He shakes his head and turns around to sit on the wall. “None. We have forests and meadows but no mountains.”
The sky is clearing up, and the stars are shining like beacons in the night. I turn to Galinor, and a thought is forming in my head.
“What?” His voice is wary.
“I have an idea.”
CHAPTER TWO
Moonlight & Maid-of-the-Shadows
Poor Galinor.
He looks a little nervous.
“There’s a cave about twenty minutes from here,” I say. “It’s spectacular at night. Let’s sneak away, and I’ll take you there.”
His eyebrows furrow. “How can a cave be spectacular at night?”
“You just have to see it. I could explain, but it would ruin the surprise.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Princess.”
“Please?” I set my hand over his. “It’s the only chance I’ll get to show you.”
I’m already buzzing with excitement. There’s nothing better than a nighttime ride through the woods.
“King Ewan wouldn’t like it.” Galinor gives me a wry smile that tells me he has a little more sense than I first thought.
“We’ll slip away and be back before the celebration is over. We’ll be gone an hour at the most.”
“Princess—”
“Pippa,” I correct him.
He tilts his head. The moonlight casts shadows on his face. He turns his hand under mine, and our palms meet. My breath catches in my throat.
“Pippa,” he says, his voice a little husky. “It’s not a good idea.”
I shake my head. “It is a good idea. It’s my eighteenth birthday, and this very well could be my last night of freedom. Did you know I had to beg for this tournament?”
He shakes his head and wraps his fingers around mine.
“They want me to marry Lionel. Do you know him?” His nose wrinkles, but I cut him off before he can answer. “Exactly. What if he wins? Then this will be the last beautiful night of freedom I will have to remember. Share a sliver of it with me.”
He looks like he’s going to argue, but then our eyes meet. I know he will go with me.
“All right,” he says.
“Yes?” I bounce on my toes.
Galinor smiles, shaking his head. “I still think it’s a bad idea.
I pull him up by his hand. “It will be fine, you’ll see.”
I would assure him more, but sometimes even the best of plans have a way of going awry. But what can go wrong when everyone is in the great hall? It will be easier to slip away now than it’s ever been.
***
The stables are quiet except for the occasional horse whinny. A few heads pop over the stalls to see who we are and what we’re doing, but for the most part, the horses ignore us.
“There should be guards posted here,” Galinor says as we make our way through the aisles to the back where my horse is kept.
We brush past several bales of hay. My nose tickles, and I resist the urge to sneeze.
“Why?” I try to look ladylike as I rub my nose with the back of my hand.
He looks at me as if I were a naive child. “Errinton bandits, thieves…”
“We don’t have much trouble here.” I shrug.
We stop in front of a fine palomino mare. Her coat is glossy, and her mane and tail have been braided. The stable boys have done well with my Willowisp.
“She’s beautiful,” Galinor says.
The horse prances, eager to be off.
“She’s fast, too.” I give him a wicked smile.
He raises his eyebrows.
I wait for him to admonish me, but instead he motions to the next aisle. “My horse is this way.”
Willowisp and I follow him.
Once we’ve collected his bay stallion, we saddle our horses without speaking. Only now are we in much danger of being caught. If we were found earlier, I could have said I was checking on Willowisp. If we’re found now, with saddles on our horses, there’s not much chance anyone will believe me.
I hear a board creak, and I freeze. Galinor does the same. We wait for several moments but hear nothing else. I turn back to my horse. A soft woof comes from behind me, startling me so much I jump.
One of the hunting dogs is watching us. She’s large, her head comes to my waist, and she’s covered in soft red fur. Her tail is curled up behind her, and it wags when I look at her.
I laugh, holding my hand over my racing heart.
“We’re going for a ride, sweet girl,” I coo at her, holding out my other hand. “You won’t tell on us, will you, darling?”
“Pippa,” a warning voice says from down the next hall.
I bite my lip and resist the urge to curse. Of course he’d be with her. She’s one of his dogs. I straighten and wait for the owner of the voice to turn the corner. Galinor steps next to me, though he looks like he would rather shrink away.
I scowl at Archer when our eyes meet. He doesn’t look too amused with me, either. He’s changed clothes since I saw him in the great hall, and he no longer wears that carefree expression that intrigued me.
What was that, an hour ago?
What is he doing here? The celebration will go on for many more hours.
Tall himself, he’s still a few inches shorter than Galinor, but he’s certainly more imposing. There’s iron in his lean and muscular archer’s body, and if anyone knows how deadly he is, it’s me.
“I’m going,” I say.
He shakes his head, his blue-green eyes hard. “You’re not.”
I leave Galinor’s side and step up to Archer. “You are not in the position to tell me what to do.”
The words feel like acid on my tongue. I don’t like to remind him of the chasm in our friendship. We pretend it’s not there, but it’s always underneath the tenuous bridge we’ve built. I didn’t notice as much when we were young, when he was more Percival and Alexander’s friend than mine, but the older we get the farther apart our stations seem.
His mouth tips up, and his eyes soften for a moment. Then they harden again. “No.”
I gape at him.
He arches a light brown brow, waiting for my response. It’s a look that would make most girls simper. That’s the problem with Archer—he’s so handsome it’s disconcerting. This simple fact irritates me more than anything else about him, because it’s such a waste. That degree of perfection belongs on a man who is quick to smile and longs for romance—not on a difficult and stubborn man who refuses to let me charm him into getting my own way.
“Please, Archer,” I say, letting my voice drop to a whisper. “One last hour of freedom. You know this may all end with Lionel in my future.”
He takes a deep breath, lets his eyes drop away, and then slowly lets the breath out. “Where are you going?”
The relief is instant, and my smile comes easily. “The cave.”
He turns his attention to Galinor.
“You will bring her back in one hour or I will come after you myself,” he says, his voice as cold and demanding as any prince.
Galinor narrows his eyes, probably realizing he shouldn’t be taking orders from this man, but then thinks better of it and nods.
Wise decision.
“Thank you, Archer,” I say.
“One hour.”
“Don’t tell.” I rush back to Willowisp.
He nods once, agreeing.
“No,” I say as I mount Willowisp. “Promise me.”
Our eyes meet. “I swear to you, Pippa. I will tell no one.”
***
We slip out the back of the stables and go through the rear palace gate. Very few use it, because it’s always locked.
Luckily, I have a key.
We pass through the mountain meadows where sheep graze and livestock dogs keep watch. There are usually shepherd children with them, but tonight they are in the great hall. Neither the sheep nor the dogs care that we’re sneaking away.
&nb
sp; I laugh in the moonlight, reveling in how easy this is.
The ornate copper gown Mother made for the evening is a tangled mess, and the wispy layers of skirt fly behind me. Riding in gowns is a nuisance, but tonight nothing can dampen my enthusiasm—not even anticipating the look of horror on Mother’s face when she sees the mud-caked hem and pulled stitches.
Soon we’re in the forest, safe away from the main road, and the night sounds soothe me. It was a close call with Archer. I’m surprised he let me go. We both know he could have marched my wayward self right back into the great hall.
“Do you trust him?” Galinor speaks for the first time since we’ve left.
I nod. “Oh, yes. He’s a bit of a killjoy, but he’s not a liar.”
“Who is he?”
“He’s the master archer.” I glance at him, wondering how he will take the news he has taken orders from a mere archer. “And my archery instructor.”
He seems satisfied with my answer. “You call him by his title instead of his name?”
I shrug. “I’ve never heard him called anything else.”
The rest of the ride is quiet. Willowisp is familiar with the trail, and she flies across it. Galinor must concentrate to keep up with us.
In the distance there is a sharp, bone-chilling screech.
“What was that?” Galinor asks, startled.
“Mountain cat,” I say automatically.
Even though I know it’s most likely a mountain cat, I can’t help but wonder if it’s a glasseln. There hasn’t been an adult glasseln spotted in years. There was an abandoned litter of kittens found when I was ten or so. After much discussion, they were left to die. The sweet little things were soft and fuzzy, and at the time, I was furious.
Now I know better. I know what they grow up to be.
“Are they dangerous?” Galinor asks, speaking of mountain cats.
I glance at him. The steel at his side glints in the moonlight.
“You have a sword,” I say. “We’re fine.”
His stallion doesn’t like the long, stair-stepped paths cut into the earth, but Willowisp glides over the last terrace with speed. We’re lower now, and the terrain evens out. The woods are thick here, and the forest is alive with the scurrying of small nighttime creatures.
“Almost there,” I call to him and turn off the path to follow a small deer trail.
“Princess Pippa, are you sure about this?” Galinor eyes my path with suspicion.
“Positive.”
The cave is just around this last grove of trees. Our path opens up to a meadow backed by a rocky incline, and there, in the moonlight, is the mouth of my cave. If I didn’t know better, it would look foreboding.
I hop off Willowisp and tie her to a tree, making sure to give her a spot with plenty of soft, tall grass.
Galinor dismounts as well but at a much slower pace, eying the opening in the rock face. “This is your cave?”
He doesn’t seem impressed.
I take his hand and drag him to the mouth, careful to step around the jagged rocks at the entrance. Just inside is a flat, open cavern. I pause here, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dim light.
“I can’t see a thing,” he says, trailing behind me.
“I know where I’m going.”
Keeping his hand in mine, I move forward. Our pace is slow until I see a faint white glow up ahead.
“Maid-of-the-shadows,” I say when we reach the lights.
Tiny, delicate bell-shaped flowers grow in clusters along the floor and in cracks in the walls. Their white light does little to illuminate the tunnel, but they themselves are bright.
“They’re amazing.” Galinor reaches down to touch one.
I stop his hand before it grazes the white bloom. “Don’t touch it. They are hallucinogenic. The poison can seep in through your skin.”
“Don’t you usually have to eat a poison for it to affect your mind like that?”
“Not this one. Don’t sniff them either. Their pollen is more concentrated than the powder on the bells. People have died from breathing in maid-of-the-shadows.”
“How are they pollinated deep in this cave?”
“Cave beetles.” I point out the tiny black insect. “Oh, look. There’s one.”
We linger for a moment longer.
“They are stunning,” he says. “Are you ready to go back now?”
He’s clearly anxious to return.
“This isn’t what I came to show you. Come on.” I move further down the path.
We take several turns. Despite Galinor’s increasing insistence we are going to get ourselves hopelessly lost, the cave opens up in a final, gigantic cavern.
His sharp intake of breath tells me this trip was worth the trouble. Thousands of shimmering stars not only wink from the large opening in the cavern ceiling, but they also reflect from the floor where a vast, shallow pool of rainwater has collected.
I pull him to the edge of the pool and hop across rocks of various sizes sticking out of the water. In the very middle is a bigger rock, just the right size for two people to sit on comfortably.
“What do you think of my cave?” I’m feeling more than a little smug right now.
“I have no words for this,” he says, still in awe.
I study him while he watches the stars in the water. He balances on the rock with ease. His arms are built like he favors a sword, and his easy grace tells me he excels at it. He’ll do well in the combat events, but how will he do in the scavenger hunt?
How will he do against a dragon?
He looks over and catches me staring at him.
“Did you come to the tournament to win, or did you come for the sake of the competition?” I ask.
“At first, I came simply to compete. Win a title, if possible.” His eyes search mine. “But now I would very much like to win.”
I have found my knight. I have found my victor.
“I choose you,” I say, my tone solemn.
He closes his eyes and lets the words soak in.
Two extra points to a princess’s chosen one is a great honor and has made the difference in dozens of close tournaments.
Winning means prestige, honor—and me.
***
The evening is going so well, I don’t check to see if the mouth of the cave is surrounded when we step out. It’s too bad, too. I scream as hands pull me away from Galinor. I’m so startled I think my heart is going to come out of my chest.
It only takes me a moment to realize these men are knights, and they are in Lauramore’s gold and sapphire.
And there’s Father.
Indignant, I shake away the hands. Once free, I take a deep, ragged breath.
Galinor is not faring as well as I am—there are five blades pointed at his chest. His face is void of expression. He’s making no excuses or pleas but waits for his punishment in silence.
I wish I could reassure him that Father is quick to temper, but fair in judgment, but that would only bring more wrath on us both, so I stay quiet.
“Pippa,” my father says, and there’s so much frustration and anger in his voice that I shrink back a little. “Let me see the ring.”
“Father!” I exclaim, thoroughly mortified. The look on his face is nothing less than terrifying, but this is too much. In front of all the knights? How could he?
“You will show me the ring.” His voice is like thunder.
I hold out my hand, looking over his shoulder at the forest beyond. From the corner of my eye I see most of the knights look away, not wishing to witness my humiliation.
Father inspects the enchanted purity ring—which is still a perfect, unblemished, shining gold.
“Fine.” He drops my hand. He’s still furious, but the anger has lessened. He signals to his knights and they drop their swords. Father turns his attention from me. “Prince Galinor, whose fault is it that we find you here?”
Galinor swallows but looks otherwise composed. He stands tall. “Mine, Your Majesty.�
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My father narrows his eyes. “Are you saying it was your idea to traipse through the woods to a cave you’ve never seen in your life?”
A few of the knights snicker, but they shut up when Father sets his steely gaze on them.
“No, King Ewan,” Galinor says. “But I showed poor judgment, and that is entirely my fault. I could have prevented the outing had I tried harder.”
“I doubt that.”
There are more snickers and another steel-eyed gaze.
Father crosses his arms over his chest. “Let this be a lesson for the future, young Galinor. I hope you will use better judgment in the tournament.”
I sigh, relieved. Galinor may still compete.
“As for you,” Father says, turning back to me. His voice doesn’t sound as forgiving as it did a moment ago.
I have no idea why.
What will it be this time? Twenty written pages? A day assisting Yuven, the herbalist? Oh, I hope he doesn’t let Anna decide my fate.
“You will go to your quarters.”
Go to my quarters? I want to laugh out loud and spin in circles and dance.
“For twelve days.”
My gasp is chorused with sixteen others—fifteen knights and one very shocked prince.
“I can’t miss my own tournament!” I exclaim, overstepping my boundaries by a lot.
“My mind is made up. If you would like to add more days, keep arguing.”
I mount Willowisp, shaking with horrified fury. Only one word churns in my head, the vehemence I have toward it leaves no room for other thoughts.
Archer.
CHAPTER THREE
Lessons
“It’s only half the tournament, Pippa. You should be grateful.”
I bite my tongue so I don’t say something nasty to Percival’s wife. She looks up from her breakfast and gives me a knowing smile. She’s aware I want to strangle her, and she thinks it’s amusing.
“People are wrong about you, Leonora.” I stab a sausage with my knife. “You are wicked.”
She smiles. “If I were wicked, would I be sharing breakfast with you instead of enjoying the banquet this morning?”
No, she wouldn’t be, because there’s really nothing wicked at all about Leonora. She’s demure and self-controlled, sweet and graceful. She’s everything a princess should be—everything that I am not.
Pippa of Lauramore Page 2