Page 112 of Dreams and Dragon Wings
He was probably a courtier to my parents before their deaths.
But I don’t press. For once, I let him keep his secrets.
Instead, I lean forward and whisper, “I need you to help me escape.”
“I can’t,” he croaks without looking my way. He immediately changes the subject. “Do you want me to move anything else for you,Therya’fey?”
Dryly, I answer, “Only the chains around my ankles.”
Slowly, the goblin turns his head, meeting my eyes. “It’s not a mere matter of weaving Earth,” he whispers, keeping his voice low. “Spirit’s binding you, too, and I’m no Spirit weaver.” He shoots a cautious look toward the closed doors, perhaps afraid his brother standing guard outside will hear us.
What small hope I had left threatens to wither away completely. “You cannot help me,” I finally realize. It is not a question of not wanting to.
He truly can’t.
Rowan shakes his head, his features pinched again. Suddenly, he looks tired—a creature resigned to his fate. “But I can take you to someone who can.”
Velda. He must mean Velda. If Velda can undo the Spirit binding me, then Rowan can undo the Earth and—
My excitement sputters out. If Velda could free me from the Spirit binding me, she could free herself from the golden cage I saw her in last. He must not mean Velda at all.
But then who else is there?
“Come,” he bids, urging me onward with his long, wicked claws. “We must hurry.”
I gather my skirts and carefully slide from the bed while Rowan helps me with the chains. I still wear the dark blue gown I selected for the send-off. I refuse to change into that wedding gown until the last moment.
Not until I know I have no other options left.
“But will we be allowed to leave?” I whisper.
Rather than answer me, my goblin ally flings open the doors.
Ghoul jumps and rounds on us. When he spots me, he clacks his fangs and cants his head to the side in confusion. “What are you doing, Grime?”
“Therya’feyneeds to observe the rites before the wedding.”
“The rites?” Ghoul echoes, squinting at me.
I take great care to school my features, to pretend like I have any idea at all what rites Rowan might mean.
Ghoul uncertainly hops aside. “King Malice will be angry if she’s late,” he frets.
“I won’t let her be late,” Rowan promises, already trudging off down the hallway in a direction we’ve never gone before—a direction that clearly leads deeper into Umbra Castle.
I hurry after my guide, as much as I can hurry while dragging the chains behind me.
I am so weary of being a prisoner. So weary of being kept grounded when all I want to do is fly. But perhaps whoever Rowan is taking me to see can help me escape soon enough. I might very well be free within the next hour.
And then what?
Do I run, saving only myself?
Or do I save Bene and the pixies, too?
And Rowan, I remind myself. I will need to save Rowan, too, no matter what. Malice will surely kill him otherwise, once he realizes what he has done.
Moments tick by. Minutes. We pass other goblins on the way—goblins who stare and clack their fangs until Rowan snarls, “She goes to observe the rites,” and we are allowed to pass without question.
