Return to the Labyrinth

***IMPORTANT NOTE - PLEASE READ***

For those of my loyal fans who are wondering where I have gone, and will my story continue, the answer is an emphatic YES!!!!

Just as a highlight of my life since I last posted in July (sorry for the 4 month delay) I am getting MARRIED in May, and with only 8 months to go till the wedding, things are starting to get what might be termed hectic. To add to that, I have a second job now which has me working till Midnight three days a week, and all day at least one weekend day. So Sorry, but this adds another 30 hours to an already 40 hour work week. I need the money to pay for the wedding and my new Condo, but after 70 hours a week of work I hope you can understand that I need to get other of life's little necessities done, like fix the car and clean the house.

This is the only excuse I can give for my abysmal lack of posting in the last 4 months. However, one of my Beta's showed up at my second job a few weeks ago and forced me to sit down and write during my break. And to make up for my long absence I present an EXTRA LONG chapter. Isn't it exciting? I won't promise continued regular posts, but I'll certainly TRY. I hope you can forgive me!

***THIS HAS BEEN A PUBLIC FANFIC ANNOUNCEMENT. YOUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED PROGRAMMING WILL NOW RESUME***

A/N: The title for this chapter comes from a Maya Angelou poem entitled “Refusal”. The full poem is at the end of the chapter.


That We Will Meet Again

She ran. She ran as if the hounds of the hunt were on her trail once again. Stupid, she said to herself, Idiot. What have you gotten yourself into? What were you thinking? She wove her way through the crowd, pushing people out of her way. It was like trying to run through an ever-shifting forest of brightly colored trees. She paid no mind to the shocked sounds the brilliant Fae made as she waded through them.

Her thoughts were scrambled. All she could think of was getting back to the kitchens before Nel started looking for Aisling. She’d been here too long already. That and getting away from him and the dangerous feelings he created within her. You can’t run from yourself, a voice laughed wickedly in the back of her mind. She pretended not to hear.

The ballroom doors were just ahead. She could see them through the milling guests, tantalizingly close. She knew that he was not far behind, and suddenly her bold behavior seemed like the greatest folly she had ever committed. Where had that exhilarating defiance come from that allowed her to taunt the Goblin King in such a manner? If he caught her, discovered her, she feared the outcome. So intent on her goal was she that she did not notice the large figure step into her path.

With a startled “oof” she ran straight into an immovable wall. Large, strong hands wrapped around her arms before she fell. A blush stained her cheek as she looked up and up into the merry green eyes of the Mountain King. His eyebrows rose as he took in her state of urgency. “Whither away so hurriedly, little one?” he asked in his booming voice. Sarah blushed deeper and backed away. The King released her gently as she pulled back, his expression one of fatherly concern.

“Forgive me, Your Highness,” she said breathlessly with a little curtsey. “I…I need to…leave, I…” she glanced behind her and caught a glimpse of Jareth drawing closer. King Aillil followed her gaze. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said rather desperately and slipped past him before he could stop her. She hoped he was not too offended. She reached the doors and slipped through, glancing back only long enough to see that Aillil had stepped in Jareth’s path. The Goblin King paused, but his eyes caught hers across the distance and the promise blazing in them made her shiver, whether with anticipation or fear she could not tell. She fled out the door.

Once outside she paused for a moment to breathe deep and look around. She was relieved to see that there was no one to notice her incautious exit. She headed quickly down the hall to the servant’s door around the corner.

She was just closing the door, conveniently concealed behind a heavy tapestry, when she heard the ballroom doors slam open. The sound reverberated through the corridors and she froze. The door through which she had come was still open just a crack, letting in light from the hall. She didn’t dare close it completely for fear the noise would catch his attention, but she hoped it wasn’t leaving a telltale lump in the tapestry. His distant voice, laced with power, lashed through the air like a whip, crawling up her back in dainty claws and making her shudder. She could not make out the words, but the tone was unmistakable. She felt a twinge of compassion for whoever was on the receiving end of such icy contempt.

She could not stand here waiting for discovery. Softly, carefully, she closed the door and scrambled to retrieve her cloak. She had no idea if Jareth had heard the soft scrape of wood on stone, or if he knew the stairs were there. It seemed the sort of thing he would dismiss as beneath his notice, but she couldn’t assume she was safe. She couldn’t take the chance of him opening the door and finding her there. Her heart was beating so fast she thought it might burst, and her hands shook as she fumbled with the loose stone concealing her cloak’s hiding spot. Finally her hand sank into its soft fur and she threw it over her shoulders, praying she could cover one disguise with another. Her other garments tucked beneath her arm she gave one last furtive glance at the portal behind her and fled down the stairs, back to the kitchen.


\:0_0:/


Jareth had no choice but to pause in his pursuit when the Mountain King stepped into his path. “I would speak with you,” his deep voice rumbled.

“Now is not a good time,” Jareth gritted out, watching his quarry slip closer and closer to escape. He wondered if the minx realized that getting out of the ballroom was the easy part. The castle was not so simple to steal away from. As she reached the door, she turned, and her tantalizing eyes met his. When they widened in fear, he knew she was aware that the chase was far from over.

“The lass seems eager to avoid you. I wonder what you might have done…” replied Aillil, still not moving. He watched the Goblin King closely, noting the direction of his gaze.

“Stand aside, Mountain King.” Jareth’s voice was soft and dangerous. “I think you forget you are a guest in my lands.” His cold, mismatched eyes finally rose to meet the other man’s gaze.

Aillil frowned, but stepped aside grudgingly. “I forget nothing, Goblin King,” he replied stiffly, “I do not mean to insult your hospitality.” Jareth did not respond, but disappeared back into the crowd, headed for the ballroom doors.

When he reached them they slammed open with shuddering force at the touch of his power. A small, gnarled figure gave one startled screech before freezing on the spot in fear and staring open mouthed at his king. Jareth paused as the echoes of the slammed doors reverberated and disappeared down the corridors. He heard no sound of slippered feet running on stone. Where had the mystery lady gone?

Looking down he recognized the creature cowering before him. “Hogwart,” he snapped, his voice icy with contempt.

“H—H—Hoggle, y—yer Maj…” but he did not finish. Jareth took two steps to tower over the dwarf, and his voice failed him.

“Have you been out here all night?” the king asked, his voice, although softer, still bouncing off the stone walls of the corridor with a cutting tone.

“I—I have,” Hoggle stammered, “Been patrollin’ the halls, like you said.”

“And did you see anyone leave the ballroom just now?” He spoke slowly, as if to a particularly dimwitted child. Hoggle flushed a dull red and gulped.

“Just you…uh… Yer Highness,” he said.

“Not me, Hogbrain,” Jareth snapped. “Of course you’ve seen me. I’m standing right in front of you. I meant anyone else, for instance a woman, in a silver dress.”

Hoggle did one long, slow blink, remembering the lovely lady he had seen earlier that evening. He knew that Jareth would probably want to know about that, but he was not about to tell him. Hoggle was, after all, a creature of the Labyrinth, and his actions were often dictated by the nature of what he was. Had Jareth remembered this, it might have made his search more fruitful.

As it was, beyond being an excessively antisocial dwarf with marked tendencies toward cowardice, Hoggle was also something more. He was a living Enchiridion, one of several formed of the Labyrinth for the purpose of being ...useful. The Enchiridions provided answers, to almost any question. The key, of course, was asking the right questions. An Enchiridion did not, could not, volunteer information. Not even to the King that terrified him.

Slowly the dwarf’s head shook back and forth. “No, I only seen you come out,” he said, which was the absolute truth.

“And which way did you just come from?” Hoggle pointed behind him, his hand shaking.

“If you’re lying,” Jareth began softly. The dwarf gulped and scuttled back further, shaking his head fiercely. “Go, summon the guards to every gate of the castle. Tell them no one leaves until I say so,” he ordered, before sweeping down the hall and round the corner opposite where Hoggle had been patrolling.

A long, unbroken corridor lay empty before him without even so much as a wall niche to hide in. He knew this hall led straight to a dead end, after several promising turns, but he also knew, somehow, that she would not be there. He conjured a crystal, holding it up before his face. “Show me the Lady Moon,” he commanded, visualizing the person he meant, but the crystal did nothing more than swirl with some sort of glittering dust, obscuring the shadowed figure within. He gave a frustrated growl and crushed the globe with a flex of his fingers. She had, it seemed, disappeared right beneath the nose of the King of Illusions.

There was one last thing he could try, beyond spending the rest of the night in a fruitless search. Removing one glove, he rested his bare hand against the cool stone of the wall, and let his mind sink into the not quite alive consciousness of the castle. Although it was an extension of the Labyrinth, it was more aware than most parts of the maze of the creatures that walked its halls. With one touch, Jareth could see, or feel, every creature in that place, like brightly colored fireflies burning on a map. He asked, or perhaps directed, he could never be sure, the building to look for the mysterious lady, locate her. But there was too much going on, too many strangers within its rooms, cluttering and confusing its focus. With a sigh of regret, Jareth drew back his hand and the connection was severed. Perhaps he would try again, when he had more leisure.

He stared unseeing down the hall, trying to decipher how the lovely stranger could have eluded him so completely. Even his magic had failed to reveal her, which was strange indeed. Decidedly so. She had definitely piqued his interest, which, depending on who you asked, was either good or very, very dangerous. She may have escaped this time, but one way or another they would meet again. And when that happened, he looked forward to discovering each and every one of her secrets.

A throat cleared behind him with a soft “ahem.” Turning, he saw Amaranth in all her icy splendor looking at him quizzically, one eyebrow arched. “Are you well, brother?” she asked with cool reserve, “Your guests became concerned when you ran out so suddenly.” Jareth merely glowered and brushed past her, back toward the ballroom. Amaranth followed behind, smiling to herself.


\:0_0:/


Meanwhile, down a particularly dark and mostly unused corridor, the small furry figure of Twiggy was vigorously attacking thick deposits of dirt and dust with a broom. There were parts of the castle that were full of rarely used, mostly forgotten rooms and corridors. None resided there, and the servants had no reason to travel the halls, unless they were avoiding something.

Twiggy didn’t question why he was sent to sweep one such distant, unused corner of the castle. It never occurred to him that Nel would do such a thing just to keep him out from underfoot. Of course, there wasn’t much that did occur to Twiggy, not even the fact that sweeping involved picking up the dust, not just moving it from one part of the hall to another with the broom. But it kept him occupied, admiring the dust as it swirled and sparkled in the air around him with every sweep. So caught up in his task was the little goblin that he did not notice the figure of Aisling rushing past at the end of the hall, headed back to the kitchens and hoping to avoid the notice of anyone by traveling the long way around through empty halls. Of course, even given the unlikely possibility that he did notice her, Twiggy would have thought nothing of it.

As it happened, Twiggy was nearly finished with his task. And by finished it is understood that he in fact was tiring of watching the swirling dust, and his attention was moving on to other interests. And so he decided he was done, and leaving his broom sitting against the wall, he wandered down the hall to find something more interesting to do.

Had he stayed a moment longer he might have noticed when the corridor began to shiver and warp, like stones viewed at the bottom of a shallow pool. Had he looked round as he whistled his way down the hall, he might have seen the broom sinking into the wavering stone wall. He might even have found this strange, and worthy of investigation. But he did not notice. Even when the ceiling seemed to ripple and liquefy, Twiggy continued on his way, oblivious to the magic building around him like the threat of lightning just before a storm.

Had he noticed the fluid texture of the normally solid stone ceiling, even he might have become alarmed. As it was, he did not see the drip that formed at the center of the ripple. He could not appreciate the long, thin string of suddenly elastic stone that stretched toward the floor, looking like nothing so much as a length of pulled taffy. He was unaware of the small shape being spontaneously formed, as if from soft clay, at the end of the string. In fact, he was completely caught up in thoughts of chasing chickens and eating pudding, when he thought he heard the soft chink of a pebble hitting the floor behind him.

Twiggy twisted around and craned his neck, looking for the source of the noise. But the hall was empty and looking perfectly normal. Shrugging to himself, he began to walk again. Plink, plink, plink. He stopped. The sound was different, higher.

It was as he was turning to take another look that something sparkled just on the edge of his vision. Twiggy pounced like an eager puppy, cupping his hand over that glittering spot on the floor. He looked about quickly to be sure no one else had seen the treasure. Picking it up, he opened his hands to look at his prize, and an expression of excited awe crept over his face. A small silver charm, in the shape of a moon, gleamed within his grimy palm. Grinning, in a manner very much akin to an idiot, Twiggy squeezed the trinket tight in his fist as a wonderful, marvelous, brilliant idea occurred to him. He took off like shot toward the kitchens, skidding and bouncing into walls as he went. He just knew that this was the perfect gift for his Nel.


\:0_0:/

Sarah reached her cupboard without incident. She rested back against the door and breathed a sigh of relief, her heartbeat sounding like thunder in the lightless confines of the small room. She tried to light the lamp, but her fingers were trembling too hard, then her legs, and then she was sliding to the floor in a boneless heap as the adrenaline left in a rush and she gasped for breath. She forced herself to breathe deep until the shaking stopped and her heart slowed to something resembling normal. Once she could feel that still place inside herself again, she decided against the lamp, and focused her magic into a floating orb of soft yellow light instead. The small exercise seemed to help focus her mind as well as her senses. It was time Aisling got back to work.

She undressed with care, and laid the delicate silver dress out carefully on her bed. She didn’t have time to try and get it back into the acorn now. She would worry about that later. Quickly she pulled on the denim jeans and cotton shirt she normally wore beneath her disguise. The fabric suddenly felt coarse and irritating against her skin after the silken soft dress. She clasped her multicolored cloak over her shoulders once more and pulled the hood up securely. She felt the garment’s glamour pour over her like warm syrup. Not only that, but with her senses open in concentration, she thought she could feel, even recognize, the threads of magic humming as they bound themselves around her.

There was no mirror in her small room, so she touched her face gently and was satisfied to feel the rough skin that marked her altered face. Her hands were black and gnarled once again. With a sigh she extinguished the light and opened the door. She turned to take one last look at the magnificent dress, but somehow she wasn’t surprised to see that it had disappeared, leaving behind nothing but a faint glittering dust.

Aisling crept into the bustling kitchen, trying to avoid Nel’s all-seeing eye. A pointless effort, as it turned out. She wasn’t three steps into the steamy room when the Head Cook spotted her.

“About time you showed up ye lazy creature!” the small woman fumed, as she waddled up to a contrite looking Aisling.

“I’m sorry Nel,” she said softly, “ I just lost track of time.”

The brownie sniffed, “Hmph. Admirin’ them pretty Fair Folk no doubt.” Aisling just shrugged and looked sheepish. “Hmph. Well, pretty is as pretty does,” Nel went on, nodding decisively, “An’ them up there is all style and no substance. No heart. Exceptin’ a few, like our good King…his sister.” She paused to give Aisling a sharp look, and her captive audience obediently nodded her head in agreement.

“Right then, just so’s you know, beastie. I may not like you much, but I’m not one to wish grief on anyone.” Aisling swallowed a snort as Nel continued. “Mind what I say. Admire them pretty ones from afar, but don’t put yer hand in the snake pit lest it get bitten off.” She gave a nod, satisfied she’d said her piece, before turning to shuffle away. “C’mon then, I’ve work fer ya,” she said over her shoulder.

Aisling followed behind with a troubled heart. She was just thinking the same thing not so long ago, or something very like it. That she was out of place in that glittering court. That it was a dangerous game to spend time with the Fae. Why then did she have a sudden desire to argue with the older woman’s well-meant and sensible advice?

Neila led the distracted Aisling to the third hearth, the smallest of the three cavernous fireplaces used for cooking. Even being the least of the three, it was massive enough that Aisling could walk into it without stooping when it was empty. Now, however, there was a good fire going and a large iron cauldron set low over the flames. The golden liquid inside simmered with soft rolls and ripples and gave off a smell so appetizing that Aisling couldn’t help but drool.

Neila held out an extra long wooden spoon. “Butternut squash soup,” she said, “needs tending and constant vigilance in the last stage. It’ll be time to serve soon, and I’ve other dishes to attend to.”

Pursing her lips she glanced at Aisling, who stared back with empty eyes, her thoughts turned inward. Nel’s well-worn wooden spoon, always on hand in her apron pocket, cracked across Aisling’s furred shoulder. When startled brown eyes met her own, she relaxed her lips and continued.

“Stir it. Don’t burn it. You can manage that can’t you?” Aisling nodded sheepishly and took the long handled soup spoon. Nell sniffed again, peering at her with narrowed eyes, before trundling off to see to something else.

Aisling dipped the spoon in and began to stir. The soup was smooth, the texture of fresh cream, and its color was the rosy gold of sunlight and autumn leaves. Aisling stirred slowly, watching the rich liquid form little whirlpools in the wake of her spoon. Absently she rubbed at the now sore spot on her shoulder and grimaced as the coarse weave of her shirt abraded the oversensitive skin of her arm. Her entire body felt hypersensitive even as she found it difficult to focus her thoughts.

Her mind drifted, remembering the silver gown sliding over her skin in a silken caress as the Goblin King held her close for their dance. She remembered the feel of his breath on her cheek when he leaned in to whisper in her ear, and the sweet, dreamy smell of the skin at his throat. Thinking back to that moment in his arms, she couldn’t place what that scent could be, but it put her in mind of magic, power, and pure seduction.

Her heart sped up even as the spoon’s hypnotic motions began to slow. Every thought was absorbed with remembering the last two hours as Sarah. With a pang she came to realize that her predicament might be far worse than she had previously imagined. She wanted nothing more at that moment than to lay eyes on him again, to touch him, to hear his smooth and spicy voice. Oh, God…could she be falling in love with him?

After weeks spent in his company, she didn’t think of him as so much of a villain any longer, that was true. There was even a part of her that could think of what they had together now as a friendship, in a way. But surely it was not love. This entire situation was too difficult, too treacherous, for her to risk herself that way. After all, he was still the Goblin King, and she still feared him should he discover her. Any trust he might have for Aisling would be shattered once he learned the truth. But what do you really fear, the voice in her head replied, Jareth or your feelings for him? Do you fear his wrath, or discovering he does not care for you as you have come to care for him?

She might have stood in stunned immobility forever if not for Twiggy’s excellent, or perhaps lamentable, timing. The speckled ball of fur came careening through the kitchen door in his usual style, scrabbling for purchase on the stone floor. Aisling saw him coming and moved to get out of his way, but nothing was going as expected today. Murphy’s Law had nothing on the Labyrinth.

Just as Twiggy was about to race past her he tripped, quite spectacularly, and barreled head on into Aisling’s chest. It was with horrified fascination that she watched as time seemed to slow to a crawl. Twiggy was a flurry of fur and speed hurtling toward her, and out of his hand a small, glittering object flew in a graceful arc. It seemed to pause at the apex of its climb, and she had only enough time to note with horror the direction of its fall, and let out a shocked denial, before the goblin hit her, and the both of them went down in a startled heap. A stack of bowls and pans collapsed with a roaring clatter on top of them.

Silence descended over the huge room as everyone froze to stare at the commotion. Aisling was lying stunned on the floor, trying to restart her brain. A dazed Twiggy was muttering in Goblin beside her, and shaking his body like a dog. Carefully she started to pick herself up off the floor when Neila’s voice shrilled through the quiet.

“What by all that is good is going on?!?” she screeched, and the silence seemed to thicken into dread. Aisling could see her approach by the way those in her path quickly found something else to do in some other direction. She winced as the brownie appeared, a thunderous expression on her face.

“You!” she said, pointing her spoon at Aisling. “As if I haven’t enough to do, I’ll be pushed into an early grave by the likes of you! What have you done now? I swear you bring trouble with you in spades you hairy…And what is HE doing here?!?” Her voice rose shrilly as she spotted Twiggy staggering woozily to his feet. “If you have ruined my soup….” she began, eyes darting between the two of them.

Aisling thought about the glittering thing that she had seen heading straight for the vat of soup and cringed inwardly. She didn’t know what it was, but she was fairly certain that Nel would be less than pleased to learn her soup had been contaminated by some random bit of junk that Twiggy had been carrying. She glanced down at the culprit, who seemed unaware of the danger he faced in the angry cook. He was turning in circles like a dog chasing its tail, searching the ground and muttering to himself.

“Well? What happened?” Nel barked, glaring.

“Twiggy tripped,” the goblin piped up absentmindedly, still searching the floor. He glanced at his hands, face puzzled, and patted his worn vest as if looking for something.

“On what?” Nel asked in exasperation. She and Aisling both looked down. No bump or knot marred the stone floor that had been burnished and smoothed by centuries of traffic.

Twiggy blinked up at her, seeming to realize for the first time that he was being questioned. His eyebrows shot down and his lips pouted almost mutinously. “What tripped Twiggy? The floor up and grabbed him is what!” he whined. “And now I’ve lost my…”

Realizing that he was about to say the very wrong thing and make matters worse, Aisling made a desperate move. Snatching the goblin up in her arms she covered his mouth with one hand and held on for desperation as he started to struggle. “It was all just an accident. I wasn’t paying attention when he slipped into me. He didn’t mean to cause any trouble, you know how he is. I’ll make sure we get this all sorted and put away.”

Nel opened her mouth to speak again, but seemed to think better of it. She stared suspiciously between Aisling and the struggling Twiggy. Finally she said, “Aye, see that you do. I want no more trouble from either of you. An’ just to be sure, once yer done here I’ve a job to put you to for the rest of the night.” With a decisive nod she turned and stormed away.

Aisling’s shoulders sagged in relief, even as she struggled to keep hold of the squirming goblin in her arms. She hissed when she felt his sharp teeth bite into her hand and suddenly wondered if goblins had rabies. Was there even disease in the Underground?

Leaning down she hissed into Twiggy’s ear. “Stop squirming, Twiggy. I’ll let you go if you just stop.” Twiggy froze and mumbled something behind her hand. “Do you promise to behave?” she whispered. He nodded.

Carefully she took her hand away from his mouth, but kept hold of him in her arms. He was surprisingly cuddly for such a vicious little pest. She looked at her hand and was relieved that she didn’t immediately see any teeth marks, but then she wondered if the glamour would hide that sort of thing as well.

“Twiggy didn’t slip,” he pouted, “Twiggy felt the floor jump and trip him.”

“Fine, whatever,” Aisling muttered, rolling her eyes. She was far more concerned with the small object that had fallen in the soup. “What were you carrying Twiggy?”

The little goblin’s eyes lit up. “Twiggy found a sparkly for Nel!” he chattered happily, “Twiggy dropped it when he fell. Will Aisling help me find it?”

“I can’t, Twiggy,” she said, sighing. Sparkly was such a vague term.

“But Twiggy needs it!” his voice started into a whine. Aisling grimaced.

“It’s gone Twiggy. It fell into the soup.” She made him look at her until the words sank in.

“Nooooooooo!!!” Twiggy’s wail pierced the noise of the kitchen and Aisling winced. “My sparkly!” She really hoped Nel hadn’t heard that. Suddenly Twiggy was out of her arms like a shot and diving for the bubbling cauldron. Aisling was so shocked she almost didn’t react in time. Luckily her hands clenched reflexively and she caught him by the tail. It might have made a ridiculous scene, had anyone been watching. Aisling held on to Twiggy’s tail for dear life, her arms raised high so he could not touch the liquid below. Twiggy wriggled and squirmed, trying to reach his prize at the bottom of the bowl.

In his flailing, the goblin’s barbed tail slipped through Aisling’s grip until a single spine at the end pierced the fleshy tip of one finger. With a shocked “Ow!”, she reflexively yanked her arms back toward her body, but not before a single drop of red, ripe blood fell unnoticed into the pot. Starting to get angry now, she dumped Twiggy unceremoniously onto the ground and clutched her throbbing finger in her other hand.

“That’s enough!” she growled. Something in her voice must have given the little goblin pause, because he stopped in the middle of preparing to leap for the pot once again and looked at her with wide startled eyes. Aisling paused, trying to calm herself down before continuing. “Think about it Twiggy. What would Nel do if she found out you dropped something into a dish meant for the King? Do you think she would be happy?” Twiggy processed the question before shaking his head shortly. “Do you think she would be happy with Twiggy going into the soup to get it out again?” Twiggy again shook his head. “Right. And if she ever found out that you ruined her soup to get a present for her?” Twiggy gulped and his eyes bulged.

“Aisling will not tell Nel that Twiggy lost the sparkly in her soup? Please?” He grabbed at her fur and clutched at her leg. “Please don’t tell. Twiggy does not want to be sent away from the kitchens. Twiggy wants always to be close to Nel.”

Aisling tried to keep her voice stern, despite suddenly feeling sorry for the little guy. “Alright. I’ll keep your secret, Twiggy. But you owe me a favor.” She ignored the little twinge of guilt at manipulating him. After all, she’d be in just as much trouble if Nel ever found out. Twiggy nodded vigorously in agreement. “Cross your heart and hope to die,” she said.

“Twiggy crosses his heart and hopes to die,” he squeaked, tracing one hand over his chest in an X. “Twiggy thanks friend Aisling for not telling Nel.”

“Okay,” Aisling nodded. “Now help me clean up all this mess before Nel gets back and sees we haven’t done it.”

It didn’t take long to pick up the fallen pots and bowls and put them back in order. By the time they were done, though, Nel had returned with Cowslip and Peaseblossom to retrieve the soup for serving. She watched closely as the golden liquid was poured into a waiting glass tureen. Satisfied that it wasn’t burnt or spoilt in any way, she directed the pixies to bring it upstairs to the feast. “You two,” she said, pointing her wooden spoon at Aisling; and Twiggy, who started guiltily. “Follow me.” She led them to the far corner of the kitchen by the garbage chute where a giant pile of potatoes towered over Aisling’s head. “Start peeling,” she said, handing them each a knife and walking away. Twiggy whimpered and Aisling groaned, but they both sat down and set to work.

Aisling sat tensely as she worked the knife over the skins, worrying every minute that disaster would strike. She just had a feeling that the incident wasn’t quite over. She was not soothed when, not even half an hour after the soup had gone up, a sprite zipped into the room and whispered something urgent into Neila’s ear. The small woman stiffened and nodded, before disappearing through the door with the little messenger in the lead.

Twenty minutes later Nel stalked up to Aisling and glared at her, arms crossed, foot tapping. “The King means to speak with you, wildling,” she snapped. “And I’ll thank you to tell him the truth.” Aisling opened her mouth to ask what he wanted her for, but Nel cut her off. “I’ll not be hearing it. Just go.” Meekly Aisling followed after the sprite, who had come back with Nel. Twiggy watched her go with wide, terrified eyes.

The long walk to the banquet hall seemed far too short for comfort, and she was not relieved to note the increased presence of goblin guards in the main corridors through which they walked. When they reached the hall, Aisling was a little puzzled to note that they walked past the double doors to a smaller one just beyond. It turned out to be a small hallway that circled round the dining hall to a small antechamber which was situated behind the King’s throne at the head table. The sprite urged her in and the door closed gently behind her.

Aisling stared silently at Jareth where he lounged against the wall. The small room was comfortably decorated with a pair of chairs and a chaise lounge covered in pillows. It was separated from the main dining hall by an open doorway covered with a shimmering drape. Aisling could hear the musical chatter of the Fae as they ate just beyond.

Jareth did not speak at first but studied her in silence as he tossed a small object from hand to hand. It glimmered as it flew back and forth. Aisling forced her face to remain impassive, even as her heart began hammering in her chest. The King smiled.

“Hello my little dream, and how are you this evening?” he asked silkily, watching her closely.

She forced herself not to watch the glittering trinket as he played with it, and put a puzzled look on her face, hoping it was convincing. “I am well, Your Majesty,” she said slowly.

“And your duties in the kitchen? How do they suit you?” he continued idly.

“Well enough,” she replied, not sure she wanted to know where he was going with this line of questioning.

“Nel tells me you take on new duties almost every day. For instance tonight, that you helped her make the soup?” He made it a question.

“Not so much help,” she said, almost too quickly. She took a breath. “I only stirred it, for a few minutes at the end.”

“Ah. Nel’s soup is excellent. She has made it for me before.” He paused. “Are you certain all you did was stir it? It seemed, different somehow tonight. More enticing, delicious…intoxicating almost.” He smiled coldly. “I wanted to give my compliments to the chefs. Nel mentioned that you had helped prepare it. Surely you wish to take credit for such a delight.”

Aisling smiled tightly, but shook her head. This verbal sparring was like dancing on the edge of a knife. “It was kind of Nel to mention me, Your Highness, but I had little to do with it. As I said, all I did was stir.”

“You added nothing, not even salt to spice it up?”

“Added?” she asked, sounding surprised. “No, Your Majesty, I added nothing.”

“I see,” he replied, but the words sounded sour as he said them. His eyes narrowed as he contemplated her. “You have sharp eyes, wildling. Perhaps you saw someone suspicious lurking around the kitchen? Perhaps a guest who lost their way?”

At this real confusion emerged. She did not try to keep it off her face. Was she wrong about why he was questioning her? Why was he asking about guests in the kitchen? “A guest? In the kitchens? No, I’m sure I would have noticed that.”

He stared at her, lips pursed. His hands had stopped their constant motion and were crossed over his chest. The silence stretched out.

“And you saw no one put anything into the soup, anything at all?” he asked. She tried to follow the sudden jump in topics, but at least this one she knew what he was talking about. She pretended to be thinking about his question, when in fact she was trying to think of how to answer it without perjuring herself. She wished she could just lie, but part of the geas Amaranth had placed on her forbade her from doing so. It hadn’t been a problem until recently.

She looked Jareth square in the eye as she gave her answer. “No, Your Majesty. Other than my spoon, I saw nothing put into the soup.” She had seen something fall toward the soup, she reminded herself, by accident, but she had not seen it go in. And she had not seen it put there. It was so close to a lie it made her sick to her stomach. But it was the absolute truth none the less.

Jareth was less than satisfied with her answer, but realized he could do nothing about it. She obviously didn’t know what he was talking about, although he had hoped she could shed some light. He dismissed her back to the kitchen and watched her leave with a frown on his face. He opened his palm and looked again at the small silver charm in his palm, shaped like a crescent moon, which he had found at the bottom of his bowl earlier.

The mysterious lady would not be forgotten. It was as if she had ensorcelled his mind to dwell on nothing but her. From the first bite of soup to the last, when he had found the charm, she had occupied his thoughts. It was a message, he knew, though he could not figure out how she had managed it. They would meet again. And this time, he decided, she would not escape him so easily.

Refusal

Beloved,
In what other lives or lands
Have I known your lips
Your Hands
Your Laughter brave
Irreverent.
Those sweet excesses that
I do adore.
What surety is there
That we will meet again,
On other worlds some
Future time undated.
I defy my body's haste.
Without the promise
Of one more sweet encounter
I will not deign to die.

Maya Angelou