Still, they were absolutely correct: a giftwouldhelp her apologize to Blossom, and in the realm of “Gifts for Blossom” the Cold Flower was pretty much perfect. But would it be all right for her even to ask Ren for some? She’d already asked them for so much, to the point where it seemed wrong to impose on them yet again. Pansy hesitated, her lower lip catching between her teeth, bringing with it the taste of copper and salt. Her uncertainty painted in blood across her tongue.
“You can ask, you know,” Ren said, their voice cutting through the silence that had settled between them. “I won’t assume the worst. I didn’t say it earlier, but I’ve never considered you to be a burden, Pansy.”
“I really do think that Blossom would be interested in that Cold Flower you just showed me,” Pansy began, her cheeks heating anew. “Do you think, perhaps, that you could spare some? Or I could pay you for it? I’m not really sure what’s the best way to do this.” Did goblins even use coin? she wondered. Maybe. They had their own markets, after all.
“Unfortunately,” Ren said, slowly enunciating the word in a way that made Pansy’s stomach drop, “that was the last of my Cold Flower. But there are several merchants who sell it at the Goblin Market. I can take you to them next time the market opens.”
Relief swept through Pansy’s body, erasing all traces of thesinking feeling from before. “When does it open?” she asked.
“No idea,” they replied, easy as could be. “It’s not exactly on a precise schedule. But I’ll keep an eye out for the signs.”
Well, that was… Not exactly disappointing, but inconvenient, perhaps?
The feeling must have shown on Pansy’s face because Ren continued after a beat, “For what it’s worth, I don’t think we’ll be waiting long. It’s about time for it to come around again. On that note, I think I have a solution to your other problem, too.”
Pansy blinked. “What other problem.”
“The pumpkin,” they replied, rolling their eyes. “Or did you already give up on winning that competition of yours?”
“Of course not!”
“Good,” Ren said, giving a nod of approval. “So, a pumpkin will continue to grow as long as you leave it on the vine. But that takes time, and it sounds like we’re a bit short on that.”
Pansy frowned. “I thought you said you had a solution. It sounds to me like you’re just telling me winning is impossible.”
“Nothing’s impossible with a little bit of goblin…” They paused, a wicked grin slicing across their face. “… ingenuity.”
“Magic?” Pansy asked, eyes widening. Should she be worried about this? Her stomach tightened, the prospect of getting involved with goblin magic plunging her back into that dark well of distrust that decades’ worth of oft-parroted stereotype had excavated around her heart. But so much of what she’d been told about goblins had already been proved wrong, so why not this too?
Ren shook their head. “No. Just a growth potion. Think of it like a fertilizer. An especially powerful fertilizer.”
Oh. Well, if they put itthatway. The tension pulsating acrossPansy’s shoulders abruptly unraveled, released along with the breath that had knotted beneath her diaphragm. “That sounds fine,” she agreed. Surely, everyone entering the competition would have usedsometype of fertilizer.
“Great.” They grinned. “Just leave everything to me.”
12
Ren
“Even the tallest tree was once a sprout.”
But with a trick of the light, both shadows can be just as long.
GOBLIN RESPONSE TO AN OFT-USED ELVEN PROVERB
Ren looked down at the skull resting in the palm of their hand and frowned. For any goblin, it would’ve been the perfect gift. Bird skulls were notoriously fragile, and this one was almost entirely intact, the only flaw being a small, barely noticeable chip near the left orbital bone. A truly lucky find! Theonly problem was Ren didn’t want to give it to a goblin. They wanted to give it to Pansy.
Funny how quickly things had changed. A month ago, their thoughts had been consumed with plot after plot, so determined to emerge the victor when it came to the deal the two of them had struck that Ren had even gone so far as to help her with her little competition – or at least, that’s how they’d justified it to themself at the time. But now that the Harvest Festival was fast approaching – the pumpkin Pansy meant to enter grown fat and round off a steady supply of growth potions – Ren discovered that their conviction was not nearly so resolute as it had once been.
Somehow, the (very real) prospect of Pansy winning –and then leaving– sent a cold shock skittering beneath their skin. Dread, probably; though it didn’t make any sense. Ren ought to want this: the cottage rendered theirs and theirs alone. It would be better for the clan, they’d reasoned, back when the first rumble of unease had roiled through them, as much a precursor to disaster as the suffocating stillness that followed a predator through the woods. Except that wasn’t true either.
For all of Pansy’s faults, in particular her self-described “uselessness” in the garden, she always tried. Yes, she worked slowly, planting one row for every three of Ren’s and weeding even more slowly than that; but shetried. This was the flip side to so-called “halfling stubbornness”: sheer perseverance. And every time she went out into the garden and tended to the seeds they’d planted together – exactly as she’d said she would – the wall Ren had built around their heart crumbled a little more.
Now, it was nothing but a pile of rubble, and Ren – Renlikedher. Against their better judgment, of course, but they did. And more than that, they wanted her to stay – or, at least, comeback to visit. Now, if only they could tell her that without, well, actually having to say it. The mere attempt alone would surely kill them, and what good would that do?
Hence the bird skull. A gift.
But would she even like it? Ren wondered, brow furrowing as they lifted up their prize to the light. They’d done a good job of cleaning it; they always did. And the Diamondback Potion had added a subtle luster to the delicate bone on top of strengthening it. Ren could imagine the skull as part of a necklace or, perhaps, a brooch; something to cinch a cloak shut against the wind. It’d look good either way. The envy of goblins everywhere. And yet, it was also completely unlike anything Pansy owned.
