Hm.
Hopefully my mornings with Castor aren’t a strain on my pelvic floor. Since that’s important. Or something. According to Doctor Knows Big Words.
Pollux still seems to be lecturing about nerd and science stuff, so I hope I haven’t missed anything else I’m supposed to not be doing. Like moving furniture into new houses. Which I helped with. Yesterday.
While I’m contemplating exactly how strained my pelvic floor might be right now, Pollux’s fingers hit my forehead, andI blink back into the moment. He mutters, “You don’t seem to have a fever.”
My lips tip into a smile. “That’s good, right?”
Pollux stills, then softness overwhelms him in very steady strides. The strides culminate, eventually, in a smile. “Where is your mate…and…” He tilts his great big body to look down the street. “What is going on? I…haven’t seen a bugbear in…” He blows out a breath. “It’s been a while. Goblins hardly ever make it beyond hobs…and they are almost never this…coordinated. They’re more likely to burst onto battlefields and die within days of evolution than they are to forge places for themselves to settle.”
I wonder if their mild-mannered temperaments are a direct result of my knowledge and character being the catalyst for their evolution. From what I could tell yesterday, the several goblins who refused to evolve were particularly aggressive, and they seemed to prefer to cling to their violence than to change. Humming, I set the thought aside and say, “There’s been an influx of faeries interested in joining our kingdom lately; therefore, we are accommodating them into our pandemonium. You are most welcome to review our terms and conditions if you’re interested. They are clearly organized…however, they are also written in crayon.”
“Pandemonium?” Pollux murmurs.
“That’s the name we’ve bestowed upon the subjects who have granted us their loyalty.”
The blacks of Pollux’s eyes widen as his red irises bounce off me and onto a crimson gremlin. His attention sticks on the small bloodied cap in the man’s belt loop. “Former redcaps…” He drags his free hand to his mouth and holds it there.
“Yes?” I say. “What of it?”
“Their penchant for violence is supposed to have compounded a great deal in order for them to become crimsongremlins…” Dropping his hand, he clenches it. “Castor lets you be out here alone with them?”
“They’ve sworn an oath to my protection.”
“Protectiondoes not come naturally to them.”
I don’t know about that. Melvin’s, Maurice’s, and Monty’s mothers seemed pretty ready to protect their young the other day when I accidentally evolved them. Maybe there are many things we have yet to learn about all the possibilities of whatpeopleare capable of becoming.
With that thought, the three little muskrats themselves whip out into the street behind Pollux, Melvin holding a carved bird. His eyes glint when they find me, and he collides with my legs in a hug. “Fair one!” He squeezes me, looking up and waving the bird. “Look what my mom made for me.”
“Children?” Pollux hisses.
Melvin flinches, looks at Pollux, then all three of them tuck behind my skirts.
“It should not be possible for there to be crimson gremlinchildrenat this point,” Pollux states.
I clear my throat. “Well…why not?”
“It would take a mating pair and time. The evolutions around me are fresh, new. The scent of wild, unbridled novelty is heavy in the air. Though uncommon, it’s possible for a pack of adults to evolve one after the other—knowledge provoking knowledge—but the children would not be old enough to have obtained the tools for evolution under those circumstances. And, all of this, relies on a pack living long enough to begin with. Redcaps are a type of goblin, but they are lesser, not beast fae. They fade in and out of the world. Their souls are weakly tethered to violence and malice and a loose sense of self-preservation. Winters unravel them when food becomes scarce and their will to go on releases. It is, quite frankly, rare enough to haveredcapchildren.”
“Castor fed them through the winters.” I settle my hand on Melvin’s head, in the tufts of his white hair. “Pollux, I think you’re frightening them.”
“That would be common enough for me… ” His eyes narrow. “What is less common is that they are not cowering. Redcaps are cautious against those larger and more powerful than them.”
“Maybe they haven’t learned that caution yet. They’re just children.”
“Indeed. Theyarechildren. Children who stand no chance and whose sense of self-preservation should command them to run. Instead, they protect you.”
I look down and find their eyes fixed, teeth bared, grips on me stable enough to maneuver where I might end up in the case of their needing to lunge forward past me, in my defense.
Pollux mumbles, “Short of hobs and higher evolutions, all goblinscower. They do not pick battles they cannot draw blood in. They are fragile.Theseare a half-step below hobs, yet they are strong. And. Still.They are children.” Restraining himself, Pollux releases the severity in his expression to regard me with collected coolness. “I would speak to Castor. Where is he?”
“Maurice, Monty, Melvin,” I say, “can you take that bucket to Frel, wherever she is, for me? She’ll need it to continue our decorating. This man is a guest of Castor’s, and he’s also my doctor, so he won’t hurt me.”
Wary, the children do as I ask, only snapping their teeth a little bit when Pollux passes them the bucket. Once they’re far enough up the road, I turn toward the palace and lead Pollux there, then I take him down, down, down into the belly of it. Chilled stone and darkness envelop us, so I lift my hand and call on the magic I’ve been practicing lately—faerie fire. Castor said the spell would come most naturally to me, and after the time I’ve spent usingrebirth, my connection to my magic has strengthened. Petitioning it to act on my behalf is like breathingnow. I need only learn control and limits—that I might find ways to break them.
“Shh,” Castor’s gentle tone slips up the dreary hall. “That’s my feather…and an old friend. All is well, Anansi.”
