Page 102 of Dreams and Dragon Wings
Rowan winces. “Therya’feyis the only one who uses my green-name.”
So many other questions rattle through my mind.
What is a green-name, anyway?
Why do the goblins no longer use them?
What happened to the Flora Vale?
But I don’t voice a single one. I remain silent, watching, waiting for my goblin friend to speak further. I somehow know, deep in my heart, that this piece of information is vital. An important piece to the puzzle of what I’m supposed to do next.
After a time, Rowan groans and settles himself onto the floor as well, as if his hunched body is too heavy for him to carry a moment longer.
He sits in front of the doors, his back leaning against the wood as he rasps, “King Malice is the only one who wanted us.”
I sit up straight, a frown pulling at my lips. “But I thought Malice corrupted you into what you are now?”
Rowan shakes his head and lowers his gaze, taking a keen interest in the floor. As if he can no longer bear to look at me.
Realization dawns. “You were goblins before Malice found you,” I whisper. “You had already succumbed to your Shades.”
“After the death of the lastTherya’fey, your mother,” he reveals, a weariness hanging over his words, “many of us succumbed. Soon after, the land began to die. Those who hadn’t succumbed fled.” He rasps out a laugh. “But no one wanted us.” Chancing a glance up at me, he finishes, “Not until Malice.”
My heart breaks for this creature. I don’t know why he succumbed to his Shade. I don’t know what he’s done. I don’t know what burdens he now carries.
But I certainly know what it’s like to feel unwanted.
“What if there was another way?” I press, leaning forward, my eyes searching his face. “Another king—or a queen—who wanted you?”
I suddenly recall dream Glorana’s talk of redemption.
More urgently, I ask, “What if it was possible to go back to the way things were before?”
He twitches away and shakes his head. “No. There’s no going back. The Vale is dead.” His face crumples, each word clearly bringing him great pain when he croaks, “And so am I.”
“But…” I don’t understand his reluctance to consider allying himself with another ruler. “You are the only one who calls meTherya’fey.”
He blinks owlishly at me. “Because youaretheTherya’fey.”
“Which makes me your queen, does it not?”
“No,” Rowan says again, though this time his tone is final. With another grunt, he heaves himself to his feet.
“Rowan, wait—”
“Good night,” he growls, slamming the doors shut behind him.
I groan and press my face against my knees.
I don’t know what I’m doing.
I don’t know how to be a queen—either aTherya’feyor aTherya’kai.
Unbidden, Malice’s words from earlier roar back to the forefront of my thoughts. All his talk of my not being Bene’sdrakira. I suppose that means I’m not technically his queen either, despite my dragon king’s constant claims that I am.
That thought brings some odd comfort:
The thought that I am only failing at being queen to one people rather than to two.
