Page 7 of The Goblin's Mine

I nod.

“How is it we speak English,” he repeats. “The same reasons you do, presumably.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s the primary language in the area, isn’t it?”

I think about that. Once again, he has a point. “Okay, fair enough. I guess that makes sense, though I don’t know how English could have spread down here to yourprivateculture.” I don’t bother to keep the snark out of my voice. “I guess for some reason I was expecting you to speak some incomprehensible, guttural goblin language.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t know much about goblins, do you?”

I arch a brow at him and resist the urge to smack his forehead. “Well, duh. And whose fault is that? Remember our conversation five seconds ago when you said you keep yourselves a secret? I came here to learn, didn’t I? You literally just told me that you wouldn’t give me any information about your culture.”

This time, a teeny, tiny, ever-so-slight smile breaks out across his lips, softening his hard features and making him look even more delectable. Apparently he finds sass amusing. “Touché.”

“So, what are we supposed to do? If you won’t talk about goblins and I can’t go anywhere, how do we pass the time?” I ask.

“We’re going to bed early,” he says. “I have to go scouting very early in the morning, and you’re coming with me. I’ll go out later to inform the rest of the party and get the supplies we’llneed. It might be dangerous, so we have to prepare carefully. In the meantime, we’ll…sit here.”

“Enjoying the silence? Ooh, fun.”

He rolls his glowing eyes. “All right, fine. You can ask me questions. But I won’t promise to answer all of them.”

I grin. Yay. But then I think about what he just said, and my smile fades. “Well, obviously, my first question is about this thing we have to do tomorrow. What exactly is it? And what makes it dangerous?”

“Hobgoblins,” he says with a grimace.

I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees. “Okay, I’m gonna need more than that. For starters, what’s a hobgoblin?”

His grimace deepens and he makes a sound low in his chest that sounds like a growl. “Technically, I suppose they’re a subspecies of goblin, but they areverydistantly related to us. I can’t stress that enough. And they are more like animals than anything else. Small, vicious green things. All teeth and giant ears and huge eyes, all the better to see and hear in the dark and rend the flesh from anyone or anything stupid enough to wander into one of their nests.”

He's basically describing my initial mental image of regular goblins, although his version is worse than anything my imagination conjured up. “Well, that seems extremely unpleasant. And you expect to run into them tomorrow?”

With a sigh, he slumps lower in his chair and runs a hand over his hair. “We’re miners; it’s why we live beneath the ground. Our entire existence depends on successful mining. And some of us have suspected for a while that our lode is nearly tapped out. It’s in our best interest to find new places to mine, which means exploring new territory under the mountains. And the most unexplored territory is also where the hobgoblins tend to live. So, yeah, we probably will. You don’t have to worry, though. I’ll keep you safe.”

I take a moment to surreptitiously look him over…again. He’s tall and broad, well-muscled, which I now realize is from all the mining. There’s just a sort of…toughness, I guess, to him. He exudes it even when he’s sitting still. For as much as he’s a stranger, I trust that he’s fully capable of protecting me.

I nod. “Okay. If I have to go with you, I might as well help. Got a job I can do?”

“No. The men I’m bringing are capable scouts. We can handle the work. Your job is to stay close to me and let me know if you see or hear anything. Better to be overly cautious than ambushed.”

“Cheers to that,” I say.

“Any other questions?”

I think for a moment. “Sure, plenty. But what I really want to know…”

“Yes?”

“Will you tell me about yourself?” I have an inexplicable craving to know everything about him.

He leans back and his face relaxes. Like talking about himself is easier than fielding questions about his species. “Like what?”

I shrug. “Anything. Your age, your best friend, your favorite color, your hobbies, your family. Whatever you’re comfortable sharing.”

He runs his hand over his hair again. I get the feeling it’s something he does when he’s gathering his thoughts. After a few seconds, he actually smiles at me.

“Okay, well, goblin lifespans are a little bit longer than human ones, but not by that much. In human terms, I guess I’m about 35 or so. My best friend is Flynn—you saw him briefly when you arrived. Big guy with purple hair? We grew up together. Uh, let’s see. My parents live in their own quarters in a different part of our settlement. My favorite color is aquamarine. It’s my favorite gemstone. It’s just like your eyes.”

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