Fae realm. The Blue Vale MAXIM OF THE BLUE Vale was barely four hundred years old when, ignoring all goblin tradition, he stood before the eldergob and asked for his heart’s desire. As the last word left Max’s mouth, he realized the request must appear cocky, improper. Even shocking. Or sun and moon, worse: lacking in manners. “Hm…” Vulsier leaned back in his chair with no heed to the others gathered at his table, now uncharacteristically silent. Every gob looked Max over, expressions mixed. Some appeared insulted, some perplexed. There was one look of admiration—or perhaps Max imagined it. No goblin had ever been apprenticed to anyone other than his own father.Max felt the eldergob’s critical assessment of every button on his tunic and cloak, the stitch work on the pouch hanging from his belt. Vulsier’s gaze lingered on the bright-cut wheat etched on the belt’s silver clasp. His fingers thrummed on the table, and his mental wheels of calculation slowly turned. Max listened to the sound of his own breath.
