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“You touched the Bifrost, fool girl,” Jael said. He all but grunted the words, as if annoyed by her recklessness.
She hadn’t known any better, she wanted to say in her own defense, but defending oneself against unfounded accusations required energy, and she had none to spare.
Her eyes refused to stay open.
Jael drew uneven breaths, his chest expanding and contracting as he kept a brisk pace. It occurred to her then the awkwardness of her situation.
“I think I could walk if you put me down.”
He didn’t answer right away but kept moving onward. “I don’t doubt you’d try,” he said at last, the words tinged with resignation. “It’s quicker this way.”
“Rig?”
“I’m here,” the small voice piped up from behind them. “Don’t worry. I won’t leave you.”
She managed a wheezing laugh that ended in a moan of discomfort. Every bone felt as if it had been knocked about, every muscle bruised, every emotion battered until it was raw.
She dozed and reawakened several times before she had the energy to put words together again. “Where are you taking us? Are we going back to the surface?”
His breathing hitched. “No.” The word sounded curt, almost guarded. “I’m afraid that’s not possible now.”
“I don’t understand.” She struggled to shift into a more upright position, but his arms were like iron around her, and it was clear he had no intention of setting her down. “I need to get back to my caravan.”
“I’m well aware. But you touched the Bifrost.”
“You glowed,” Rig whispered. The little goblin’s fingers caught hold of her ankle bone, just above her leather shoes. Goblinborn, she reminded herself. Apparently, it was an important distinction.
Wait. She must have hit her head hard, because she thought he had said she was glowing. What foolishness. She encouraged imagination in children, but not in times like these.
Not when she was being carted through dark tunnels by goblins with magic rocks stashed in their pockets.
“I admit I took a tumble,” she said at last. She frowned and searched for an argument that might sway him. “But I am quite recovered. You can take me back now, I assure you.”
“Would that I could. But you touched the Bifrost.” Why did he keep saying that? Before she might question his dogged persistence, he continued, “And it touched you back.”
A niggling voice in the back of her mind reacted to this. She should remember something, but she couldn’t recall much of anything before she fainted.
“You glowed like a fairy princess, Uh-NEE,” Rig said, still clinging to her ankle as he trotted to keep up with Jael’s long, steady stride. The goblinborn clutched a glowing runestone in his other hand and held it high to light their way through the dark section of tunnel they traveled.
“Don’t be silly,” she whispered back. “You’re letting your imagination run away with you.”
“No,” Jael said, his breath warm against her ear. The sickish roil in her stomach renewed with a vengeance. “He’s not. And until I determine the Bifrost has not caused harm to you or made you a danger to others, I’m afraid you’re going to have to stay with me.”
“I can’t do that!” she protested. “I need you to take me back to the surface. My—my husband is expecting me. I only agreed to come with you until you had time to help me find my way out of here.”
His step faltered. “You’re married?”
“Well, no, not yet, but I am promised.”
He was silent for a time. “You’re in Gelaira because of the Treaty. One of the peaceweavers for the dark elves.”
She winced at the disapproval in his voice. Did he object to her willingness to marry a stranger or to the stranger insisting she present herself to be married? “Yes. So, you see, I must return.”
He grunted yet again. “He will have to wait. There’s nothing for it. You’re coming to Imenborg.”
She clutched the fabric of his robes, feeling she was in danger of falling. Perhaps she should ask to be put down and then run away. But what foolishness! She wouldn’t know where to go, and even if she did, she wouldn’t be able to find her way in the dark. He certainly wouldn’t be eager to give her a magic rock to help her in these dark tunnels. She swallowed the taste of bile in the back of her throat.
“And—and if I don’t want to go to—to Imenborg?”
