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“The wishes we make in the dark have consequences, and the Lord of Mischief will call their reckoning.”
“You cannot leash yourself to your sister’s quim and whims.”
The Goblin King interpreted me, and showed me a vision of Liesl I had heretofore not known. He played me. It hurt. Hearing my music like this, played in the hands of someone who understood me so completely—in a way not even my brother had known—hurt.
“With this ring,” he said, taking my hands in his, “I make you my queen. To hold sovereignty over all that I rule, and the power to bend the will of the goblins to your every wish.” He slid the ring onto my finger. It was too big, but I tightened my hand into a fist so I would not lose it. He wrapped his own hands over mine. “Sovereignty over my kingdom, over the goblins, and over me,” he said. Then he knelt. “I beg your compassion, my queen. Your compassion, and your grace.”
When all my hopes His promises sufficed, When my Soul watched for Him by day, by night, When my lamp lightened and my robe was white, And all seemed loss, except the Pearl unpriced. Yet, since He calls me still with tender Call, Since He remembers Whom I half forgot, I even will run my race and bear my lot.
“You are braver than I reckoned, mortal, to interrupt His Majesty during his devotions.” I shrugged. “I believe in God’s unending forgiveness.” “It’s not your God’s forgiveness you’d be needing.”
