Then the scene broke into pieces, shattering and falling about me like shards of glass. A mirror.
A dream.
* * *
There were tears upon my face when I gasped myself awake. My heart raced, and I was both too hot and too cold, my night shift soaked with sweat, my skin clammy. Although it was spring in the world above, down in the Underground it was always cool, as though Der Erlkönig carried eternal winter with him wherever he went.
A fire was banked high in my hearth, giving off a comforting heat. But I could not stand to be still, could not bear another moment in my barrow, my prison as well as my home. I pulled out a skirt and blouse from the wardrobe, simple and serviceable. Usually my closet consisted of elaborate gowns, dresses that were more confectionary than necessary. Whenever I opened the wardrobe doors I found something new, and tonight, my wishes yielded something very like what I used to wear in the world above: plain, practical, and warm.
I quickly dressed myself and unlocked my door, emerging into the corridors outside. I was in the mood to wander tonight, and did not care where my feet took me.
I passed the goblin city, glittering in the winking, twinkling fairy lights, passed the enormous ballroom where I had danced with the Goblin King for the first time as husband and wife. But I strode past them all, wanting to go deeper. The paved avenues gave way to narrow passages, rocky and sharp and jagged. Moisture glistened along the walls, the air around me growing damp and dank.
Suddenly, the Underground lake appeared before me.
This was the farthest I could go. My toes touched the edge of the water, sending glowing ripples of light across the surface. The water was cold, colder than an alpine spring, and I minded how these waters flowed into the rivers and pools of the world above.
And then, all around me, the sound of singing. High and clear, the sound of a finger running along the edge of a crystal goblet. The entire grotto rang with its eerie beauty, resounding in my chest and in my bones. The Lorelei.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
I jumped. A changeling appeared, as suddenly as though he had walked through the rocky walls surrounding the lake.
“Yes,” I said cautiously. I had never actually exchanged words with a changeling before. They were the Goblin King’s silent servitors, the swoonworthy swains at the Goblin Ball, the lost and hungry children of the world above, the most mysterious and monstrous denizens of the Underground. I knew next to nothing about them, save that they had been “the product of a wish.” I thought of the night I had made a wish, when Josef was a baby, dying of scarlet fever.
“They are dangerous, you know, the Lorelei.” The changeling sidled closer and I tried not to let my discomfort show. Despite everything, I pitied the creatures, pitied their half-life, their liminal existence. “Beautiful, but dangerous.”
“Yes,” I said again. “I nearly succumbed to their spell the last time I crossed.”
The changeling’s flat, black eyes—goblin eyes in that human face—studied me. “What happened?”
I shrugged. “Der Erlkönig saved me.”
He nodded, as though this explained everything. “Of course. He would not want you to discover their greatest secret.”
“And what is that?”
The changeling tilted his head. “That they guard the gateway into the world above.”
A cold, ringing sensation numbed me from head to toe. “A gateway? There is … a gateway to the world above?”
He nodded. “Yes. It lies on the far side of the lake.”
I stared at the lake, at its dark, dark depths, black like obsidian. Like death. Yet on the other side was light. Light and life. If only I could …
“It’s not safe.” The changeling watched me closely. “You cannot cross without a guardian.”
Shame lit my face, and I averted my gaze. I had not known my thoughts to be so transparent.
“Here,” he said suddenly. “I have a present for you.”
Startled, I opened my hand, and he dropped a bundle of wildflowers into my palm. “Thank you,” I said in bewilderment. The flowers were nothing more than clover blossoms, prettily tied with a length of ribbon.
The changeling shook his head. “It’s not from me. She left it for you in the Goblin Grove.”
I went still. “Who?”
“A girl,” he said. “A woman in a red cloak with sunshine hair.”
Käthe.
“How—how—” Goblins could only roam the earth during the uncounted days of winter.
“The grove is one of the few sacred spaces left where the Underground and the world above overlap,” the changeling said indifferently. “The girl came by and said your name before dropping the flowers. I took them when she left.”
Of course. Now I understood. I understood why it was always to the Goblin Grove Josef and I ran as children, why it was the only place I ever saw the Goblin King, why I had gone there to sacrifice my music and gain entrance to the Underground.
It was a threshold.
The glimmerings of an idea began to form, fragile and fraught. I turned away from it, afraid to look for the hope rising in me. The changeling turned to go.
“Wait,” I said. “A moment, please.”
The changeling folded his hands and cocked his head to one side. His face was human, but his expression was entirely goblin-like in its inscrutability.
“What—what can you tell me of my brother?”
“Your brother?”
“Yes,” I choked out. “Josef.”