Page 95 of Dreams and Dragon Wings
“What do you think I should do?”
He hesitates a moment before turning his face into my hand. Tenderly, he presses another kiss to my palm. “Your best,” he exhales against my skin.
I tremble, swallowing against the lump now claiming my throat. “But what if I cannot do even that?”
“You can,” he answers without pause, his confidence washing over me like sunlight, warming me all the way through. “I know you can.”
But still, I shake my head. “Not without you,” I whisper.
Tears gather in my eyes. I never want this dream to end. I don’t want to go back.
I don’t want to leave him here.
My thumb brushes the curve of his cheek, savoring whatever scant moments together we have left. “Not alone.”
His hand captures mine and presses my palm tighter against the side of his face, holding it steady. Gazing deeply into my eyes, he promises,“You,Aurelia Weaver, areneveralone.”
I awaken to the burn of emerald boring into mine. To the sight of Malice’s lean face hovering above me, watching me sleep.
A scream hitches in my throat as I twitch away from him, scrambling sideways across the mattress. I do not make it far, though, before the heavy chains wrapped in Spirit binding my ankles together snap taut. Pain radiates up my left leg, turning my stomach. My vision swims. The room tilts for a moment.
When next I blink, Malice stands by the hearth.
“I did not mean to frighten you,” he rumbles, his words doing little to soothe my racing pulse. “My minion merely brought word that you are fading, and I wished to see for myself.”
I twitch the blankets higher, tucking them in around my chin so that the only portion of me he can see is my face.
He frowns. “It would seem we have gotten off to a bad start.”
I can’t help but laugh at those all-too-familiar words, pitiful sound though the sound is. “Are you related to Friedemar by chance?” I rasp, my throat dry. I need water.
Malice’s frown deepens. “Do not insult me when I am trying to apologize.”
With a snap of his fingers, the double doors leading out of my room swing open, and a procession of goblins marches in, carrying trays of food, buckets of water, and boxes in varying sizes.
Though Rowan is among them, he makes a point not to look my way as he sets his own box down on the end of the bed, opensit to reveal the glittering array of jewelry within, and shambles off.
Malice continues. “You will eat and drink to your heart’s content. You will bathe and dress in one of the gowns provided. And then you will knock on the doors to let Grime and Ghoul know when you are ready to join me. There is something I would like to show you.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek, glancing around the room. What I truly wish to do is reject all these gifts, to snarl that I will never wish to join him. But if I do not play along, how will I ever steal an opportunity to return to the tower again?
Not to mention that strange dream of mine—all this talk of loving one’s enemies rather than hating them. Was my conscience trying to tell me something?
Was the Great Weaver?
“What about the chains?” I ask, looking back Malice’s way.
“The chains stay.”
I purse my lips, suddenly reluctant to ask my next question. But I must.
Softer still, I wonder aloud, “And what about my leg?”
Another feline smile curves Malice’s lips. “The moment you undo whatever you did to ensure I cannot touch you, I will be glad to tend to your leg, my dear. I am somewhat skilled in the herbal arts.” His nose wrinkles when he confesses, “A compromise I had to make when I never seemed able to so much as weave Earth.”
“Very well,” I whisper, trying not to let my panic show.
How can I possibly undo it when I don’t know what I did in the first place to ensure he cannot touch me?
