Page 44 of Dreams and Dragon Wings (Clean Fairytales for Adults #2)
Aurelia
I sit on my bed, staring at nothing, Bene’s letter clasped in my hand.
My tears have long since dried, but still I sit. Still I stare.
Is this truly all I was made for? Passing along a gift to someone else?
Is this truly all I was meant to do?
Is this truly the only thing that makes me… desirable as a wife?
The sudden ache in my chest steals the very breath from my lungs. I suppose Malice was right about me. I suppose there was a part of me that did delight in the idea that I might actually be special. That I might actually be important in some way.
But now I see I’m not important at all.
I am but a vessel.
My gaze lowers to the water-stained parchment in my grip, to the three words scrawled at the very bottom.
Faithfully Yours, Bene .
Even to him—my oldest friend, my dearest friend—I am merely an accessory.
The moment that thought settles in my mind like a canker sore, I know it’s not entirely true. But I don’t care. I crumple the letter and fling it away, where it disappears behind some box.
I’m tired of thinking.
I’m tired of feeling .
And I’m tired of my room being filled with nothing but boxes . Why must I have so many things? Does Malice think suddenly showering me with every asinine object my mother ever owned will make me warm to the idea of marrying him?
Rowan watches the ball of paper’s trajectory before he returns to draping the dress that is to be my wedding gown across the end of the bed. He handles it carefully, as if it might fall apart at the slightest touch.
But I see the Earth threads helping the confection of snow-white gossamer and diamonds hold its shape well enough.
“This was your mother’s,” he croaks.
Of course it was.
“Why does no one ever speak about my father?” I snap, leaving him blinking at me owlishly with his too-large eyes. He has done nothing wrong. There is no need for me to be short with the poor goblin.
But everything is annoying me at the moment.
In his silence, I press, “I had a father, didn’t I?”
“You did,” he quietly agrees, shuffling away from me with his slow, heavy steps.
I wait for him to say more. When he doesn’t, I frown at his back as he retrieves a box from one of the piles taking up every inch of spare space on my floor. When he draws closer, he opens it for me, revealing that it is yet more jewelry.
Either my mother was an avid collector or Malice has raided the apartments of every former lady of my mother’s court.
“Well? Why does no one ever speak about him?” I demand to know. I might as well distract my mind with some new mystery now that the other has finally been solved: the reason why everyone suddenly wants me after a lifetime of being unwanted.
It’s all because I can grant them a bit more life. That’s all I’m good for, really—lighting up a room with my obnoxious glow and handing out an extra lifetime to one special person like a holiday parcel.
Rowan settles the box of jewels next to my wedding gown and rasps, “Because he’s dead.” Before I can pry further, he adds, sounding annoyed, “He died shortly after the second Jewel War. Not much to live for when your wife is killed and your daughter is sent away to another world.”
“Oh.” That realization sinks into my heart like a heavy, damp fog. I don’t know why I’m so sad—I never even knew the man. But I suppose there was a small part of me that was holding out hope that perhaps there was some piece of my former life left. The life I never had a chance to know.
I love my adopted parents. They will always be my parents.
But my birth parents were my parents, too.
My brow furrows, something not quite adding up. “Did he not die in the Jewel War, then? I thought all the Jewels were required to submit themselves to the Living Waters or be executed?”
Rowan shuffles off, collecting another box. “Your father wasn’t a Jewel.”
I blink, now more confused than ever. “So I’m only half a Jewel?”
The goblin eyes me as if I have just said something utterly ridiculous. “You can never be half a Jewel, Therya’fey . Doesn’t matter the coupling; so long as one parent is a Jewel, there’s a chance for the babes to be Jewels, too.”
Those words hit me hard and settle in deep, stealing my breath momentarily. It’s strange realizing how little I still know about myself.
“Well, what was he then?”
Rowan groans and drops the next box beside the bed. A box of shoes.
Why would anyone ever need that many shoes?
“Who?” the goblin asks, as if he’s already lost the thread of our conversation.
I frown at him. “My father .”
He rubs a clawed hand against his nearly hairless head and claims, “I’m not sure I remember rightly. Maybe an elf.”
Somehow, I immediately know that’s a lie—Rowan not remembering rightly. He seems to know a great deal about my family and the way things were before the Vale died.
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’fey needs 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.
In this part of the castle, some furnishings remain, rather than mere bare walls and floors.
Threadbare carpets cling to the cold stones underfoot, ripped by the passage of many clawed feet.
Some tapestries drape on the walls as well.
There is even a large portrait we pass, though Rowan doesn’t allow me to linger over it.
After a small eternity spent in silence, with only the clack of Rowan’s claws and the metallic clink of my chains for company, I finally ask, “What are the rites?” just as we arrive at a set of ornate wooden doors.
Where the other designs within the castle seem to have long since faded, this one remains pristine.
Blues, reds, greens, purples, silvers, and golds all swirl across the wood, depicting a great lake with ribbons of magic spewing forth. My stomach sinks as I realize where we are even before Rowan pushes open the door, disturbing the layer of dust coating the floor within.
The chapel. My one ally left has brought me to the chapel.