Page 80 of The Stolen Heir

I smile up at him, believing, for once, that we are on the same side.

When we come to the edge of the water, we find Tiernan still haggling with three goblins. One has golden hair and a pointy chin, the second has black hair and bushy eyebrows, and the third has very large ears and no hair on his head at all. The hairless one has a skin of wine and stares at me with the seriousness of the very drunk. He is passing his booze back and forth with a redheaded giant, who sits on the pier, dangling enormous feet in the sea.

The black-haired goblin holds up a silver-handled knife and tests its weight. “What else have you got?”

There is a small pile of treasure on a nearby boulder—a fat pearl, at least sixteen pieces of gold, and a stone that might be an emerald.

“You overestimate the value of what you’re selling,” says Tiernan.

The drunk goblin laughs uproariously.

In the water is a boat carved in the shape of a cormorant. At the front, the long curve of its neck makes it appear rampant, and the wings rise on either side, protecting those resting in the hull. It’s beautifully made, and if I squint, I can see that it’s also magical.

“Ahhhh,” says the golden-haired goblin to Oak as we approach. “You must explain to your friend here that he cannot purchase one of our finest crafts with a few trinkets.”

Tiernan is obviously frustrated. “We’ve come to a price, but I’m a little short of it, that’s all. Now that you’re here, we can make up the difference and go.”

Whatever his reason for believing he would be better at negotiation than Oak, he’s mistaken. It’s not in his nature to dress up the truth, or slither around it.

The golden-haired goblin looks at us expectantly. “We would like the remainder of our payment now, please.”

Oak reaches into his bag and pulls out several more gold coins, as well as a handful of silver ones. “Is this enough?”

“We’ll have your rings,” says the golden-haired goblin, pointing at the three encircling Oak’s fingers.

I am not sure if they have any significance, but I suppose they mustn’t since Oak heaves a sigh and starts to twist them off. Not only that, but he places his circlet beside them. Surely a crown is enough payment.

The golden-haired goblin shakes his head.

I see the shift of the prince’s smile. Honey-tongued. “Mayhap your boat is too beautiful for our needs. We need seaworthy and little more.”

Two of the goblins exchange glances. “Our craft is as seaworthy as they come,” says the black-haired one.

“And yet, one might weep to see such a beautiful vessel as this battling the elements.” Oak’s expression turns thoughtful. “Perhaps you have something less fine you could sell us.”

At this the black-haired goblin sniffs, offended. “We do not make ugly things.”

“No, no,” Oak says, acting as if he’s disappointed. “Of course not.”

I twig his game. “Maybe we should seek a boat elsewhere,” I suggest.

Tiernan looks like he wants to strangle us. I can’t decide if he’s not sure what Oak is about or only skeptical that it will work.

The golden-haired goblin watches Oak. “You truly have nothing more to trade? I can hardly believe it, handsome travelers like yourselves. What’s that in her hair?”

Oak frowns as I remove it from my braids. Regretfully, I set it down on the pile with the rest of our treasures. I tell myself that it doesn’t matter. It would have been useless anyway, where we’re going.

The bushy-browed goblin snorts, picking up the hairpin and turning it over. “Very well. If this assortment of baubles is all you can give us, I suppose we will take pity on you and make the trade. Your rings, the knife, the pearl, the coins, the emerald that’s in no way the size of a duck egg, the circlet, and the hairpin. For these, we’ll sell you the boat.”

Smiling, Oak walks forward to shake the goblin’s hand and seal the bargain.

Tiernan hops down into the sea craft, motioning for me to throw him down my bag. He looks relieved that the negotiations are finally over and we can get moving.

The drunk giant lumbers to his feet, fixing the prince with an accusatory stare. “Look at what he’s wearing beneath his clothes. Armor of gold,” he grunts. “We’ll have that, too. Tell him!”

“We’ve agreed to a price,” Tiernan warns.

Oak’s hand goes to his sword hilt, and I see something wild in his eyes. “I don’t want to fight,” he says, and I am sure part of him means that.