She just stays quiet. And tired.

"Ah, this is princess that turned prince traitor," he hissed, eyeing Isiea up and down. "And now they need goblin tunnels out of city, good, good." He gestured with a ring-encrusted hand. "No time to speak. We leave now, before guards show up, ask too many questions. Need anything before we go, traitor prince?"

Ash looked pained, but shook his head. The goblin cackled, gold teeth flashing in the dim light. "Yes, good! Follow me, then."

She just stays close to Ash. She's paranoid she'll walk facefirst into something if she doesn't.

Sweetfinger led them out a back door of the tavern and along the edge of the lake. Past the docks, the ground dropped away sharply to a narrow coastline of jagged rock and stone. Hugging the breaker wall, they followed Sweetfinger to the water's edge, where two burlier goblins waited inside a small wooden boat.

"Quickly, quickly," Sweetfinger said, urging them inside. Ash got in before trying to help Isiea in.

She almost falls on her face, but gets in.

Ash tried to catch her when he realized she just about fell face first

Thankfully he suceeds.

He took a cautious seat between the two hench-goblins, helping Isiea, who picked up the oars as Sweetfinger shoved the boat into the water and leaped in. As they rowed them farther from shore, he turned to the duo with an apologetic smile.

"Goblin tunnels aren't far from here," he said, fingering one of his rings. "Only goblins know where they are, and only goblins are allowed to see them and live. Used to be, payment would be your lovely eyes, but times change. Point is, you not goblin, you cannot see our secret tunnels. Rules, you know. So sorry."

"Understood," Ash muttered as a goblin slid behind him and pulled a blindfold over his eyes. A black cloth covered Isiea's eyes as well, plunging her into darkness.

It's honestly not much of a change. Her eyesight has always been really bad.

They drifted for a long while, the only sounds being the rhythmic sloshing of the oars in the water and Sweetfinger's occasional comment to his thugs. Ash's body was tense against hers, muscles coiled bands under his skin. The air grew colder, and there was the squeaking of bats somewhere above them. The boat bumped and scraped against rocks, and a foul stench crept into the air, smelling of dung and rotten meat. Snickers and cackling laughter echoed in the darkness, and clawed feet skittered over the rocks. Then, the noises and smells faded, and they floated in silence for a time. Sweetfinger and his guards were muttering among themselves. Finally, the boat bumped against solid ground, and someone pulled it ashore.