Goblin Ball

WYRD AND FAE BOOK FIVE

Goblin Ball

l.k. rigel
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Available in the Wyrd and Fae Series

Give Me
(Wyrd and Fae 1)

Bride of Fae
(Wyrd and Fae 2)

Fever Mist
(Wyrd and Fae 3)

A Glimmering Girl
(Wyrd and Fae 4)

Goblin Ball
(Wyrd and Fae 5)

Goblin Ball (Wyrd and Fae 5)

Copyright 2015 L.K. Rigel
Published by Beastie Press

Cover design by eyemaidthis
Cover model and photography
Jessica Truscott

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Blog of LK Rigel

Table of Contents

Cissa

Cade
Lilith

Cissa

Cammy

Max

Memories

Seven Ways of Looking at a Gifting
Cissa

Nanny Violet

Lexi
Drang
The Missing
The Island
Goblin Ball
The Mystic
 

Bathed in the mystic moonlight
On the night of a goblin ball
Look to the moon at midnight
When true love will free us all.

« Chapter 1 »
Cissa

The Faewood. Today

Deep in the faewood
at the court of the Dumnos fae, the queen was in the throne room, performing yet another of her many stultifying administrative duties.

She sat on a raised dais so that all the courtiers could easily see their monarch. The Moonstick Throne glittered and glowed with captured moonbeams, and her crown of silvery-blue moonsticks sparkled against her flaming red hair each time she nodded her head while hearing the leprechaun Horace’s complaint.

The pixies he had complained against toggled back and forth between laughter-filled spontaneous poetry and casting wary glances at their new queen. Cissa was aware she’d gained a reputation for being mostly nice—but only mostly. Monarching was hard!

In her first official act, Queen Narcissus had sentenced the dastardly fairy Idris to thirteen hundred years locked inside the terrible cold iron cage of his own design. Not because the Dumnos fae had suffered thirteen hundred years under his regency—who was counting?—but because thirteen was such a bad number. A nasty number. Wherever horrible magic happened, the number thirteen was sure to be involved.

Shoulders squared, back straight, head high—the queen now tried to appear as she vaguely remembered her mother, the noble and serene Queen Sifae, who had reigned over the Dumnos fae well over a thousand years ago. But it was so hard to sit still in one place for so long. When her head nodded, it was because she was about to fall asleep.

Leprechauns were so
boring!

“Majesty, everyone knows the pixies are getting worse,” said Horace.

Cissa glanced sideways, hoping for a little sympathy from her friend Morning Glory. On cue, the white-haired fairy rolled her eyes. Cissa’s sentiments exactly:
What did the guy expect? They’re pixies.

Horace pointed a bony finger at his nemeses. “The final blow, majesty, they spilled an entire bottle of port on a bolt of my finest silk brocade.”

The pixies had the good grace to blush, but then they grinned and simultaneously threw their arms up, making jazz hands.

“Silk is fine.”

“It goes with wine!”

They twinkled their fingers together, clasped hands, and spun in the air.

Morning Glory couldn’t take it anymore. She laughed and flew up out of her chair, above the pixies, and tossed handfuls of exploding fairy dust over their heads.

“See what I mean, majesty?” Horace said. “Incorrigible. I was saving that brocade especially. I wanted to make grow-booties for Lady Lexi’s gifting. Oh, it was the loveliest cloth. Soft and pink and gold and so glowy…”

The leprechaun’s voice mellowed, and his clenched, hairy eyebrows came somewhat undone. He dropped his jabbing finger and looked off into the distance with a sigh weighted with sorrowful loss.

At the mention of the gifting, Cissa perked up.
Ah, that’s right!

Surely she would see Max there. Who else would represent the Blue Vale? She’d heard he was working on a new project—it must be a present for Lexi. Not that she’d know about it from Max, but she had minions! Sprites and wisps were natural gossips. They kept her abreast of all the happenings of the Dumnos fae—including the comings and goings of unsociable goblins who kept to the Blue Vale.

Naturally Max would be the one to present the gobs’ gift to the new little daughter of the earl and countess of Dumnos.

Cissa clicked her sparkling red fingernails against the arm of the Moonstick Throne. In truth, she’d forgotten all about the gifting. What to give an infant who was but half fae? If only Max were here. He always had good ideas. But he never came to court anymore.

“Horrible! Horrible wretches!” Horace jabbed at the air. The pixies had grabbed his hat and were dancing over his head, taunting him with it just beyond his reach.

Cissa glowered. “How dare you ruin my grandniece’s gift?” She rose to her feet. “I should throw you in the bower for a week and a day. Teach you manners!”

A collective gasp shot through the throne room. Even Horace looked shocked.

“What?” Cissa said, incredulous. It wasn’t like she’d ever actually done it.

The only prisoner locked in the horrific cold iron bower was its creator, Idris, and everyone agreed he belonged there.

Still, all the Dumnos fae were bound by Brother Sun and Sister Moon to obey their monarch. If Queen Narcissus ordered the pixies to the cruel bower, they would be unable to refuse to go. Everyone in the room regarded her warily.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. True, she was impetuous. Yes, she had a temper. There was that time she banned a fairy from smelling any flower for a year and a day. And the time she told a poor hapless sprite to go jump in the lake, though sprites can’t abide any liquid but fresh, clean rainwater.

When she accepted the moonstick crown, she had imagined it would be wonderful. She would be like her mother, generous, wise—lady bountiful! Songs would be written about her. Kings and princes of other courts would seek her hand in marriage.

Not that she would ever marry. She’d never give someone claim over her that way. Ever. Though she wouldn’t mind being courted…

Back to the matter at hand, she couldn’t believe the looks on the courtiers’ faces. Fairies, leprechauns, brownies, pixies, sprites, a wisp or two. The Dumnos fae. Her subjects. Her responsibility. Did they really believe she’d do them intentional harm? Submit any one of them to the agony of cold iron?

She sighed. Being queen wasn’t the worst thing in the world—she loved telling other people what to do—but she was
not
having fun in her fabulous life. She was bored and unhappy. Trapped. She missed her old life and her old self, the fun-seeking fairy who liked to explore and find sparkly objects in interesting and unlikely places.

Something was wrong with her these days. Something inside, a strange…
feeling
. She was… lonely.

“But here’s the rift.” One of the pixies broke into her thoughts. “There will be no gift!”

“The objection was hearty,” said the other. “She wants no party!”

“Who says?” Cissa said. “Explain yourselves. Who wants no party?”

“Lily… silly!”

At this final rhyme, the pixies cracked themselves up beyond hope and collapsed on top of each other in spasms of belly laughs.

“No gifting?” Morning Glory stopped spinning and settled to the ground. “That’s… awful.”

“Unacceptable is what it is,” Cissa stomped her foot. That felt good. “You!” She glared at Morning Glory.

“Me?” The fairy’s hair turned a paler shade of white.

“Whether
your daughter
likes it or not, she’s part fae,” Cissa said, “And since she’s awakened to her fae nature, she’s under my command. That baby is my grandniece, and I say she’s having a gifting!”

“As she should. Yes. Yes, I agree,” Morning Glory said. “I’m on your side.”

“Go find Lily, right this minute. She might be a human countess, but I am queen of the Dumnos fae. Tell her there will be a gifting or… or… or she will face my wrath!”

“Yes, majesty. Right away.” Morning Glory held out her hand, palm up, and her tether appeared. She clasped the choker around her throat and popped out.

All the throne room was silent. No one would meet Cissa’s eye—none but the leprechaun, still waiting for satisfaction.

“Oh, fine!” She sat back down impatiently. “You two pixies, come before me. And keep still.”

What would Max do?
Cissa truly missed the gob. She hadn’t seen him since he gave her the dewdrop bracelet. That was the day Max’s sister had been set free from the magic mirror. Everyone said her imprisonment had made her cuckoo. Maybe he was busy with her. Too busy, anyway, to give his queen the advice she needed.