by Cori Vidae
She had avoided mirrors since the foreign lord wove his illusion, but there was no avoiding this one. The disguise had not changed her so much that she did not recognize herself, but the blue skin, claws, and cat-like ears sticking out from the sides of her head all combined to scream ‘not me,’ despite the image in the mirror mimicking her every motion. She tried to smile, but it turned into a grimace at the image’s jaw full of sharp teeth. She turned, carefully this time, and resumed her walk to the main hall.
The dress was hers, a plain thing from years ago, but the only one not contaminated by iron. A few hours of clumsy needlework and the noble’s illusions transformed the gray fabric into a low-cut gown that clung to her body until flaring out below her hips.
Ember dimly heard the chamberlain announce her assumed name as she entered the ballroom. A riot of color undulated before her eyes, even as the slow, sweet sounds of music tickled her ears. Everyone, human and goblin alike, dressed in their best this night. Goblins associated with Duke Vertigren’s house wore shades of gold and blue, while clusters of visiting nobles displayed the colors of their home province. The humans, being outside the goblin caste structure, dressed as they would, and swirled between the clusters of nobles like different metals melting in a crucible.
That’s the whole reason for this, Ember mused. Duke Vertigren thinks the alloy of his realm needs to change. But what does my employer want?
She scanned the dais for the object she was to replace. The fake resembled an elaborately carved hand mirror, without any glass or backing, just a ring of metal protruding from the handle. What possible use would that be?
As though summoned by her musing, the chamberlain rapped his spear on the marble floor. “All hail Duke Vertigren!”
Motion in the room stopped as all eyes drew to the entryway. A tall figure tossed back his cape and spread his arms wide, as though encompassing the room. Duke Vertigren looked far more human than his noble cousins. He had lightly bronzed skin instead of metallic scales and gently pointed ears. His strong, hooked nose stood out less than the near snouts of the lesser castes. Hair the color of polished copper fell about his broad shoulders. His jacket was cut to expose his shirtless chest and stomach.
Ember’s cheeks heated as her eyes took in the firm muscles on display. A sudden rush of blood in her ears drowned out his remarks. By the time it faded, the applause had died down and the music returned. The Duke worked his way through the crowd, a green-skinned adviser at his shoulder whispering names. Ember’s cheeks cooled as quickly as they heated, leaving her puzzled. She’d seen attractive men before, but she didn’t blush, for pity’s sake. Especially not over a goblin, handsome or not.
Ember spotted her stepsisters on the other side of the hall. They danced with mid-caste goblins in Duke Vertigren’s service. Must be trying to ferret out details about Duke Vertigren’s tastes, Ember thought with a wry smile. No other reason for Marta to put up with the dog-like face of her dance partner, nor Kareen’s lizard-snouted choice. They likely would not pay attention to a high-caste noblewoman in the room, but Ember worked her way to the opposite side of the hall, just to be safe.
Her attention on her stepsisters, Ember did not notice the wall until she backed into it. A very firm wall. She spun around, nearly tripping over her feet again, and found herself facing toned muscle covered by taunt, bronzed skin. Her gaze traveled up ever so slightly to meet Duke Vertigren’s eyes.
“Lady Phorenis?” Duke Vertigren’s baritone purred out of his throat. “May I have this dance?”
She could not refuse. No one in their right mind would refuse to dance with a noble of his stature. And handsome, too.
What? Heaven on high, what was wrong with her? She never mooned over muscles. “I would be honored, your grace, but I’m afraid I don’t know this dance.”
Duke Vertigren’s sharp teeth gleamed as he held out a hand. “Ah, that is no trouble, Lady. This one is easy to learn.”
No way to refuse. Ember took his hand and let him lead her to the center of the dance floor. The dance turned out to be as simple as he claimed; a good thing, too, as Ember found her ability to concentrate overpowered by the warm scent wafting from the duke’s exposed skin.
“See?” Duke Vertigren said after a few turns. “Quite easy.”
Ember nodded. Her body wanted to press closer to Duke Vertigren’s chest with a feverish compulsion. She fought back, ignored it like she ignored the heat from her forge. “Your grace, if I may ask a question?”
“Of course.” Duke Vertigren’s teeth flashed in the chandeliers’ light.
“Why the festival?” Ember had been curious, and this was a question ‘Lady Phorenis’ would ask. “Why risk the wrath of your peers by elevating humans?”
Duke Vertigren shrugged as he guided Ember through a turn. “We elevate members of the lesser castes that prove their worth. Why not humans? We treat humans better than imps, who are of our blood. If humans have a stake in our society, that will strengthen our lands.”
“Alloy,” Ember muttered.
Duke Vertigren’s ears twitched. “Alloy?”
Ember’s face heated further. “I apologize, your grace. I mean how metals are made stronger when alloyed with other materials. Bronze and pewter are made by mixing copper and tin, and can be strengthened with magic.”
Duke Vertigren smiled. “Exactly. Do you have much experience with metallurgy?”
Ember covered her grimace with a smile. “Some, my lord. Not all of us are useless lumps, good only for lighting chandeliers.”
Duke Vertigren bowed to her with a smile as the music slowed. “Until our next dance, Lady Phorenis.”
Ember returned the bow, and managed to find her voice. “I look forward to it, my lord.”
Ember’s fever cooled the instant he stepped away. She shook her head as Duke Vertigren moved through the crowd, puzzled by the fading flush. Goblins could not influence minds, and she could not imagine the duke using magic to stir up lust, not when he had his choice of bed-mates. Even now, he circulated among his guests, smiling at all the women. A few, mostly on the skinny side, were graced with a kiss to the hand or a whisper into the ear. Each woman so favored gasped and trembled as he stepped away. Ember rolled her eyes as one sagged against her companions, as though in a faint.
Always the pretty ones. Always the ones, human or goblin, that had arms slimmer than his, and whose heads never approached his breast, much less came level with his chin. The foreign noble’s spell changed her skin and ears, but not her body. He danced with you to be polite, not because of any attraction. Focus on the job, girl!
Vertigren even whispered something to her stepsisters, and had them escorted from the room by a servant. Yes, Marta and Kareen were definitely the type that Duke Vertigren liked to take to bed. More conquests for the lord, and the two would be insufferable come the morrow.
“Attention!” Duke Vertigren called as he strode to his throne. The music slowed to a halt, and the low caste guards controlling the lights focused illumination on the raised dais. “Earlier today the first offerings for the festival were presented to me, and judged. Those supplicants will come forward.”
A handful of humans gathered before the dais. Another servant appeared from behind the throne bearing a tray. Duke Vertigren whipped away the silk cloth to reveal a hand mirror. When he picked it up, Ember saw that it contained no glass, just a ring of metal.
Ember clutched at the pouch on her belt. The object from her patron was exactly like the mirror Vertigren held.
“Now,” Duke Vertigren continued, “the supplicants will receive the reward their offerings deserve.”
The supplicants smiled hopefully as Duke Vertigren raised the artifact. He gestured at the mirror, and a mist filled the ring. Ember saw nothing else, not from her place in the room, but the supplicants surely did. One managed to gasp in horror before the screaming started. Ember winced as the humans shrank, still screaming, and their skin turned blood red. The screams rose in pitch as child
-sized creatures tumbled out of the clothes.
Ember’s stomach dropped as Duke Vertigren’s guards herded the imps from the room. The guards ignored screams from the formerly human throats. A hush fell over the hall after the doors slammed shut. Ember’s hands twisted her skirt as she stared at the doors. Even the lower caste goblins considered imps worse than humans. Simpleminded and short-lived, they were little more than urban pests in many realms. To condemn others to such a life…
“They were judged,” Duke Vertigren flourished the mirror, “and found wanting. Music, my friends! We have time for joy before the next supplicants are judged.”
Music filled the room as Ember clawed open the bag. It can’t be. She glanced inside, and closed the bag quickly before any onlookers could see the fake inside. She had remembered right; the fake was identical in every way to Vertigren’s mirror.
What have I gotten myself into? Ember glanced from the Duke’s throne to the door where the imps had been herded. She glanced back in time to curse as the servant with the tray vanished through the elaborate archway at the far end of the hall. She looked nervously at the bag, and stifled a second curse as the fine, silver-blue scales of her fingers flickered back to tanned, calloused skin. The iron in the fake. Gods curse goblin magic. Ember gave the far archway another glance, then made her way toward the entrance. The festival is three nights long. Tomorrow.
* * *
“Ember!”
Ember frowned and continued to tap her hammer gently on the nails. Nails were simple. Nails were routine. Nails occupied just enough of her attention that she could not think about the previous night. Nails were always in demand, which helped after yet another of Ember’s clients switched to goblin craftsmen.
Nails were also incredibly boring. There was only so long she could work without a break, especially with her stepmother calling for her. She gave the nail one more tap to flatten the head, then set the hammer down. She wiped her hands on her apron and stepped out of the smithy. “Yes, Stepmother?”
Olivia scowled. “Ten years and still so formal? If your father were still here…”
If he were, I wouldn’t have to deal with you. Ember bit back her comment. Her father was ten years dead, and arguing would not help anything. “Is something wrong?”
“Where were you last night?” Olivia glanced around the smithy. “You were in such a hurry to leave after helping the girls dress.”
“A commission,” Ember replied quickly. “A detailed piece. I needed to take measurements last night.”
“So late?” Olivia’s brow furrowed. A commission would keep the household solvent for a bit longer. Ember could see the ledgers behind her stepmother’s eyes, balancing Ember’s diminishing income with her daughter’s lucrative but sporadic sales.
“The client wished it to be a surprise,” Ember replied. She gave herself a mental pat on the back for coming up with the story before she went to the ball. “His daughter attended the festival, and will be there tonight, as well. So I will be working out of the house.”
Olivia shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Duke Vertigren is touring the orchards, and will stop here for refreshment on his way through to the west district.”
Ember cocked her head to one side. Her stepmother clicked her tongue and pulled Ember toward the house. “Quickly, quickly! There is enough time to freshen up and change into your gown. Not very fancy, but it should be enough to pass in polite company.”
“Wouldn’t this be better for Kareen?” Ember tried to twist out of the iron grip. Short and slight as Olivia was, her hands still worked silver and bronze. “She is the far better hostess.”
“She and Marta are still exhausted from the ball last night, poor dears. They’re still asleep.”
Ember’s teeth ground. So did they take turns in Duke Vertigren’s bed, or did he tire them both out at once? Skinny and blonde, her stepsisters fit the Duke’s taste in bedmates. She idly wondered what he looked like under his court clothes. Dammit! Stop thinking about his muscles and remember what he did to those people!
And yet, those people had wagered, and lost. They knew the stakes, and their greed exceeded their talent. She felt little in the way of sympathy for fools. For all I know, they’ll be happier as imps. Ember winced at the thought. I’ll have to learn to be happy as an imp if I don’t make that switch soon.
Ember dragged herself to her cramped room and pulled off her sweaty, soot-caked clothes. From what Olivia said, there was little enough time to fully clean up, but she wet a cloth in the wash basin. A few minutes later, she pulled her gown out of her wardrobe. The same gown as last night. Will he notice? No, the illusion covered it, too. Ember finished the last tie and hurried to the entry hall.
Ember’s stepmother bowed at the door. “Be welcome in our house, your grace.”
“Thank you,” Duke Vertigren said as he strode through the door. A pair of blue-skinned middle caste bodyguards followed a pace behind. “Ah, is this one of your daughters?”
“My stepdaughter.” Olivia gestured to a table with wine and water pitchers. “Only a blacksmith, your grace, while my daughters practice the more advanced and refined art of silver smithing.”
“A pleasure.” Duke Vertigren paused to take Ember’s hand and bow over it. Both bodyguards tensed, but Ember’s face warmed as his strong fingers enveloped her own. His breath tickled the back of her hand an instant before his lips brushed her skin.
A jolt passed over Ember’s body, followed by fatigue. Her knees quivered as though she had walked an hour. Nothing compared to a typical day at her forge, but still surprising.
Duke Vertigren paused as he released Ember’s hand. “Iron workers are so rare these days. Are you entering a piece for consideration?”
“No, my lord.” Ember struggled to keep her eyes on Duke Vertigren’s face, rather than his hands, or shoulders, or chest, or… Stop!
“Why not?” Duke Vertigren asked in a gentle voice. He waited for his bodyguards to inspect a glass and the pitcher of wine before serving himself. “Such workings are vanishingly rare. You would have the advantage of novelty.”
“Begging your pardon, your grace, but iron workers and their craft were banned from the palace by your late mother. I would not presume.” Ember swallowed and struggled to keep her gaze level.
Duke Vertigren shrugged and took a sip of wine. “It would be no presumption at all. The ban was decreed when I was a child, and I had forgotten it. I will correct it.”
“Your Grace,” one of the guards murmured.
Duke Vertigren waved a hand. “I’m not so fragile that a little iron would penetrate all my defenses, Gresh.”
Fragile? Defenses? Ember glanced at the guards out of the corner of her eye. They did not look ready to draw swords, but they clearly did not like her standing so close to Vertigren. Or the idea of iron being present at court. The late duchess had banned iron after her ascension to office, long before Ember and her father had arrived in goblin lands.
Wait, the old duchess’ brother held the throne before, didn’t he? Was he killed by iron? Is that why it was banned? Ember’s thoughts wandered to the fake mirror given to her by the foreign noble. It could have been fashioned in bronze, like the original. Instead, it was solid iron. And her employer wanted it in Vertigren’s hand.
“Will you enter a piece?” Duke Vertigren asked. “I can have the decree lifted by sunset.”
Ember shook her head. “I’m sorry, your grace, but a day would not be nearly enough time to create a suitable work.”
“Pity,” Duke Vertigren murmured. “It would be a nice way to open a few eyes. Blacksmithing is pure skill and craft, without even a touch a magic. It’s quite impressive.”
“Why are you doing this?” Ember flushed when she realized the question burst from her lips. “I’m sorry, your grace, I—”
Duke Vertigren smiled and held up a hand. “It is no secret that I am not a typical noble. You have heard rumors of my father, of course.”
“None
that I would repeat, my lord.” Incubus, her memory whispered. Demon from the shadow realm.
“Of course not,” Duke Vertigren said with a sly smile. “I understand your reluctance to submit a work. Most of my people shy away from iron. The metal weakens our magic, so is not very popular in our homes.”
Ember raised an eyebrow. “Only most?”
Duke Vertigren smiled, then bowed to Olivia. “Thank you for your hospitality. I look forward to seeing your daughters’ work, good woman. And perhaps your stepdaughter should consider entering a piece of her own. Even iron has its place.”
He quickly departed, leaving Ember in the center of the entry hall. Olivia stood at the door until the lord’s horses vanished down the road, then turned to her. “Well? Are you?”
“No,” Ember replied.
Her stepmother dismissed her with a hand wave. “You’re useless to this household as an imp, anyway. Back to your forge, girl. And get out of that dress before you soil it.”
Ember stomped back to her room. Imp or noble, she thought, it makes no difference. I would never have a place here.
* * *
Once again, ‘Lady Phorenis’ strode past the line outside and into the hall. Once again, the riot of color in the ballroom nearly blinded Ember before her eyes adjusted. Ember forced her hand to her side to keep from caressing the amulet her patron had provided, supposedly to keep her safe from Duke Vertigren’s magic.
“So wonderful to see you again,” Duke Vertigren said from behind her. Ember’s heart quivered in her chest. When did he arrive? Was he here before her?
Ember took a deep breath and turned. “It is good to see you, your grace. I must admit, your festival intrigues me.”
Duke Vertigren raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow and held out his hand. “Oh? And what intrigues one such as yourself?”
Why you’re bothering to dance with me. Ember allowed herself to be led to the dance floor. “The reward, your grace. I have not heard of that being done elsewhere.”
