“What are you doing?” I demand. “Do you know who I am?”
“You are the fair Princess Philippa of Lauramore,” he says, his eyes full of humor. Now that we’re the same size, his voice no longer sounds high pitched. “And I’m afraid you were not gifted with a beautiful singing voice.”
“Turn me back.”
“I don’t think so.” He smiles and drifts a few inches off the ground. “The man wants the eldentimber resin. Would you like me to give it to him?”
I narrow my eyes “Yes…”
“Become my bride, and I will give him whatever he wants.”
“No!” Archer and Galinor both say, their voices deep and booming.
“I will not marry you! You’re a fairy!”
He grabs me by the waist and pulls me close as I struggle. “I assure you,” he whispers in my ear, his voice playful. “It works the same way.”
Fairies.
“Let me go.” I push against him.
Archer, who now seems gigantic, swings down from his horse. Just as he’s ready to snatch us from the ground, the fairy king whisks me into the branches.
“Please let me go,” I beg, feeling lightheaded from the flight.
He grins and straightens the golden circlet on his head. “No, I don’t think so. You’re feisty, and I like that.”
My knife!
I sag as if defeated, and Brugpondam smiles. He grasps the back of my head, ready to force a kiss on me. “That’s better.”
It only takes a moment to pull the knife from my boot and less than that to circle behind him and hold the knife to his throat. He tenses, shocked.
The fairies around us gasp, and several look like they’re ready to shoot spells.
“Stop!” I yell. “If you do anything, I will kill him.”
They hesitate. Angry rumbles travel through the crowd.
“You will let us leave the forest safely and unchanged, you will give us the eldentimber resin, and you will restore me to my proper size.” I push the knife’s edge against the king’s neck for emphasis.
“All right,” he says through clenched teeth.
I move the knife a fraction of an inch and he gasps. “Swear it.”
“I swear.”
“You will never bother us again.”
“I swear.”
“Turn me back.” I drop the knife, knowing a fairy is bound by his word—whether he likes it or not.
The king turns, and there is an even larger grin on his face than before. “I was right about you. You are a fiery thing, and I really do like that.” He winks. “I won’t change your hair. That wasn’t my work.”
I stare at him, surprised. “A fairy really did enchant my hair?”
He laughs, and it’s a rich sound. The others join him. He pulls a strand forward and raises his eyebrows. The golden ends shimmer in his fairy light. “How could this be anything but the work of a fairy?”
Suddenly the tree and all of its shimmering inhabitants are shrinking. I’m suspended in the air, but once I reach my proper size, I fall to the ground.
Hard.
The fairies laugh at my squeal.
Archer is already helping me up, and his protective hand stays on my arm. I snap my fingers at the king and hold out my hand, palm up. A white fairy hauls over a good sized chunk of resin, struggling with the weight as he flies, and places it in my hand. I feel instant relief as I close my fingers over the precious treasure.
The king gives me a final wave. We leave the grove as quickly as we can safely ride, glad to be away from the fairies and their tree. Through the thick blanket of the forest, I can’t see where the sun is in the sky, but judging from the angle of the shadows, I fear it will be very late before I’m back at the palace.
***
“Pippa, we don’t have time for this.” Archer clicks his tongue, impatient with me.
My feet are getting soggy through my boots, but the only patch of waterchivel I’ve seen is in the middle of this creek. I promised Yuven I would find it and the merryming, which is already safely hanging from my pack. I had almost forgotten but remembered when I saw the purple flowers growing alongside the trail.
The waterchivel wasn’t so easy to find.
“We’re late anyway. What difference will a few more minutes make?”
Late is an understatement. It’s past dusk, and I know we’ve missed dinner. Not only will my absence be noticed, but Archer’s is sure to be as well. It won’t take Father long to figure out who I disappeared with this time.
“Princess,” says Galinor, climbing down from his horse. “I will retrieve it for you. What if you fall in?”
“Then I’ll get wet,” I answer, irritated. “I’m sorry. I’m fine, Galinor, thank you,” I amend as I hop from one rock to another.
The creek isn’t deep or fast; it’s just wide.
Galinor hovers on the edge, unsure how to save me.
Archer snorts. “It’s all right. Our princess is as surefooted as a mountain goat—and equally as stubborn.”
I glance at him, a sharp remark on my tongue, and the rock I’ve just settled on shifts under my foot, tipping sideways. Suddenly I’m sitting in the creek, water up to my stomach. My hind end—which was already tender from falling from the eldentimber tree—throbs in pain.
Galinor crashes through the water, soaking his fine leather boots, to drag me up. My skirts cling to me, and I pull the drenched fabric away from my legs so I can walk. Archer is waiting for us at the bank, and for the second time today he’s trying very hard not to laugh. He holds his hand out to me, but I slap it away.
“Your fault,” I say to him, and he frowns at my testy answer.
He nods, trying hard to keep his face blank. “I’m sorry, Your Highness.”
I’m freezing. The brisk night air felt good before, but now the breeze is icy. I wring my skirts out the best I can, but there’s too much fabric.
“Turn around,” I command.
They obey, and I roll my skirt up to my thighs so I can really squeeze out the water. It doesn’t help much, but it’s better than it was.
When I’ve finished, Galinor wades over to the clump of waterchivel and pulls it from its watery home. Mud clings to the roots, and it glops into the creek as he makes his way back.
“Thank you,” I say, as I accept the weed. “You are very kind.”
I give Archer a sharp look, but he only holds out a hand to help me on my horse. I ignore him and turn back to Galinor. “We should part here.”
My prince nods, his eyes dark in the night. “I hope you don’t find too much trouble at home.”
“I’ll be fine,” I assure him.
I should embrace him or pat his arm…or something. Archer turns away, busying himself with something in his saddlebag. I should be grateful he’s giving us a semblance of privacy, but I still feel awkward.
Galinor solves the problem for me. He takes my hand and brings it to his lips. “Goodnight, Pippa.”
I sigh. “Goodnight.”
He helps me mount my horse—which is extremely difficult in wet skirts—and then Archer and I continue on the trail.
I glance over my shoulder. Galinor sits on his horse, looking like the perfect prince. He raises his hand as a goodbye. I take a deep breath as we ride along, willing the butterflies to riot in my stomach. My stomach grumbles instead. I can’t expect butterflies when I’m hungry.
“Are you cold?” Archer asks after we’ve ridden about five minutes.
“No.” I shiver, but I think it’s too dark for him to notice. “I’m fine.”
He glances at me, a wry expression on his face.
I shiver again. The cold air is sinking into my bones. “Maybe a little.” We have at least an hour ride back to the palace. Perhaps he brought a cloak with him.
Archer doesn’t answer at first, and when he finally does, he looks straight ahead. “Ride with me. You’ll be warmer.”
The butterflies, which are just a little late from my parting with Ga
linor, decide to show up. I can’t ride with him. It’s not right being that close to a man you aren’t going to marry—even if it is only Archer. Besides, how much warmer could it possibly be? I rub my hand over my arms, willing myself to be warm.
The small voice I’ve been working very hard to ignore whispers over my other thoughts. What if I like it too much?
I’m being ridiculous. It’s either I ride with him or catch my death before I arrive home.
“All right.” The words come out like a croak.
The moon is rising, and with it pale, white light illuminates the woods around us. In the far distance I can just make out the palace on its terrace. The waterfall shines in the night, and the mist from the pool glows like a fairy light.
I crawl down from Willowisp, cursing my wet skirts as they tangle around my legs. Archer attaches a lead to my horse and then ties her to his horse. I pull off my bow and arrows, and he secures them to Willowisp. I accept his hand. I try to swing my leg over his horse with grace, but once again, the skirts get in the way, and I wrestle with them. Once I’m seated, he pulls himself up.
I don’t mean to, but I tense when he settles behind me. Then I sigh, because he’s right—it is much warmer. His tall frame blocks the wind from behind, so it’s no longer swirling around me. He radiates heat as well, and I can feel it from his chest, though I am careful to keep distance between us.
Part of me, most of me, wants to lean against him and draw from his warmth. His arms brush my shoulders as he takes the reins. I have to keep my head slightly to the right so he can see the trail in front of us, and every once in a while his chin bumps against the back of my head.
“Archer?” I whisper.
“Hmmm?” His voice is a low rumble in my ear.
“Do you think we will find the fifth item tomorrow?”
He takes a deep breath, and for a moment his chest meets my back. I clench my teeth. It’s just as I feared. He’s so warm. I can’t help myself, I settle against him, relishing the feel of his heat.
His muscles tighten, and his arms go rigid at my sides. After a moment, he relaxes. “I don’t think it’s the pearl, Pippa. I don’t know what the answer is.”
His head is over my shoulder now, and the stubble on his jaw brushes against my cheek.
“The pearl is the obvious answer,” I muse, wondering if Archer’s right. “I don’t know what else it could be.”
“Don’t worry,” he says, his words tickling my ear. “I will figure it out.”
I turn my head to meet his eyes.
“I promise, Pippa.”
I’m feeling strangely tingly and a little weightless. Archer’s arms tighten around me, and without thinking, my eyes drop to his mouth.
I feel, rather than hear, his breathing hitch.
“Archer?”
I’m not sure if it’s Archer who moves first, or if I do, but our faces are closer now, and I can feel his breath on my lips. At this moment I’ve never wanted anything as badly as I want to kiss him.
He pauses, his lips a breath away from mine, as if he has just remembered why we shouldn’t be this close. I wrench my head away, biting my lip hard.
What am I thinking? I can’t do this to Galinor. I can’t do this to Archer. “ I—”
He shakes his head. “No, it’s my fault—”
I cut him off again, my stomach tensing with apprehension. “Look, there are torches in the distance.”
Father has sent out a search party.
CHAPTER TEN
The Fifth Item
I scramble from Archer’s horse. He’s on the ground seconds after my feet touch, and he’s working at the knot tying Willowisp to his horse. My frozen fingers work at my bow and quiver, freeing them from my pack. I pull them on my back and then mount Willowisp. The cool air embraces me, and I shiver. I already miss Archer’s warmth.
“Look grateful to see them,” Archer commands, and he kicks his horse forward.
I’m right after him, and we make haste to the torches. My skirts are drying, and now they are only damp instead of drenched. Still, I feel as if I’m so cold I’ll never be warm again.
It only takes about a quarter of an hour to meet them. It’s easy to look exhausted as Archer has instructed me. I am exhausted.
“Father,” I call when they are within shouting distance. I try to look happy to see him.
His eyes are cold, as are my brothers’, who are seated on their own horses next to him. They, and the rest of the knights with them, are in full mail. I’m not sure what Father was expecting to find. Did they think I’d been stolen by an ogre?
I remember the sharp cry of the mountain cat the other evening, and images of stealthy glasselns come to my mind. I push them away.
“Archer,” my father says, and Archer cringes.
“You misunderstand, Father.” I come forward before Archer can say something to make it worse. I hold up the herbs we harvested. “I was on an errand for Yuven. He needed these. I asked Archer to come with me for protection. I heard there have been an unusual number of grim boars in the forest.”
Father’s eyes flicker to the herbs, unconvinced. “Why would that errand take you out this far after dark? And do you forget you were not to leave the palace grounds?”
My brain whirls madly. I can’t let Archer fall into trouble for this. “I’m sorry, Father. I was trying to be helpful. It took longer than expected, and I fell in a creek,” I explain, holding out my wet skirts. “I didn’t mean to worry anyone.”
I try very hard to look remorseful. It’s not too hard since I do feel sorry. Sorry they noticed my absence. I’m eighteen years old.
These rules are ridiculous.
“I will speak with Yuven, and then I will decide what must be done with you.”
I lower my eyes. I must not argue with him.
“Archer, is what she says true? You came to protect her?” Father asks. I hold my breath.
“Yes, Your Majesty. The princess’ safety was my utmost concern.”
My brothers look on us with suspicion, but Father is temporarily appeased.
Alexander pulls a cloak from his pack and brings it to me. Speaking low, he says, “Why can’t I help but think there is something between you and Archer?”
I look at my brother. I don’t like how sharp his eyes are. “There’s nothing between us. How could there be? He’s an archer. I’m a princess.”
“I only meant you are scheming together.” His copper eyebrows knit as he studies me. He pats my shoulder and gives me a sad smile. “But if it is something else, leave it alone. It will only bring you and him grief.”
Alexander’s wrong. There’s nothing between us, not really.
I glance at Archer. He quirks an eyebrow at me and clicks his horse forward.
Leave it alone.
***
I stare out the balcony, waiting for Father’s decision. There’s a knock at the door, and Anna enters.
“Where have you been?” I ask, temporarily distracted.
She settles in a chair next to the fire, pats her braid, and then gives me a haughty look. “Yuven has confirmed your story.”
It’s the first night I’ve requested the fire lit in over a month, but despite its warmth, I can’t seem to free myself from the chill.
Anna yawns, covering her mouth with her hand, and then pulls out a swatch of fabric. “With all the extra time on your hands, I expect you have been working on your embroidery.” I can tell by the tone of her voice she doubts I’ve done any at all.
She’s right. I haven’t touched it.
“You will have adequate time tomorrow.” Her voice is smug.
I set down my tea and stare at her. “Why do you say that?”
“Your father has decided you will spend the day with Leonora and Lady Marigold.”
My throat constricts. “All day?”
“His Majesty believes you need more time with female companions. He thinks perhaps you’ve become a little unruly because you spend too much
time in the company of your brothers and their comrades.”
I stare at her, aghast. I can’t spend all day with Leonora and Lady Marigold. Even if I wanted to—which I don’t—I don’t have time. I must help Galinor find the fifth item.
Unless it’s already too late.
“Anna, has anyone come back with all five items?” I ask, realizing with the excitement of the evening I forgot to ask.
She threads her needle, ignoring me.
“Anna?”
“Lionel arrived this evening, Pippa.”
I feel as if I’ve been struck in the stomach. I struggle for air.
She frowns at the look on my face. “Of course, we don’t know if his fifth item is correct.”
“What did he bring?” I demand.
“A black pearl.”
I clasp my hands together and take deep breaths. Archer doesn’t think the pearl is the correct answer. If he’s right, then Lionel will be an item short.
Will Archer help Galinor tomorrow if I can’t get away?
He’ll help.
I know he will.
***
“Pippa, would you sit still?” Leonora asks through clenched teeth.
The outburst startles Lady Marigold, and she drops her embroidery in her lap.
I glare at Leonora. She’s been so touchy since the tournament started. You would think her future rested on it, not mine.
Galinor and Archer only have one more hour. Many of the men have already returned, most with only two or three items. The mysterious fifth item has been the source of much debate, though many believe the answer is the black pearl.
So far, Lionel is the only one to bring one back.
Two men have returned with injuries from battling their grim boars, but Yuven has announced one will make a full recovery in a few weeks and the other should be well by the archery competition. I’m not worried about Archer and Galinor running into that kind of trouble now that Galinor has his boar, but the last item has me on edge.
“It must be a pearl,” Leonora says as if she’s reading my thoughts.
“It can’t be a pearl.” I toss my embroidery across the room, missing the table I was aiming for. The cloth falls on the stone floor instead.
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