jareth had a pleasant lilting that was easy to listen to. He could have read her the phone book and she’d have sat, listening attentively.
“Magic is about working with nature. Your asking the elements to behave in a way they normally would not. In exchange you give them your appreciation and respect. The minute you fail to do this, nature will turn against you. Men have said that Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned and if that is true I know first hand why it is Mother Nature which we call her. Nature is comprised of four basic elements, air, earth, fire and water. As you sit here now, feel the air tickling your palms.” In soft wisps the air ran over Sarah’s hands. Drumming her palms with her fingertips, she seemingly tried to capture the wind. Jareth’s hands fell on hers. “Be still with me.” Immediately she was motionless. Chanting something in a language Sarah had never heard, the breeze started to circle her palm, with each concentric circle the intensity grew, until it grew so strong that it glued the back of her hand to the floor and it felt as though she were holding a small funnel cloud in her palm. A breath hitched in her throat, but eyes remained closed. “The wind,” Jareth told her, “can be as gentle as a kiss, or as violent as one.” The sensation was gone with the sound of his voice and the room quieted again.
“Earth,” he continued, “that from which all things thrive. Not just the soil that is used to grow, but the gems that bake beneath its surface, the plants, the rocks which tell its history. This very marble,” the king turned her hands palm down against the cool floor, “is a product of the earth. Sometimes earth is reflective, still, watching us almost as closely as we watch it.” A few more words in that language only he seemed to know and Sarah felt the earth shake, not just in her palms, but through her whole body. She’d never been to California where the mortal earth shook constantly or so they claimed. This quaking was different, though she could only guess at this, it seemed to not jar her outside as much as it seemed to go through her and make her shudder from the inside out.
“Wish for fire,” Jareth told her.
“I...I can’t.”
“You can. Believe that you can, concentrate on what your asking the elements to do. Picture a fireplace. Picture it lit, feel the heat on your skin.” Perhaps it was not so hard after all, for as Sarah listened to his words and followed her commands, she really did feel her skin grow warm. Even her sense of smell joined in as it registered the homey smell of logs ablaze. “Open your eyes.”
Shock overcame her when she stared into the flame, a fire which she knew had not been lit when they began this lesson in a fireplace which Jareth’s magic had only just built. “Did I do that?”
Jareth shook his head. “Fire can destroy almost anything in its path and yet when treated with respect it can sustain life. A fire cooked our food when we journeyed to the Triumvirate, kept us warm, helped us to dry. You’re world revolves around a burning orb. The great phoenix, dies in the flame and then rises up from the ashes.”
“It’s a contradiction, like the other elements. It can both give and take so drastically as to effect one’s very life,” Sarah summarized as she watched the flames dance.
“Precisely,” the king smiled. She was learning after all.
Lost in his smile, Sarah had forgotten about the fire, forgotten the elements. He had such an amazing grin. As though he were constantly in some state of contriving something either devilish or clever, often both. “Water?” she asked in an effort to remain focused.
“Water,” he repeated. “The human body is mostly comprised of water. For the immortals it is not entirely different, although your elemental class can increase or decrease the percentage some. Water is the source of life. Life for the earth and for the air. When the fire first began the air in the room got thick. Air carries water, when heated, the water forms condensation, thus our final element makes itself known. Feel your forehead.” Sarah did as she was told and it was moist with perspiration, although she wondered if that was fully from the fire.
“But water would douse a fire,” she thought aloud.
“Indeed it would, just as air would fan it. Just as water brings earth new life while fire destroys it. There are equals and opposites in the equation, but when each one is mindful of the others, grateful for what it needs to take and generous with what it needs to give, we achieve a perfect balance. We achieve magic.”
Meaning to speak her mouth hung open, her eyes watching his lips form the words, beautiful words that a poet should have written or a bard should have sung and yet he spoke of nothing more than magic which for him was as common as a sneeze. “I see.”
“Good,” he said rather mechanically. “Then you’re ready to get started.”
“Are you going to teach me those chants?”
“No Sarah your magic is different than mine. You’ll harness it in other ways. Take the fire for example. Your connection with the elements can be called upon. Go on, try. Imagine a huge gust filling your room.” Sarah did as she was told, smiling when she heard the flames flapping in the breeze and watching as her duvet fell to the floor.
“What about what I did with the guitar?”
“Playing it? That’s a mortal magic. Something most mortals have, but not all are patient enough or believe in themselves enough to develop. It’s not elemental at all. I believe your kind call it talent.”
“Not playing it, making it.” Sarah fashioned her hands as if she were create the instrument from thin air.
“That’s elemental, only that type of transformation might require the presence of more than one element at a time or deeper concentration on your part. It is still a very basic spell. It’s your visions that intrigue me. I’ve known seers, although I’ve never understood what they do. It’s a spiritual magic, one I cannot teach you. It may even be that the gift is the result of a connection with another plane, another world.”
Wincing, Sarah thought, ‘Haven’t I enough of those.’
“I can’t help you to understand your visions. I can’t teach you how to use them, but I would be eager to listen to the tales they’ve told you, curious to see if there is a pattern to their arrival.”
“So you want me to tell you when I get one, what I’m doing just before and what it causes me to see?”
Jareth nodded, “In fact, I’d be curious to go over the visions you’ve had to date and see if we can find a pattern.” Her face grew nervous at the suggestion, aware that it meant disclosing her state of mind the night she spent alone and yet occupied in his bed. As the king often did, he misread her expression and quickly added, “But not tonight. It is late. You are tired and tomorrow will be quite exhausting.”
“I rather enjoy seeing your grounds. It’s exciting seeing the sectors, all their beauty, all their wonder.”
Hastily she admitted to these feelings.
“I doubt that you will feel that way about the Northeast. It is the most unpleasant of my lands,” Jareth stood, offering a hand to Sarah to help her to do the same. “Extinguish the fire please.”
Only half concentrating she pictured the log going out, the embers dying down, smoke rising up the chimney. It took twice as long as the ignition had because of how little she focused. Her mind was awry with other thoughts. If the Northwest had been Jareth’s favorite part of the kingdom and it was like paradise, how bad could the Northeast really be? Tomorrow she would see. Tomorrow the Northeast would teach her not to make assumptions.
***** ***** *****
Awaking in the king sized bed, Sarah stretched out her arms and legs. A reminder of a past night flashed in her mind, another time when all her appendages had been splayed. Quickly she shrugged it off. There was readying to be done, clothing to pack, and by the growl in her stomach, breakfast to be eaten. Cold marble stung her feet, as they escaped the cozy warmth of her bed. Standing before her wardrobe she wondered what she should wear, even contemplated knocking on the adjoining door to ask the king. Rather than seem incapable of making even the simplest decisions on her own, she pulled out a pair of jeans and a button shirt.
Arulan brought breakfast in somewhat surprised to find Sarah up and dressed. “My, but you seem anxious to get going today.”
“I wouldn’t say anxious, I just don’t want to give his majesty the opportunity to harp on me for anything else.”
“Then you better change,” the elf warned her.
“Why? Are pants inappropriate for women here?”
“As a matter of fact, it is unexpected, unless your riding. My reason for mentioning it though, is the weather is quite warm and humid where you’re headed. While the king is fey and can easily adjust his body temperature, you on the other hand, cannot. Trust me when I tell you, you will be far more comfortable in a shift.”
“Thank you,” the mortal offered weakly, embarrassed that she had allowed herself to misdirect her anger at Arulan, who was now opening the wardrobe and choosing something more appropriate for her to wear. Sarah caught herself picturing the king with his servant. Their two blond mops intermingled as they kissed. She prayed that he was at least good to her if he could not be faithful.
Turning with a smile the elf revealed a lavender shift. “Your hair and skin tones make shades of purple perfect for you, if you don’t mind my saying.” She held the dress to Sarah’s shoulders and tilted her head as she admired the girl. “Yes this one.”
Sarah changed openly before her, they had formed a mother-daughter bond that made it seem silly to be embarrassed about such an obvious task. As the cool fresh garment slid over her skin, Sarah thought about how that same bond made everything she had done with Jareth seem dirty. That wasn’t fair, it had seemed dirty before, popping into some fantasy world to have a quick fling with a king, but what she suspected between Arulan and Jareth made it seem worse, almost immoral. Yet, as it had been from the moment he first threw open the french doors on her parents’ balcony, as it would most likely be until they were torn from each other’s lives, the Goblin King, despite her proclamation, had retained some power over her. In the beginning Sarah cursed the permanently pouted lips, the devilish grin that forever seemed to speak what his lips did not, the earth-toned discoloration creating a smile around his eyes which easily captured her attention and held it. He exposed just enough of his physique, either openly revealed or packed in tightly concealed ripples and bulges, to keep one’s imagination active, but he was still every bit a king, his square shoulders letting his frock coats hang perfectly, accentuating his tapered waist, making his already extended legs appear longer.
It had to be something more, she hoped. Sarah Williams didn’t want to imagine that a purely physical attraction could fill her senses the way the Goblin King had. That would have been superficial and though she could have been accused of being immature even selfish, she wouldn’t exactly have said superficial. Maybe if she let her guard down some, he’d let her get to know him. A small part of her hoped she’d learn to think of him like a father; otherwise she wasn’t quite sure what she would do with the memory of his kiss when they sent her back Aboveground.
“Sarah, dear, are you alright?” Arulan’s soft concern broke her reverie.
“Fine, thank you. I’m fine.”
“Eat then, before it goes cold. His majesty will be downstairs waiting. I overheard him telling Turgomon he wanted to leave precisely at eight. I would do your best to be ready by then.”
Sarah smiled and nodded appreciatively.
***** ***** *****
It was 7:56 when the mortal descended the staircase in the main hall. Jareth stopped the discussion he was having with his advisor so he could watch her walk. The shift swayed around her thighs like a petal in the wind. Her hair hung long, over her shoulders, the sides cleared of her face by sections from each temple that she had pulled back and braided, like a natural crown, only more elegant than any precious metal or gem. On a long silver chain which hung between her breasts, the miniature replica of the medallion worn by the king. By the time his eyes made their way to her face, Jareth’s jaws were gapping. It seemed her movements happened in slow motion, each step a languid, graceful dance.
When Sarah reached the landing, she rose her head and looked at Turgomon, he smiled at her. She returned his smile prettily before meeting Jareth’s gaze. “Ready to go?” she asked him, feeling awkward suddenly with these two sets of eyes on her.
“In a moment. We’re waiting on Deverell,” he explained.
“Should I wait upstairs?” she asked feeling as if she’d interrupted them.
Turgomon bowed, “Milady, to think I sent you away would pain me greatly, please stay.”
Smiling at him sweetly she continued down the second flight of stairs and stood between the two men. Jareth wore his usual garb, grey tights, high boots, an open shirt, a vest and his gloves. Sarah tried to smile at the king, but when she saw him, she saw Maeve and when she saw Maeve, she saw red. Not because of the fey’s hair, rather the notion that this woman had once meant something to the king, the same fey that Sarah had these fostering feelings for, ones that were still nameless. “Will Gribbin be bringing the horses around to the front gates?”
Jareth laughed, “Why? Does milady wish to go riding before we leave?”
“No, I just figured we’d be riding to the Northeast.”
“Sarah, love, you allowed the Triumvirate to restore my magic. Travel by such means as horseback is unnecessary not to mention untimely for our purposes. We have but two days to spend in Ranofyr’s sector.”
“Only two days?”
The king raised an eyebrow at her curiosity as he wondered how much of it was disappointment they would not be traveling together as they had on the journey to the Triumvirate. “You will see once we arrive, two days and you will be begging me to transport you home.”
“Is it as bad as he makes it sound?” Sarah’s attentions turned to Turgomon, hoping that it had not become too obvious the way she was staring into Jareth’s eyes.
“I’m afraid it is, but fear not, you’re well looked after.” The king’s assistant looked at his majesty before adding, “Our armies are many and ready at the king’s whistle.” Jareth thought he saw Sarah’s mood set back at this.
“Your majesty,” Deverell said when he finally appeared in the main hall.
“You’re late.”
“My apologizes your grace,” the younger fey was well winded, “but this morning’s lesson with Dalkeil ran late.”
“You’ve taken a lesson so early?” the king asked in surprised.
“Aye your grace. Dalkeil feels that my hand to hand combat training is best done in the morning in order to get the most benefit for sharpening my senses.”
“I suppose he would know best,” Jareth concurred. “Nevertheless, the mortal and I must be going I’ve left a list with Turgomon who will help you get started. Unless something critical occurs, we are not to be disturbed.”
“Yes your grace.”
Jareth nodded to the two men and then extended an elbow to Sarah. “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” She said taking his arm. Transporting was like a warm, furry blanket that surged with energy as it enveloped her. Within seconds she felt the very powerful heat of the blazing sun. Her eyes still closed, Sarah breathed in the air. It was thick with humidity, making her glad she had taken Arulan’s advice to change her clothes. Salt scented mist stung her face. It was enough to keep her eyes closed.
“Have a look,” Jareth whispered against her ear. Even in the warmth that hung all around her, his closeness and sultry tone gave her a cold shiver. Slowly Sarah opened her eyes, blinking a few times as she adjusted to the light. Before her stood a sight she would have refused to believe if she had come across the knowledge by any other means than her own eyes. Made completely of sand, standing three stories high, with turrets and towers, was a castle. The pink sand rose from the beach and constructed the amazing building. Sarah removed her shoes as it sunk in there was a beach beneath her feet. Between her toes and along her soles the grains were warm like a load of freshly dried laundry. Still in awe she approached the castle door with Jareth close behind. As though she were afraid her touch would melt the fixture, Sarah extended one hand to reach out for the door. Cascading her fingers over the door, it felt grainy, like an emery board, but when she grew brave enough to press at the sand with her finger, she found that it did not give way, as strong as wood or metal.
Sarah continued pressing against the door, “How do you do this?” she asked Jareth, turning to evaluate his response. The entire time her right pointer finger continued to poke at the door.
“How else?” he grinned. “Magic.”
The mortal’s breath caught in her throat when the substance beneath her finger gave way. She spun around to face a grinning fey in a light muslin robe which hung loosely over his lean body. Auburn eyes looked her over. “How may I help you?”
Sarah stuttered for words feeling increasingly uncomfortable as she stood before the menacing looking Representative. “Ah....I ....er....”
“Ranofyr, tormenting the mortal is a pleasure reserved for me. You were aware of our coming this morning.”
“So I was.” Sarah noticed the deepness in his voice immediately. Baritone for certain, lower if there was a name for such a tone. “I suppose I should invite you in.”
“You could always refuse the visit and send us away.”
“Nonsense,” Ranofyr chuckled. “Come in, come in.” Despite how threatening he appeared, the Representative seemed gracious enough to his guests. “Might I offer you a drink?”
“Just water,” Jareth replied. Sarah nodded following his example. Ranofyr materialized two glasses of water, one in each palm and requested, “Follow me.” He led them to a sitting room just off the main hall. Setting the glasses down in front of a chaise he invited them to sit. “So you’ve come to restore my lands?”
Though the Representative had directed his question to the mortal, Jareth interrupted with a reply before Sarah could part her lips. “They’re my lands Ranofyr, let’s not forget that.”
“Begging your pardon, your lands then.” He said it with great distaste and what Sarah was very afraid was hatred. By now even Tiberon would have addressed him as his majesty or king, some evidence of respect, but not this Representative, not Ranofyr. Sarah moved closer to the king on the settee.
“I’ve brought the girl as the Triumvirate instructed me to do, so that her presence could restore the lands here. If you wish to refuse, you may. Otherwise you are to accommodate us until the morning after tomorrow at which time we will humbly take our leave.” Jareth handled him with kid glove care, saying just the right words with just the right authority in them so as not to offend or seem aggressive. He knew Ranofyr was an unpleasant fey, bitter and barren as his surroundings.
“It’s not that I don’t want you to visit you understand. It is, after all, a great honor to have both the king and the legend here in my sector. Only thing is, and I hate to seem ungrateful,” he laughed menacingly, “we have all gotten rather used to the way things are here. Why mess with a situation that pleases the majority? Surely you understand.”
“Yes,” the king let the word roll of his tongue as he narrowed an eye on Ranofyr. He pressed himself forward and began to stand, “We’ll just be on our way then.”
“No, please. I do so wish you would stay.”
“For what purpose?” Jareth asked with suspicion.
“Jareth, you hurt me when you think me less than forthright.”
“I rather would have thought you’d find such a thing complimentary.”
“Touche old man. But I speak in earnest when I beseech you to stay. Have a stroll around. See what I’ve done with the place. What harm is there in that? Consider it a vacation.” Leaning back, Ranofyr smiled, knowing full well that unless he told them to go they could not.
Jareth held a smug, stiff chin. “Very well then. Where shall we begin?”
“No hurry. You’ve two days after all. Why not tour the castle until lunch, then perhaps the cliffs until dinner and a nice stroll on the beach to help settle the meal. Tomorrow we can boat out to Man Island. Before you know it you’ll be begging me to stay.”
Again it was the mortal he focused on, but Jareth who replied. “I’m a king Ranofyr, I do not beg.”
“Must you take everything so literally?”
“It is the nature of our being, words were given meaning for a reason and I choose to respect that.”
“Bother. Sarah you’ve been very quiet.”
Words refused to come to her, even the small single syllable ones. She reached for the water and sipped at it. “There so much to take in,” she said as she looked around the chamber of the giant sand castle. An overwhelming sense of uneasiness swept through her. She’d hoped as much as Jareth had they would be dismissed, refused. Obviously that was not to be the case.
“More than you know, love.”
“You will address her with respect.” Jareth’s abruptness caused the Representative to snap his head
around and hold the king’s intense stare. “In her world they are given names. You will use it to call her by or when speaking to her at all times. Otherwise you may address her through me. The choice is yours.”
“Touchy, touchy, touchy, Jareth. Why if I didn’t know that you knew better, I might suspect you’d never gotten over Sarah.” When he smiled this time he showed his teeth. Not only did they have the distinguishing unevenness of Jareth’s but they came to points in his mouth, as if they’d been filed into tiny daggers. Sarah looked away, focused on something on the table between them rather than stare.
“Ranofyr, I am still your king,” to keep from strangling the fey, Jareth worked at his gloves tightening them over his fingers, hiking them up his arms, “your tone with me alone would be enough for me to drag you before the Triumvirate.”
He returned the threat with one of his own. “Your sympathy to the mortal would be enough for me to do the same.” Quizzically he cocked his head waiting for the reply.
“The Triumvirate has requested my patience with the girl. My treatment of her is their direct order. Now, on with this tour of your hovel, that is unless you’ve changed your mind about refusing us.”
“Not at all your majesty.”
The tour began from one of the turrets, from which Sarah could easily see the king’s castle. She began wishing that she were back there but stopped when she remembered how much power her wishing things had in the Underground. The Labyrinth spread out before her covering hundreds of acres and yet seeming so simple and easy to negotiate from this height. When it was time to move on, Jareth actually had to take her arm and tug her away. The third floor was comprised of four bedrooms and two baths. Ranofyr explained how he had yet to take himself a wife because he had yet to find someone that enjoyed the same kinds of non-traditional things he did. Sarah felt her face react when he added, “I hear Maeve’s back on the market, perhaps I should give her a call.”
‘Please do,’ the Goblin King wanted to say, but he thought it best to show no interest in the subject.
The second floor was comprised of a library, an office and a sitting room with a fireplace. Sarah marveled at the number of books inside the library. Ranofyr didn’t seem like the most educated fey she had met here, that he would so enjoy literature surprised her greatly. Back on the ground floor, they were shown the kitchen, the dining hall, the music room and the courtyard. The orchard trees were all black and mangled, starved of water by the dry desert sand and incredibly challenged by the atmospheric lack of rain.
“I have saved the best for last. I think you will find what I have done to the basement to be both awe inspiring as well as creative.” At the bottom of the stone stairs which took them to the basement, Ranofyr pulled open a huge metal door. The first thing Sarah had seen that was not completely formed from sand. “Go on, take a look inside.”
Tentatively, Sarah peeked inside. She fought back the nausea that bounced about in her stomach and looked away as fast as she could tear her eyes away. Chains hung from the wall. A rack stretched across the expansive core of the floor. In the corner a crude model of a guillotine, the blade had been stained darkly in a semicircle. Jareth ran to the opened door, looked in and then slammed it closed. “This is what you consider creative?” he asked Ranofyr.
“What would you call it?”
“Sick!”
“But some of the inhabitants enjoy coming here to play with my toys. Not to mention the parties we’ve had,” he sneered merrily.
“Never discuss this room or the goings on inside it with me again. What you and your sector’s inhabitants engage in under consensual obligation is little of my concern, but if word so much as drifts to me on the wind of what you use this room for I’ll have you exiled and replaced.”
A protective arm thrown around Sarah’s shoulder guided her as he marched them back upstairs allowing her to catch her breath. At length she asked weakly, “Why would anyone want...”
“I do not know Sarah and perhaps it would be best if we didn’t think about it.
***** ***** *****