Grizelda Goldtooth had scouted eleven caves in nine days, and every one of them could get her people killed. She crouched behind a boulder now, watching a twelfth. Her toad sat on her shoulder, its third eye rolling toward the ridge above. She followed its gaze. Two soldiers walked the crest, spears bright in the sun. Grizelda held her breath until they passed. This cave was too shallow, too open. Like all the others, it would never hide a goblin city. But her clan slept in ditches tonight, and the patrols grew thicker every week. She pressed her back to the stone and made herself think. She needed a place surface dwellers would never search. That meant a place they feared, or a place they thought worthless. She had no map of either. She had spent her father's last coins on this journey. If she failed, her people would scatter and be hunted one by one. Her toad croaked twice. Grizelda turned. Smoke curled from a cottage tucked in the trees below. Flower boxes lined its windows. A warm light glowed behind the door. Nobody built a home this deep in the wild without a reason to stay unseen. Grizelda decided to knock. The door opened before her knuckles landed. An old witch stood in the gap, no taller than Grizelda herself, her hat crooked, her eyes yellow and sharp. This was Morgana Blackthorn. Grizelda had heard her name whispered by traders who crossed themselves after. The witch looked her up and down. "A goblin at my door," Morgana said. "Come to steal my spoons?" "Come to trade," Grizelda said. "I need land no human dares enter. You live where none of them will follow. Tell me why." Morgana's mouth twitched. "Clever girl." She stepped aside. Inside, a lute leaned against a chair, and a young man tuned it by the fire. He glanced up, handsome and easy, and grinned at the toad. "This is the singer who owes me a debt," Morgana said. "Lysander Melody. He knows the old roads." Lysander set the lute down. "There's a valley past the black marsh," he said. "The maps call it cursed. Patrols won't go near it. I passed through once and found nothing but stone caverns, deep as a mountain's root." He shrugged. "No curse I ever saw. Just a story that keeps people out." Grizelda's heart pounded. A place feared. A place unsearched. Caverns deep enough for a city. "Show me," she said. Morgana held up a knotted hand. "Nothing is free. The marsh road belongs to me. Guide you through, and you owe me a favor of my choosing. One day I will name it." Grizelda knew the danger of an open debt to a witch. She also knew her people had no other road. She spat in her palm and held it out. "Done." Morgana shook it. Her grip was cold. "Then we leave at dawn. Pray the curse is only a story."