“He plays well, your brother.”
I blinked. The world around me was dark, and it was a long time before I began to make shapes out in the gloom. Trees, and a full moon. The Goblin Grove. I had no memory of how I had gotten here.
A velvet voice stroked down my spine. “I’m quite pleased, quite pleased indeed.”
I turned around. The Goblin King was lounging against one of the alder trees in the grove, one arm draped against the trunk, the other resting casually against his hip. His hair was in wild disarray, ruffled and feathery, like thistledown, like spiderwebs, illuminated by the full moon into a halo about his head. His face held all the beauty of angels, but the grin upon his face was positively devilish.
“Hello, Elisabeth,” he said softly.
I stood dumb and silent. How did one respond to Der Erlkönig, Lord of Mischief, Ruler of the Underground? How did one address a legend? My mind spun, trying to reel in my emotions. The Goblin King stood before me, in flesh and not in memory.
“Mein Herr,” I said.
“So polite.” His voice was as dry as autumn leaves. “Ah, Elisabeth, we need not stand on formalities here. Have we not known each other your entire life?”
“Liesl,” I said. “Then call me Liesl.”
The Goblin King grinned. The tips of his pointed teeth gleamed. “I much prefer Elisabeth, thank you. Liesl is a girl’s name. Elisabeth is the name of a woman.”
“And what do I call you?” I strove to keep my voice from shaking.
Again that predator’s smile. “Whatever you like,” he murmured. “Whatever you like.”
I ignored the purr in his voice. “Why did you bring me here?”
“Tsk, tsk.” The Goblin King waved one long, slender finger at me. “I had thought you a worthy opponent. We were playing a game, Fräulein, but you don’t seem much inclined to engage me.”
“A game?” I asked. “What game?”
“Why, the best game in the world.” He leaped from his languid pose by the alder tree, suddenly alert, suddenly sharp. “One where I take something you love and hide it. If you don’t come find it, it’s mine to keep.”
“What are the rules?”
“The rules are simple,” he said. “I find it, I keep it. I’ll note that you haven’t made much of an effort to play. A pity,” he pouted. “We used to play so often when you were a child. Don’t you remember, Elisabeth?”
I closed my eyes. Yes, I had played with Der Erlkönig when I was young, after Käthe had gone to bed, before Sepperl was old enough to talk. Back when I was still myself, whole and entire, before time and responsibility had whittled me to a sliver of myself. I would run to the Goblin Grove to greet the Lord Underground. I would be dressed in a gown of the finest silk and satin, he trimmed in lace and brocade. The musicians would play and we would dance, dancing to the music I heard in my head. It was when I first began to write down my musical scribblings, when I first began to compose.
“I remember,” I said in a low voice.
But did I remember something I had imagined, or something real? There was pretend, and then there was memory. I could see little Liesl dancing with the Goblin King, a Goblin King who was always just a little older, just a little out of reach. A Goblin King who fulfilled all her childish fantasies, who told her she was pretty, who told her she was cherished, who told her she was worthy of being loved. Was that a memory? Or a dream?
“But not everything.” He leaned in close. He was not my size now; he was tall and reed-thin. Had he been an ordinary man, he might have been called lanky. But he was not an ordinary man; he was Der Erlkönig, possessed of a preternatural grace. Every movement of his body was smooth, fluid, purposeful. He stood by me, hovering over my shoulder, breathing into my neck. “Do you remember, Elisabeth, the little games of chance we used to play?”
Wagers. Constanze said goblin men loved to gamble. If you could trick them into playing with you, they bet everything until they lost.
I recalled the games the Goblin King and I had played, simple enough guessing games with simple enough stakes. Wishes and favors and hopes laid out on the betting table like cards.
Guess which hand holds the golden ring.
I remembered laughing and picking a hand at random.
What will you bet, little Liesl? What will you give up if you lose? What will you gain if you win?
What answer had I given? I was suddenly, terribly, horribly afraid of what young Liesl had been willing to give. What I had unwittingly sacrificed.
“You lost the game.” The Goblin King circled me, a wolf stalking a hart. “You lost every game.”
I never chose right. The prize was never in the hand I thought. Perhaps the game had been stacked against me from the start.
“You promised me something I desperately needed,” he continued, drawing out his syllables into a drawl. “Something only you could give.” His eyes glowed in the dark. “I am a generous soul, Elisabeth, but no man waits forever.”
“And what did I promise?” I whispered.
The Goblin King chuckled, and the sound rippled through my body.
“A wife, Elisabeth. You promised me a bride.”
The word fell between us, a drop of water in a bowl, sending ripples of fear through me. Now the days of winter begin, and the Goblin King rides abroad, searching for his bride.
“Oh, God,” I whispered. “Käthe.”
“Yes,” the Goblin King hissed. “I am patient, Elisabeth. I have waited a long time. A long time during which you never came. A long time during which you grew distant. A long time during which you forgot me.”