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The elf attempted to stretch his arms but hit the ceiling. “If I had some room ...”
“Talk, elf,” I demanded.
Sighing, he laid on his stomach and rested his chin against his hands. “The only thing Deidamia had that is priceless is her spinning wheel. The spindle.”
“A spindle?” I asked.
He nodded. Taking off his hat, he scratched his balding head. “Yes. It’s how Deidamia stays young. It’s magic. It spins golden string that keeps her young. She always has a piece of it on her. In her shoelace. The pocket of that ratty robe she always wears.”
Leaning forward, I braced my elbow against my knee. “How do I know that you aren’t lying?”
“Why would I lie?” he asked.
“Because you’re locked in a cage, wanting out. Tell me how you know about the spindle?”
The elf rolled over to his back and crossed his feet. “I grew up in the forest close to the Dark One. My small village had been there for decades. We were very aware of Deidamia. We had to be. The thing our village did over the years to keep us safe was keep a close eye on her. The elves snuck into her castle on numerous occasions. They saw the spindle.”
My gaze turned toward Ernest,
who looked unimpressed by his story.
“Fine,” the elf said dramatically. “Don’t believe me. Keep sitting around here with this old man hoping for answers.”
Ernest chuckled. “I had planned to let you free.”
The elf opened his mouth when Ernest flung a blanket from the back of his chair over the top of the cage. “Ah, come on!”
“What do you think?” I asked. “Why would she give me a potion that makes me live forever, but she can only live forever from some golden thread?”
“Good point,” Ernest said. “However, making a potion for someone else doesn’t mean that she can make one for herself. You can help someone else fall in love, but not conjure your own love. There are rules.”
I sat back. “So, you’re saying the elf isn’t lying?”
“—I’m not lying.”
Suddenly, something hit me. I sat up straight. “When I was in the , that crow followed me. There was one time he landed on my knee with a golden thread in his mouth.”
Ernest stilled. “So, the elf is telling the truth?”
“—I told you!”
“Perhaps,” I said, nodding my head. “That means we know what she’s lost, and the reason she wants it back so badly is because it’s keeping her young.”
“Not just that,” Ernest said. “It’s keeping her alive. She’s so old that if she doesn’t get the spindle, she’ll die when it wears off.”
A smile brightened my face, and it felt foreign to me. “Then we know what we need to do. Keep her away from the spindle and thread.”
Ernest agreed. “She will come looking for us,” he said casually. “When she gets here, we’ll keep her hostage.”
“For how long?” I asked. “We don’t know how long the thread lasts.”
Ernest slowly stood to his feet. “Tomorrow I’ll try to find out what I can. Tonight, we all need to rest. All of us.”
The pressure of a night’s sleep weighed on me. I wasn’t the one to give in to sleep. When I wanted to know something, I wanted to know then.
Ernest stopped at the doorway to his room. “Go to sleep, Kellan. I think you’ll find it very peaceful.”
I didn’t realize what he meant until I stood up and walked toward the room. I halted next to the door, my hand on the handle, my gaze settled on the worn wood.
