Page 33 of Apples Dipped in Gold

He offered his hand, and I took it, not knowing what else to do. I did not think I could continue dancing now that I knew Lore was here and watching.

The stranger led me from the center of the meadow to a stack of stones that acted as a table and chairs. When I was seated, the music began again.

“Here you are, my lady,” he said, handing me a large leaf with which I could fan myself, though I did not think it would help. My body wasn’t hot from dancing anymore. This heat burned low and hot in the pit of my stomach.

“Thank you,” I said, but the man did not seem to hear me, because he was waving over a servant carrying a tray upon which were a number of silver goblets. He took two and handed me one. I did not know what was in the cup, but I sipped it anyway and found that it was sweet.

The man did too and sat opposite me at the small round table.

“You are human,” he said.

I hesitated. “Yes,” I said. “Is it so obvious?”

“Only because you cannot dance,” he said with a chuckle.

I blushed and took another sip of the sweet drink.

“Do not be embarrassed,” he said. “I find it endearing.”

I had never been called that before, and I found myself wondering if that was a good thing. It almost felt like being called naive, which I didn’t like, though I knew it was true, especially when it came to survival in the Enchanted Forest.

“And you? Are you…human?” I asked, knowing he was not.

He held my gaze and smiled faintly before looking toward the dancers.

“My mother was human,” he said. “My father was a goblin.”

That explained his eyes.

“Are they still with you?” I asked.

“They died a very long time ago,” he said.

It took me a moment to respond. I considered only saying I was sorry, but apologies were strange when the topic was death.

“Mine too,” I said.

“Then we both know grief,” he said.

I nodded, and we were quiet for a few moments.

“Tell me something about them,” I said. “Your mother and father.”

I couldn’t place the look on the half goblin’s face.

“Only if you want to, of course,” I added, feeling silly.

“I want to,” he said. Then he took a breath and looked away again. “My mother used to sing to me. She had a beautiful voice. Sometimes I think I can still hear her, but only when it is very quiet and the world is still.”

“That is not often,” I said.

He laughed. “No, not often at all.”

“My mother liked to sing too,” I said, and I could not help smiling as I remembered the sound. “She was terrible, but she loved it.”

The half goblin laughed.

“Do you sing?” he asked.