"You fool!" he shouted. "Do you realize what you've done?"

  Golaka had expected Samuel to be furious, but why were the others so happy? Happy humans were never a good sign.

  "Gorge," the cook said sadly, shaking his head.

  "There are laws," Chale whispered. "The Conclave is a place of truce. To openly plot betrayal and murder . . ."

  "This monster is your responsibility, Samuel," said Feather Lady. "Take her away and behead her so we can get on with our business."

  Right. These were humans. Betrayal and murder were fine, but you had to be sneaky about it. She should have remembered. Golaka bared her fangs and flexed her arms. Too late for regrets now.

  "Wait," shouted Chale. "You can't execute her."

  "Quiet," snapped Samuel. "Unless you wish to join this monster on the block."

  "Would you kill a bride on the day of her wedding?" Chale asked.

  "What are you babbling about, brother?"

  Golaka was equally confused, but said nothing. If Chale kept everyone distracted, she should at least be able to snatch Samuel's knife and plant it in his neck.

  Chale took Golaka's hand, ruining that plan. "The goblin and I mean to be wed. You may have seen her only as a step toward power, brother, but I've come to respect and love Golaka."

  Samuel had gone from red to purple. Golaka hadn't realized humans could turn that color. "It's an obscenity," he hissed. "You would make a mockery of our House."

  "Only its lord," Chale shot back, in an equally low voice.

  "You're the one who defended the goblin, moments ago," One Eye pointed out with a chuckle. "Looks like you're trapped in your own snare. To deny the boy's wedding would prove your own words hollow. Would you dishonor House Loncaster in front of all assembled here?"

  "Very well," said Samuel, through gritted teeth. "Tie her up and lock her in the crypt for now. She can be wed tonight and executed in the morn. Since my brother is so protective of his betrothed, throw him in as well. Let him enjoy what time he has left with his beloved."

  The crypt smelled of old blood. Golaka swiveled her ears, tracking the scratching footsteps of rats in the darkness. To her right, Chale grunted as he struggled with his bonds.

  "Why the crypt?" asked Golaka.

  "It's the only building within the Wall of the Dead that's still standing. I'm sorry. I hoped for more than a day's reprieve . . ."

  Golaka tested the ropes knotted around her wrists. The humans knew their rope craft. Nothing short of a blade would free her hands from behind her back.

  The thinnest sliver of light pierced the crack at the edge of the door. As her eyes adjusted, she made out Chale hunched on the floor by the wall.

  A series of stone tables stood in the center of the room, each with a body upon it. Other corpses had been shoved headfirst into open chambers in the rear wall. She leaned over the closest table and sniffed. "Doesn't smell dead. Just dusty. This is the army everyone's worried about?"

  "The Army of Immortals." Chale whispered like he feared to wake them. "Centuries ago, they served the Winter King during the Three Day War. They're sworn to obey the high king, and to defend him against all enemies. But if they awaken without a high king, they might decide everyone is an enemy."

  "So chop them up and be done with it. Or burn 'em. Lots of ways to dispose of dead humans."

  "You think it's not been tried? Burn them, and they reform. Lock them in chains, and the links rust and fall away. Cut one up and seal the parts in a chest, and they break through the chest to return here. Every midnight, they recover from whatever has been done to them. They're unstoppable."

  "Humans. Bad enough you want to control everything that lives. Now you have to control the dead, too." She walked over to kick the door. It was like kicking a mountain. All she got was a sore foot and an angry shout from one of the guards outside. The air passing through the narrow crack smelled of badly overspiced meat from the cook fire. "You humans don't like that man's cooking, do you?"

  "We hate it," Chale admitted. "But nobody dares say so to Gorge's face. In his day, he killed more people, in more horrible and gruesome ways, than anyone can count. They called him the Red Reaper, though I'm told his real name was Martin."

  "And the 'gorge' thing?"

  "Some say he was struck with the gift of prophecy, and it's a warning of future threat, one even he doesn't understand. Most Houses avoid gorges and canyons and valleys, just to be safe. I say he was struck one too many times to the head."

  "Or one time too few," she muttered. "Why'd you try to get your brother to spare me?"

  "Because it was the right thing to do. Some Loncasters still believe in honor."

  She snorted. "Try again, human. You think you're the first to try to lie to Golaka?"

  "I wanted to humiliate my brother," he said with a sigh. "Bringing you to Conclave was a desperate gamble. Your betrayal made him a laughingstock. For that alone, I'm in your debt."

  "Good to know. Do any of these dead humans have weapons? If not, maybe we could use their bones for clubs, or break them to stab with."

  "That's . . . disturbing. Even if we could, you'd be lucky to kill even one before they cut you down." He sighed. "If only we could persuade the other Houses to intervene on your behalf. If you were pardoned, it would be another slap to Samuel's smug face."

  Golaka sniffed the air again, a new idea beginning to form. "Human weddings usually involve a feast, yes?"

  "That's right."

  "As bride-to-be, I think I ought to prepare my own feast."

  "You mean to poison them? You can't. They use silver plates and cups to detect—"

  "Poison wastes a perfectly good meal," Golaka snapped.

  "Wait, you claim to be a good chef?"

  Golaka shoved him to the ground and stepped on his chest. "How about I roast you and we find out?"

  Chale tried to squirm free. "I believe you!"

  Golaka removed her foot from his chest. He hurried to the door. "Guard! I need to speak with my brother about my wedding preparations." To Golaka, he said, "If you're to impress the other houses, you'll need to prepare a meal worthy of kings and queens."

  Golaka smiled, a smile that had been known to make other goblins wet themselves. Fortunately, it was too dark for Chale to see. "It will be fully worthy of them. I promise you that."

  Samuel only agreed after Chale pointed out the additional shame that would fall on House Loncaster if the wedding lacked a palatable feast.

  "She can't do any worse than Gorge," Samuel had grumbled. "But she's to be accompanied by guards at all times."

  That worked out well. Golaka pointed to the clump of brown mushrooms growing in the shade of the wall. "You with the beard like a rat's nest, grab those mushrooms."

  The guard hesitated. "I don't think I should—"

  "You'd rather help clean boar kidneys? Fine." She spun without waiting for an answer, stabbing her finger at the second guard. "We passed a stand of nettles yesterday on the way in. I need some. Gather more wood, too. Long, thin branches for skewers, and logs for the fires."

  "Fires? More than one?"

  "That's right—one with flames chest-high to start. Another burned down to the coals. And you, get me a bucket."

  "Why do you need a bucket?"

  Golaka threw up her hands. "To piss in. Unless you expect me to drop my drawers and go right here?"

  To her left, Chale muffled a laugh. Golaka's mouth twitched, but she stifled her own amusement and whirled. "Why are you just standing there, my betrothed? Someone's gotta finish butchering that boar, and these idiots won't give me a knife. Get to work!"

  "But . . . but Gorge already started roasting it," Chale protested.

  The cook stood with folded arms a short distance away. Touched in the head or not, he watched the proceedings like a hawk.

  "Started burning it, you mean," said Golaka. "The skin's ruined. It'll taste like ash. We need to cut the burnt meat away and start over."

  Gorge shrugged. "Gorge," he said apologetically.

  Golaka snatched the bucket from the guard and stomped toward the crypt.

  "You can't go in there," the guard called after her.

  "It's the only private place inside this wall, and I don't think Samuel wants me wandering loose among the trees outside, do you? I'm sure the dead humans won't mind. Now get to work!"

  It wasn't long before the smell of roasting meat began to overpower the humans' skepticism.

  "More wine," Golaka bellowed. Chale slapped a half-empty bottle into her hand. He was turning out to be a halfway-competent helper, though the humming was annoying. She downed several swallows, then poured the rest over the chops, making them sizzle. Tossing the bottle aside, she moved to the bed of coals. She used a blackened stick to flip the long strips of meat she'd laid out. Judging them done, she scooped them up onto the silver platter held by one of her guards. "Get those skewers ready. Rat-Beard, have you finished grinding the marrow paste yet?"

  "It smells . . . good," whispered one of the humans—Feather Lady, the one with the hippogriffs. Golaka wondered briefly what hippogriff tasted like.

  "Probably poisoned," sneered Samuel.

  Golaka grabbed a strip of meat and bit off the end. Chewing happily, she said, "If you're afraid, don't eat it. More for the rest of us."

  Several humans chuckled. The cook smirked and added, "Gorge."

  "Keep that platter covered," Golaka barked at one of the guards. "Chale, dig the roots out of the coals. Those need to be mashed, then mixed with the marrow and chopped thistle leaves. You, the fire for the roast needs more wood. No pine, though. The smoke's wrong for boar." She marched over to to another guard and sniffed his work. "What this paste really needs is a garnish of fire-spider eggs . . ."

  The crowd had grown. Golaka wiped her hands on her shirt and scowled. "Staring and drooling won't make the chops cook faster."

  Chale cleared his throat. "It's almost sunset. Traditionally, weddings are performed while the sun shines. Preferably outdoors. Without any hiding places for assassins or ambushes. With all weapons peace-bound." He shrugged. "We've had issues with weddings."

  "Gorge," agreed the cook, stroking his beard.

  Samuel tugged his brother from the cook fires. He spoke low enough to prevent human ears from overhearing. "You truly mean to marry this beast? You'd tarnish our house out of spite? What would father say?"

  Chale swatted Samuel's hand away and whispered back, "I imagine he'd order you imprisoned for assassinating him."

  "So be it." Surprisingly, Samuel didn't appear angry. "You'll see him soon, brother. While you sullied yourself with the goblin, I've negotiated a new alliance. I'd prefer not to share the Onyx Throne, but this is better than seeing the Army of Immortals under someone else's control."

  "Which House?" Chale demanded.

  "You won't be around long enough for it to matter." Samuel turned away to shout, "Friends of House Loncaster, let us gather for the union of the Hummingbird, Chale Loncaster, son of the Shadow Viper of the North, with . . . Golaka."

  The humans formed a large, loose circle around Samuel, Chale, and Golaka. A circle with plenty of room between groups.

  Samuel grabbed the bit of rope hanging from Chale's hand. "By my authority as head of House Loncaster, I give Chale to this woman. Who gives this goblin to Chale?"

  The scarred guard, Thomas, started forward, but a glare from Golaka stopped him. "I give myself," she snapped.

  "Very well." Samuel stepped back. "Who witnesses this contract?"

  As one, the gathered humans shouted, "We so witness!" All save the cook, who shouted, "Gorge!"

  Samuel nodded. "I pronounce you wed. Kiss your bride, brother."

  "Try it and I'll bite your lips off." Golaka glanced around. "That's it?"

  "The longer the wedding, the more opportunity for treachery." Chale swallowed, took Golaka's hand, and planted a quick kiss on the knuckles. "Samuel means to kill us both," he whispered. "We should try to escape tonight, before—"

  "Back to work, Goblin." Samuel pointed to the cook fires. "After the feast, you and my brother can celebrate your wedding night in the privacy of the crypt. Behind locked doors, with guards to ensure you're not disturbed."

  Chale sagged, his eyes dull with defeat.

  "Cook now. Pout later." Golaka shoved her way toward the fires. "Where are my guards? Those mushrooms won't slice themselves!"

  Golaka stabbed a boar chop with her nails and brought it to her lips. She tore a generous bite from the edge, chewed, and nodded. "It's ready."

  She grabbed another piece of meat and tossed it to Chale. She watched with amusement as the humans struggled between revulsion at the idea of eating goblin-cooked food and the craving of their empty bellies. As it always did, hunger won out. One by one, the humans brought their silver plates and helped themselves.

  Chale started to go back for one of the paste-coated slabs of boar, but Golaka caught his shoulder. "I don't want my husband tasting like marrow-salt on our wedding night. Or wild onions, so avoid the skewers as well."

  Chale paled. "You don't mean to . . ."

  Golaka laughed and punched him hard enough to knock him to the ground. "Like you'd survive a night with me."

  "Gorge," added the cook, laughing.

  Golaka stiffened as one of the humans—Nose-Picker—approached her. But the human was beaming as he tore meat from a skewer with his teeth.

  "This is . . . quite good," he said, his words muffled.

  "Delectable," called Graybeard.

  "And this paste," added Feather Lady. "You must share your secrets before your execution."

  "Samuel Loncaster, it would be a crime to kill an artist of such skill," announced One Eye.

  Chale grabbed Golaka's hand, seemingly without realizing what he was doing. "It's working."

  "You'd petition to save a goblin?" Samuel demanded.

  "Eat one of these chops before you decide." Nose-Picker shoved his plate in Samuel's face. "I insist."

  Golaka finished her own meat and absently sucked grease from her fingers.

  "All are in agreement," said Feather Lady. "Don't look so glum, Samuel. House Crowley will happily buy this creature from you."

  "House Ashcroft's coffers are deep enough to match any price!"

  "Think of your grandfather's long friendship with House Hollister. Give the goblin to us as a gift."

  "Shut your gobs," Golaka bellowed. The humans fell silent, their mouths round with shock. "You're saying either the bastard here executes me in the morning, or else I spend the rest of my days serving humans, is that it?"

  "What are you doing?" whispered Chale, trying to tug her back.

  "That's right," said Feather Lady. "Though you'll have to learn to mind your—"

  Golaka cut her off with a loud, drawn-out belch. "I'd sooner cut out my own liver and fry it up in lizard-fish oil than live as a slave to you spoiled, scheming, power-mad humans." She pulled away from Chale and started toward the crypt. "Enjoy the feast."

  "Are goblins so proud they'd rather die than cook for humans?" Chale asked from the darkness of the crypt.

  "Goblins? Proud?" Golaka laughed. "We're monsters. The difference between us and you is that we know it. You humans have spent centuries finding new and gruesome ways to kill each other. You've turned it into a game."

  "Goblins are no better," Chale snapped.

  "We don't pretend to be. Why haven't you killed your brother yet?"

  "It's not that simple. I can't just—"

  "Exactly. Because human games have rules."

  Chale moaned. "This place smells like death."

  "That was me. Human wine gives me gas."

  A piercing scream made Chale jump. Golaka simply leaned against the wall beside the door.

  "Where is this Onyx Throne, anyway?" asked Golaka.

  "It's said it will appear when the high king is chosen."

  A growling, gurgling sound came from the other side of the door. One of the guards groaned and whispered to his partner. "Too many of them skewers." Hasty footsteps signaled his departure.

  Golaka stretched her shoulders the best she could. Samuel had bound her arms again, more out of spite than any real fear of what she might do. "What time do you think it is?"

  "How should I know?"

  More screams filled the air outside. The remaining guard hurried away. "One of the Houses must have plotted betrayal," said Chale.

  Golaka yawned. "Did you notice how much burnt boar we had to throw out? There wasn't enough meat left to feed all of you humans. So I fetched some extra."

  "How?"

  "From the crypt. A couple of those dead soldiers stacked up in back."

  "You . . . you what?" Chale sounded faint. "You had no knife, no—"

  "I had fangs and a bucket. Remind me, what happens to these dead soldiers if you chop them up? Or chew them up?"

  "The pieces return at midnight," Chale whispered. "Through any barrier. Merciful god, you'll kill us all. We have to vomit before—"

  "Quit whimpering. I made sure to prepare a couple of untainted pieces for us. The rest, well, anyone who smeared marrow paste on their meal, or ate one of those skewers, or tried the stew . . ." She tried the door, but it didn't budge. "Maybe you can call this one the Night of the Bloody Privies."

  Chale didn't answer. He didn't speak at all for the next hour, though he moaned when small shapes like ragged, bloody caterpillars began crawling beneath the door to rejoin the bodies Golaka had taken them from.

  Only when the last of the screams had died did he stir. "We're trapped in here. If the Army of Immortals doesn't awaken and destroy us, we'll starve to death."

  "Not me," said Golaka. "Not while I have you around."

  Chale moaned again.

  "You think I want to eat raw human? Besides, we're not trapped. The first thing every goblin learns is to always have a plan for running away. If I'm not mistaken, you're now head of your house, and the only other survivor of this Conclave."

  "Most likely," Chale admitted.

  "In that case, as delegate of the goblins, I vote for Golaka as high king." She paused. "The way I see it, you can vote for me, and I'll order these dead bastards to break down the door and escort us home. Or vote for yourself, and it's another tie, meaning we're stuck in here and I rethink the idea of eating uncooked human."