Chapter Four

Father didn’t speak to me or come home during the whole day. Instead, I contemplated what my punishment might be. A switching? Confinement to the house? A week spent volunteering at the market? Or more time in the gutters? The possibilities seemed endless, and the more I thought about them, the more my stomach twisted into a knotted mess. I didn’t have time for this—not if I was going to make it to the training grounds this week.

My gaze followed Father’s swishing robes as he walked into the house the next night.

Cook stood in the dining hall, waiting for him.

“Bring dinner to my study,” he ordered. “Ivy and I will be in discussion—we’re not to be interrupted.” He caught my elbow, then led me up the back stairs and down the dimly lit hallway. He produced a key and unlocked the heavy wooden door.

It creaked as it opened, and the scent of Father’s pipe tobacco filled the air. With a wave of his hand, he used his magic to light several candles around the room, illuminating mounted animal heads, which stared back at me with lifeless eyes. Stags, boars, even a unicorn. A large ivory horn with detailed carvings sat above the fireplace, and our family shield and sword hung on either side of it. A bookshelf lined the wall behind his mahogany table, while scrolls and rolled up maps sat in decorative wooden boxes around the room.

Cook hurried in with two servants on her heels, one carrying a tray of meat, the other handling the potatoes and bread. Once the places were set, Cook poured Father a cup of ale before shutting the door behind her.

“Have a seat.” He gestured to the spot across from him at the table.

The steaming smell of pheasant made my mouth water, but instead of dishing up food, I dared a glance in my father’s direction. His eyes darkened. With strong hands, he reached for his cup and took a long sip.

Oh, Hag, I wished he’d get on with it already. Sweat beaded on my forehead, and I raised a finger to my mouth, chewing absently at my nails.

“What possessed you to sneak into the Archives last night?” he said in a voice far too calm.

Taking a deep breath, I put my hands back in my lap. “I went there for answers.”

“Answers to what?” Father asked.

Anger swelled in my chest, and my pulse thrummed against my skin like it might explode. I needed to take a deep breath. “To where I came from. You won’t tell me anything.”

His fist slammed the table. “So you risk the dungeons to get answers? Damn it, Ivy, have I not given you every advantage? New gowns, jewelry, a garden to read in, a loving home? And you disrespect me and make me look like a fool in front of the King’s Council. Not to mention what you’ve done to your reputation being caught with Prince Dorian.”

“I told you, nothing happened between me and Dorian.” I stood abruptly, sending my chair skidding across the hardwood floor.

“Finding you in his arms didn’t look like nothing, Ivy.”

My fingers dug into my palms as I stood straighter. “Right, now you want to be the dutiful father. I’ve asked you about my mother, but you’ve refused to give me answers. And now I know why.”

“You know nothing. You’re a child, and there are things concerning your mother that could put you in danger.”

“Like the fact she was human?” My body trembled. Why was he making this so hard? Why wouldn’t he just be honest?

Father’s face contorted, his pointed teeth gnashing at the air as he snarled.

“For Hag’s sake. She wasn’t human. Get your head out of the books—humans are fairy tales. She’s dead, and that’s all you need to know about her.”

Tears burned my eyes, sliding down my cheeks like rain from a rooftop. “Why don’t you want me to know about her?”

“Because you’re not old enough to understand. You proved that last night when you broke the rules.” Father walked around the table to stand beside me. His finger caught my chin, making me look at him. “I have done what damage control I could with the King’s Council, but remember, there are consequences. Now, no more talk of your mother. Or your human fairy tales. Do you not understand that if the council found out about you digging up information about humans, you could get imprisoned?”

My jaw clenched. “Do you have any idea what it’s like for me?” I asked. “You might be High Advisor, but I’m an outcast.”

Father’s gaze softened. “You won’t always be.”

I jerked away from him. “Yes, I will. No amount of glamour or family connections can wipe away the facts. No matter how much you want them to. I just wish you’d be honest with me. I’m sixteen—nearly a grown woman. Old enough to marry.”

“And do grown women break into the Archives and get caught alone in the dark with the prince?”

My lips twitched at this. “I’m sure goblins have been caught doing much worse in Gob Hollow. And that’s hardly an excuse to keep information from me.”

“You’re being overly dramatic. If you want to know vital information about your mother, then here it is. She was a beautiful, generous goblin, and she died. End of story.”

Maybe for him it was, but not for me. I had seen the pictures in the books and knew she had to have been human. So why wouldn’t he tell me? Or at least admit he’d lied to me? I didn’t understand the secrecy. He loved her, and I wanted to love her, too. My hair was hers, my stature, my clear skin, even my smile—they had to be, because none of those things were like my father’s. Or any goblin in the kingdom. Yes, I knew the laws, but if he’d been truthful, then maybe I wouldn’t have had to chance the Archives or buying black-market books.

Father threw back another swig of ale. “We’re going to discuss your punishment.”

Here I’d hoped he’d forgotten. “I’ve learned my lesson.” I held my hands up in front of me.

“Right. Just like you learned your lesson after fighting with Vane and throwing rotten eggs at Birdie. Or when you broke into the palace stables and stole buckets of manure to leave on people’s stoops?” He narrowed his eyes.

I frowned. “You make it sound like I get in trouble all the time. I haven’t done anything like that in over a year—other than getting into a fight with Vane.”

He sighed. “Maybe so, but there are rules, and there are punishments for breaking them.”

“It’s not always my fault.” I stared at the pheasant getting cold on the platter. “And I have been better. You know I’ve spent most of my extra time working with Amos and Captain Bushwell. I’ve also been reading the books you brought me.”

Father glanced at me. “You and Pudge will have to grow up. Yes, there are times when it’s okay to fight, but harassing the Girt boy isn’t a good idea.”

“He asked for it.”

“I’m sure he did.” Father grew serious again. “You will wear this to and from school for the next week.” From beneath the table, he produced a large leather belt with the word “punished” carved into it. On the ends were hooks from which hung small buckets of cleaning supplies. “Every night after school has let out, you will go to the gutters with your gear and clean. The guards have been made aware of this arrangement and will check your work before you’re released.”

No. Not now, when I was so close to the choosing for the Mission. I needed to work on my weaponry and hand-to-hand combat. Panic unfurled in my gut.

“What about my training?”

“It’ll have to wait.”

“You can’t be serious. Have you actually been into the gutters? And my training, I can’t miss it, Father. Please.”

“It’s not supposed to be flowers and pie—it’s a punishment. Maybe next time you’ll think before you act so rashly.”

I sunk down in my chair, glaring at the table, when Cook busted in.

“Sorry to interrupt, milord, but this just arrived.” She held out a scroll with the king’s seal on it. Cook’s lips turned up at the corners when she spotted the punishment belt sitting on the table, and she shook her head at me.

Father opened the parchment and nodded. “Best get dressed in your costume,” he said, holding up the scroll.

“What?” I glanced at the punishment belt on the table, then back to my father.

“Tonight is the Night of Festival. The king is making his announcements for the Mission as well as the pulling of names for the Choosing Ceremony in two months.”

A groan escaped my lips. Since I was sixteen, this would be the first year I had to wear the ridiculous costume. Every unmarried goblin of a certain age had the joy of dressing up. Cook rushed down the hall and came back holding up the most hideous gown I’d ever seen.

The silky green material looked like a grassy hillside, while the white sheep’s wool around the shoulders painted the picture of something grazing. Beside the gown, Cook set down a pair of furry boots that made me think they took the legs right off a sheep. Pair that with the wide rope that’d be tied at my waist and used to lead me toward the festival, and I might as well have belonged in a barn. Baa.

“Can’t I wear something else?” I pleaded.

“No. It’s tradition. Now get dressed. We can’t be late.” Father left the room.

With Cook’s help, I struggled into the nightmare. “Now aren’t ye a sight.” She smiled.

“Yeah, if you’re a shepherd.” I snorted with disgust. “How come you don’t have to wear one?”

“Because I’m a widow. I’ve paid my dues.”

Sucking in a deep breath, I stared at the flames leaping in the fireplace while Cook adjusted my hair for me. “They’re choosing who goes on the Mission tonight,” I said.

“I know, Ivy girl. I’ll be sending prayers to the Hag they pick ye.”

As she twisted my hair up, I heard her gasp, and I grabbed the wool scarf to hang around the back of my neck. Oh no. I’d forgotten about the tattoo.

“Please don’t tell Father.” My voice dropped, and I spun around to face her.

“Where did ye get this?” Her eyes were wide, and she crossed herself as if she expected to be struck down by the Hag herself.

Fear constricted my throat. Why was she staring at me like that? “I—I don’t know.”

“Ivy, don’t ye dare lie to me. This is important.”

“Something happened at the Archives,” I whispered, then went on to explain the incident with the statue.

“I think ye need to show this to yer father.”

“Not tonight, Cook. I don’t think he’d take it very well—not after our fight.”

She put her hands on her pudgy hips and sighed. “Fine, but I’m telling ye, this isn’t something ye should keep from him. The Hag’s marked ye, and she’s not to be trifled with.”