It won’t be the first time I’ve found myself alone in the forest. I doubt it will be my last.
The maids and servants are awake, all of them preparing for the morning. No one stops me from leaving; they have no reason to. I am no longer a prisoner of the palace. I hurry through the courtyard, hoping to find Archer in the armory.
“Archer’s already been here and gone, Princess. If that’s who you’re looking for, that is,” one of the armory guards informs me.
The man looks tired. His night watch is almost over.
“When did he leave?” I ask, hoping he might be in the stables.
“It’s been awhile, Your Highness. It was completely dark when he left.”
No.
I hurry to the stables, hoping there’s some chance he’s still there. I rush in, but all I find are horses and one very sleepy stable boy. He’s the same one Archer and I handed our horses to last night, and—now that I think of it—the same one I handed my message for Galinor to.
“Archer’s gone?” I ask, leaning against a stall. I give a friendly mare an idle pat.
The boy nods.
I scrunch my nose. “Are you always on watch in the evenings? Do you ever go home?”
“Only since the tournament started, Princess,” he says, his voice quiet. “I’m here to watch the horses at night. King Ewan said if I did a good job, he’d make me a stable hand.”
“Watch them do what?”
He looks at the ground. “Just watch ‘em.”
I tilt my head, thinking. “And if you see anything unusual, you are to report it to the King?” My voice sounds tight.
He nods, looking guilty.
The laughter builds up in my throat. I haven’t slept, and I’m exhausted. I’m worried about Archer. Now there’s this.
The boy looks back up. His eyes are huge.
“You snitched on me, boy.” I’m still laughing. “I heard you that night, didn’t I?”
“I was in the next stall. I fell asleep in the hay.” He hangs his head. “I felt horrible about it after I told King Ewan.” He looks up. “I did deliver your message to Prince Galinor. I thought that might make it up to you.”
“All this time, I still thought it was Archer,” I say, more to myself than to the boy. I cross my arms. “Did Father promote you? Are you a stable hand now?”
“Yes, Princess,” he says, and he sounds as if I’m going to drag him to the gallows.
“Well, at least something good came of that mess.”
***
Lady Marigold doesn’t seem so bad now that I know she has no feelings for Archer. Leonora was right, though. Marigold is smitten with someone. Someone she danced with at the scavenger hunt feast, she says. She will tell us no more, thinking she’s given us a tidbit of information but kept her secret safe.
She doesn’t know how closely I watched her partners during the dance. There were two: Archer and Galinor.
How can she be so kind to me when she knows it’s Galinor I’ve chosen to win? When I thought Archer was falling for her…
Well, I was less than gracious with my thoughts.
Perhaps she is as well, but she hides it better. I glance at her. She’s painting a little blue bird on her canvas. She looks over and gives me her soft smile.
“It’s not very good,” she says, laughing a little. “The colors you’ve chosen are beautiful, Pippa.” Her eyes are shining with sincerity.
I cringe as I look at the mess of paint on my canvas.
No. She’s simply nicer than I am.
We’re in the middle of Mother’s flower gardens. It’s another bright day. A few clouds are passing through the sky, but they are fat and lazy and in no hurry. Mother is painting the waterfall. She’s painted it a hundred times, and I would be bored of it by now, but she never tires of it. No matter how many times she paints it, it always looks different. Different colors, different moods—she is very talented.
I’m painting a red Ptarma lily. Mother had them brought over so she could be reminded of her childhood home. They grow tall, almost to my shoulders. Huge blooms grow from short stems on the stalk. When Mother paints them, they are glorious. When I paint them, they are less than glorious.
I think they would look better if I threw globs of paint at my canvas.
“You’re over-thinking it, Pippa,” Mother says, as usual.
Leonora is working on a mountain scene. She’s also very good, and she and Mother paint often. I join them occasionally, but I tire of it before they do.
I haven’t told Leonora how I tried to catch Archer this morning. We haven’t been alone. After last night, she now knows how we’ve been helping Galinor. She didn’t approve, but she didn’t reprimand me either.
“Lord Rigel was looking for Archer this morning,” Mother says as she taps the end of her paintbrush to her lips, studying her painting. Her words startle me, and I accidentally brush a long green stroke right through one of my flower petals. “I told him Archer had asked for a few days away.”
Marigold looks up. “When was this? He didn’t mention it at the evening meal last night.”
“Archer spoke to Ewan after the meal. He said he had a friend he needed to help. Of course, Ewan granted him the time. Archer never asks for anything.”
Leonora glances at me. She’s chewing her lip, but she keeps silent.
“Did he mention it to you, Pippa?” Mother asks, turning to me. Her bright green eyes are only curious.
“Yes, he mentioned something like that.” I wave my hand as if his departure were so insignificant I’ve already forgotten the details. Unfortunately, the paintbrush is in my hand, and a big green glob falls on my dress. I scowl at it.
“I wonder what Lord Rigel wanted?” Marigold muses, oblivious to my or Leonora’s discomfort.
Mother sets her paintbrush down. “I don’t know.” She turns to me. “Rigel is doing very well in the competition. He’s a very handsome young man.”
I’m about to protest when Lady Marigold giggles—actually giggles—and then says, “He’s a bit dark and dangerous, isn’t he? I’m surprised he’s not your type, Pippa.” She lowers her eyes. “But I can see why you’re hoping for Galinor to win.”
“Galinor is doing very well,” Mother says. “It’s not the match Ewan hoped for, but he is certainly proving himself to be quite capable.”
I almost laugh. It’s fortunate for Galinor, and me, that Archer is so capable.
“What happened to Archer’s mother?” Marigold asks, her voice soft and curious.
I freeze and then tell myself to relax. Archer isn’t here, and it’s perfectly normal for Marigold to be curious.
“She died many years ago when Archer’s father was still master archer. We didn’t know it at the time, but she had sliced her hand with a knife. It was toward the beginning of the Dragon Wars when the fighting was still in Lauramore. The physician and the herbalist, the one before Yuven, were overrun with the injured,” Mother says, her eyes sad with the memory. “She didn’t seek help for her hand, and the wound became infected. By the time the physician was notified of her condition, it was too late.”
I feel sick listening to the story, because I know the rest of it. Archer had been at his father’s side at the battle, but he was sent home for supplies. He found his mother delirious with fever. He’d only been nine at the time. He watched her die.
His father grieved for weeks. It was then that Archer found out who his mother was—Lady Madeleine Archer of Errinton. Wracked with grief, his father swore he should have never married her and taken her from her family. He felt he caused her death, and to this day he’s never forgiven himself.
“Is it true? Was she really a lady?” Marigold asks.
Mother nods. “She was. Madeleine was one of my dear friends. She visited often in my early days here in Lauramore. It’s during one of those visits she met and fell in love with Bernard. Her father was furious.”
“Master Archer is a good title,” Marigold argues.
&
nbsp; Mother shakes her head. “They wanted a prince for her. Once she was married, I don’t think her family ever spoke with her again.”
This is part of the story I didn’t know. Archer’s mother and my mother were friends? I had no idea.
“After she married Bernard, did you still speak with her?” I ask.
Mother nods. “Oh, yes. Often.”
“Why didn’t she tell you about the cut?”
“She was stubborn. I’m sure she thought she’d be fine.” She sighs.
They begin to paint again, all of us subdued after the sad story.
“Mother?” I ask. “What would Father have done if I’d run off with a master archer instead of agreeing to the tournament?”
Leonora gasps and gives me a sharp look. Even Marigold looks stunned at my words.
Mother turns her eyes on me, less surprised. “Your father loves you more than your title. He would have accepted it.”
My heart leaps, and I’m not sure I can breathe.
“But now that the tournament is initiated, your running away with anyone would surely cause a war.”
My mouth goes dry, and I try to swallow. Leonora and I exchange glances.
“Pippa,” Mother says. “This is a purely hypothetical question, isn’t it?”
I purse my lips. “Of course.”
***
We finish our paintings. Mother and Leonora’s are beautiful. Marigold’s shows great promise—as Mother said—and mine is…as finished as it will ever be. I might use it for target practice later. I could find a certain measure of satisfaction in that.
The men are at it again, sparring with the knights. Lionel glances over as we walk by, and I quicken my steps. He looks like he wants to corner me, and I will have none of that. We pass the stables, and I pause.
“Let’s go for a picnic,” I say, already feeling the need to be away from the walls.
Marigold shakes her head, but Leonora looks intrigued. She ignores the other woman’s quiet protests. “Where will we go?”
I think about it for a moment, scanning the landscape. “Up. We’ll go to the lake.”
“It’s so warm.” Leonora sounds wistful. “We could soak our feet.”
Marigold shakes her head. “We should stay here. You’ll want to know as soon as another one of the men return. If we’re there, you’ll miss it.”
It’s a terrible excuse.
“It will be a nice, quiet ride,” I assure her. I know I’m in the wrong company for the kind of ride that would lift my spirits. Still, even a mellow outing will be better than nothing.
“You must come with us,” Leonora pushes. “Pippa’s wild, but she knows the best picnic spots.”
I roll my eyes but add, “It’s true—I do.”
Marigold finally agrees after a little more coaxing. Now I have to convince Percival.
“He shouldn’t mind,” Leonora says, but she sounds a little hesitant.
I’m not sure he’ll be wild about the idea, what with Leonora feeling ill lately. She seems fine today, though. Whatever it was has surely passed by now.
“Absolutely not,” Percival says when we find him. He sheaths his sword and glares at me.
“You act as if I asked if I could take your wife to collect the dragon treasure ourselves!” I protest. “It’s a picnic at the lake.”
“No.”
Leonora pushes me out of the way. She obviously thinks she’ll have a better chance of convincing her husband than I will. She might be right. “Percival, please. The lake will be cool, and I could use the fresh air.”
He glares at her. “Then, Princess, go stand in the mist of the falls.”
She gives him a pointed look. “Pippa will be with me.”
“That’s part of the problem.” He turns his stern eyes to me. I shrug like I have no idea what he’s referring to.
“I’m going,” Leonora says. “It will be fine.”
Percival takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Fine, I’ll summon a guard.”
“Absolutely not!” I say, repeating his words. I won’t have a gaggle of knights hovering over us. “I’ll bring my bow, and I’ll shoot anything that comes near.”
“She is a good shot,” Alexander says, joining the conversation. I smile at my middle brother. Percival looks at him like he’s a traitor.
“I’ll have her back before dusk,” I promise, and we hurry away before he changes his mind.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Picnic
The water is deliciously cold. My toes sink deep into the grainy sand, and the water laps at my ankles. There are only a few sandy stretches along the great lake’s shore. The rest is bordered by thick, brown mud, giant tree roots, and areas of waterlogged grass. Water snakes live in the grass, so I avoid those areas at all costs.
I think I would rather meet a dragon than a snake. At least you can reason with a dragon.
Marigold sighs from beside me. She lifts her face to the sky. “This is lovely.”
She’s right. It is lovely. The breeze travels across the water, and it’s cool before it meets us. Thick forest surrounds the lake, and birds call to each other from the trees. Before we decided to soak our feet, we watched the minnows dart around the rocks near the falls. There were hundreds of them. Marigold told us what they were—largenberch.
I’m learning more about her. She likes to read and learn, and she actually enjoyed our time with Sir Kimble and his maps. She’s a wealth of knowledge when it comes to plants and animals.
I offered to show her a cave full of maid-of-the-shadows, which she’s never seen, but she adamantly refused. She likes caves like I like snakes.
Leonora soaked her feet, and she is now resting in the shade of a tree. We all ate too much, and we’re stuffed. I must remember to thank the kitchen maids for the bountiful fare. We had enough food for six.
I wade back, and settle next to Leonora against a large, gnarled tree trunk. “We will have to return eventually.”
“Mmmm,” she agrees. Her eyes are closed.
Marigold sits in front of us. We haven’t spoken with her about the situation with Archer and Galinor, but she’s bright enough to have figured most of it out on her own. Still, we don’t mention it, and neither does she.
We speak of Primewood and Marigold’s library in their castle. We speak of Mother’s paintings and Master Draeger’s instruments. We speak of feasts and men and other tournaments long ago, but we do not speak of Archer or Galinor.
I feel drained. I ache over Archer. Through the day, I’ve pushed the gnawing, nagging pain away, but it returns when I’m still.
My head snaps up at someone’s approach. Fair hair, pale skin, light eyes—it’s the man Archer and I met last night. A quick glance verifies it’s the same men with him, as well. He gives me the same sweeping bow as before. “Good afternoon Princess.”
Out of instinct, I reach for my bow. The blood drains from my face. It’s not here. It’s on the ground, just out of Marigold’s reach. It wouldn’t matter if she could reach it. She looks paralyzed with fear. The man speaking has a crossbow, and he’s pointing it at me. The other two men are armed with knives.
There’s nothing I can do without my bow. How could I be so careless?
“What do you want?” I’m glad my voice doesn’t waver.
The man grins. “Ransom money. Don’t worry, Princess. We’ll take good care of you until the deals have been arranged.”
Now I recognize the accent. “You’re from Errinton.”
He sounds like Rigel.
“Who are her friends?” The man asks, turning to one of his comrades.
The man who answers is tall with brown hair and a muscular build. His voice is more cultured than the fair man’s. It’s easy to see him slaying dragons. I remember what Sir Kimble said, and I do not wonder what drove him to this life.
“The beautiful one is Princess Leonora, future queen of Lauramore, and plain one is Lady Marigold of Primewood. She is King Windom’s ward.”
I glance at Marigold, wondering if she’ll take offense to the man’s assessment of her beauty. She doesn’t seem to notice but instead stares at him with the same look a rabbit has when trapped.
Leonora does not look scared. She looks livid. I’m fiercely proud of her.
“Stay still, and you won’t be harmed. If you fight, you will find your time with us…uncomfortable.”
“What is your name?” I demand.
My question takes him by surprise, but he bows again and gives me a sneer. “You may call me Peg.”
I take a step forward. “I didn’t hear you. Pig, did you say? Or Peg? Like a girl?”
“Pippa,” Marigold squeaks.
Peg steps up to me, and the arrow presses into the material of my dress. “You are not worth as much to me, Princess. You’re fourth heir to the throne, and a girl no less.”
I stand my ground.
“Word has it you’re a difficult female—unruly, wild, and tiresome. It’s possible King Ewan would be glad to be free of you. You are very beautiful though.” He runs his hand down my hair. I grit my teeth, knowing to knock his hand away would likely mean an arrow in my heart. “Perhaps I should sell you elsewhere.”
A sharp chill travels down my spine.
“Yes—maybe I won’t try to get a ransom out of any of you,” Peg muses, cocking his head to the side. “It might be more profitable to leave now and not tarry with Ewan’s knights.”
I steal a glance at Leonora. She looks like she may pass out. Her mouth is working, but no words come out. The sight of the arrow at my chest is too much for her—and understandably so.
The arrow at my chest is almost too much for me.
It’s Marigold who finally squeaks. Her eyes are wide and focused on something behind me. Before I can turn to see what it is, there’s a cloth over my nose and mouth. The smell reminds me of musty caves and dark tunnels. The world spins in front of my eyes, and little black dots blur my vision and pull me to unconsciousness.
Pippa of Lauramore Page 14