Page 101 of Dreams and Dragon Wings
I owe Rowan. I need to help him somehow.
“But you’ve already helped me so much,” I whisper, my shoulders slumping. I was so wrapped up in my own needs that I forgot to think of his. “I can’t possibly ask you for more. But I…” A humorless laugh escapes me. “I have no one else to ask. You’re the last friend I have.”
Without looking at me, Rowan croaks, “Goblins don’t have friends.”
Curiosity gets the better of me. “Is Ghoul not your friend, then? He teases you as a friend might.”
“No.” Turning back to face me, he sighs and folds his too-long arms over his chest. “He teases me like a little brother. Because that’s what he is.”
“Oh…” My eyebrows knit together. “But then, why did you help me before if you do not wish to be my friend?”
Rowan’s mouth works. He shifts his weight from foot to foot. “Because,” he says as if the words are being forcefully pulled from his throat, “you remind me of better times. Happier times.” He looks away from me and stares at the hearth. “Back when we all had green-names and the land was alive.”
“The Flora Vale,” I whisper.
Rowan’s attention snaps back to me, his expression horrified. “We can’t speak that name.”
Surprise and indignation flare within me on his behalf. He and his people cannot even utter the former name of their home?
I thin my lips. “I imagine there are a great many things you are not allowed to do.”
Rowan nods, silent now.
My eyebrows raise. “Like weaving?”
The goblin hisses, shooting a look toward the closed bedroom doors. “No. We’re never allowed to do that.”
The absurdity of it all sees me flinging my hands into the air. Here stands an Earth weaver—a weave Malice cannot touch—and Malice does not even allow Rowan to… weave for his benefit?
“That’s ridiculous,” I utter aloud.
Solemnly, Rowan rasps, “Na’theryndoes not like to share power.”
There is a weight to his words this time, as if he’s trying to warn me of something.
A sudden wave of exhaustion washes over me, leaving me too tired to stand and most certainly too tired to drag my weary bones and chains all the way to the bed. I settle myself on the floor instead, wincing when the shackles scrape against my ankles again.
I will have to use more of my precious salve later.
“What time is it?” I ask, fighting against a yawn.
Rowan eyes me warily. “Late.Therya’feyshould rest.”
Yes. Rest. That sounds so lovely right now. I could drift off in mere moments. I could be wrapped back up in dream Bene’s arms. Perhaps this time, he will even kiss me properly…
“I’m not tired,” I proclaim, silencing my thoughts before they can spiral out of control. That is an utter falsehood. I am so terribly tired.
But I must take advantage of this opportunity while I can. Rowan and I are never alone.
“Are you marching out with the troops tomorrow?” I pry, wondering just how deeply I can dig before he stops answering my questions.
This one, at least, is deemed safe enough given his grunt and easy reply of, “No.”
A small relief to know I will not be losing my last ally in the morning.
I decide to try my luck with a more prickly question.
Drawing my legs against my chest, I rest my chin atop my knee and ask, “Why have you made Malice your king anyway? He seems terribly rude to you, calling you Grime instead of Rowan.”
