Rigel turns to me again. “Pippa, I—”
“Yes?” I try to keep my tone light. Hoping to distract him, I say, “That’s a beautiful ring.”
He glances at his thumb. “Oh, yes. My grandfather crafted it.”
I nod, unsure what else I can say.
“He was a metalsmith,” Rigel continues. “It’s a skill that’s been handed down from generation to generation. His father taught mine, and mine taught me.”
“Errinton armor is much sought after,” I say, and then I bite my lip. It was much sought after—when the metal was merged with dragon scales.
His sharp eyes seem to notice my discomfort and a smile plays on his face. “The craft still exists. Our trade is a good one, even if the dragon armor is no longer possible.”
“Are there many smiths still plying their trade?”
He shakes his head.
“Why? Why have your people given up?”
Rigel angles toward me, and I have to tell myself not to scoot away.
“Change is hard, Pippa. We will rebuild our kingdom. We will survive this.” There’s a fiery determination in his dark eyes. “There’s ore in our mountains—an abundance of it. I’ve created an alloy that is as strong as dragon steel and much lighter. As a people, we’ve never experimented because we’ve never had to.” His eyes bore into mine. “Now is our chance.”
I have a feeling this is what he’s been discussing so passionately with my father and brothers.
“Thank you,” I blurt out when, for the first time, I don’t see a monster in his gaze. “You didn’t have to stay silent—”
He holds up his hand, and I shrink back.
“I don’t wish to discuss this, and I suggest you keep it quiet as well.”
I snap my mouth shut, and I feel thoroughly reprimanded. I glance down the table, wishing I was seated by someone else. I meet Lionel’s eyes. He’s wearing that possessive expression that drives me mad. I glare back at him, and he raises his glass to me in a mock toast.
Rigel clears his throat. “I am sorry for what happened to you.”
He looks uncomfortable and stiff. Is that all he’s been trying to say? Perhaps he knows how I blame him.
“It’s not your fault.” Even though I know it’s true, the words are hard to spit out.
“Your father has asked me what I wish done with them.”
Surprised, I glance from the napkin I’ve begun twisting again. “And what do you wish done with them?”
His eyes narrow. “I would have them drawn and quartered.”
I shiver, but I can’t say I completely disagree with the sentiment.
“But I wanted to ask what you would have me do.”
A sick feeling settles in my stomach. It’s never been up to me to decide a punishment.
I think on it. “Send them to your mountains to mine for that ore you speak of. They were lazy and greedy and chose thievery instead of honest work. I can think of no better punishment than a life of hard manual labor. Death is too easy for them.”
“I will ask your father. Ultimately he will make the final decision.”
I think of Marigold, still fighting off the effects of the poison. “Oh, and Lord Rigel? Give them each a good dose of maid-of-the-shadows and see how they like it.”
He smiles at that.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The Wounded
Yuven’s thick gloves protect my hands as I pour hot oil through a mesh sieve, straining out bits of herbs, twigs, and flowers. The heat permeates the leather, and it feels as if the sheepskin is drawing all the moisture from my skin. I pull them off as quickly as possible. I shaved the beeswax before I started, and I now stir it into the oil. Slowly, the yellow shavings melt into the viscous liquid.
“How are you doing, Pippa?” Yuven asks from the other side of the workbench.
He’s preparing a large batch of pain relieving tea. I’m still too squeamish to work with the potentially poisonous herbs, so I’m stuck with salves. I don’t mind really, even if it is hot work. It’s better than embroidery.
I try not to think of the purpose behind all this preparation. Yuven and the palace physician are preparing for the worst. Prince Espin is doing well, but he’s slathered almost head to toe in burn salve. He smells like a swamp.
“It’s fine.” I flick the wooden spoon a little too fast, and hot salve splatters my hand. I yelp and wipe it off on my skirt.
“Ginna was here this morning.” Yuven’s tone is a little too nonchalant.
I raise my eyes, pinning him with my gaze. “And?”
“We were wondering where Archer has disappeared to.”
Not wanting to burn myself again, I look back to my work. “Off to help a friend.”
“What friend?”
I pour the salve into small tins. Once it cools, it will be a thick yellow glop—perfect for smearing over wounds to keep away infection.
“How would I know?” I ask. “And why do you care?”
He shrugs.
Yuven is infuriating.
“Are you finished?” he asks. “Begin on the burn salve. We’ve almost used it all on Espin.”
“Do you think all this will be necessary?” I ask, feeling sick. “Do you think everyone will come back wounded?”
He doesn’t answer me because a knight bursts into the hot, little room. “We’ve got two more.”
“Who?” I grab the worn worktable and dig my fingers in.
“I don’t know, Your Highness, but it’s urgent.” He turns his attention back to Yuven. “King Ewan wants you to bring supplies immediately.”
For the first time today, I forget about my throbbing shoulder, and I’m at the herbalist’s heels as he rushes after the knight. We burst into the physician’s quarters, and relief rushes through me. It’s not Archer or Galinor. The relief is short-lived. I’m struck with panic when I recognize the man in the corner.
“Irving!” I rush past the man I don’t know to get to his side. His entire right arm and shoulder are covered in burns, and his leg is oozing blood from a long grisly wound. “What happened?”
He’s only partially conscious and doesn’t answer.
One of the physician’s maids brings me hot water and cloths, and I clean the wounds. I’ve mended a few scrapes here and there, but I’ve never tended anything equal to this. I fight a wave of nausea and focus on the task at hand. I choke down my fear. “What do I do?”
“Clean it, apply the salve, then wrap the wounds,” Yuven calls from the other man’s side.
I medicate and wrap Irving’s leg wound. Once his leg is tended, I smear burn salve on his arm and shoulder.
He drifts to full consciousness as I finish. He gives me a pained grin. “Did I win?”
I laugh, but there’s not much joy behind it. “How do you feel?”
“Like I had a run-in with a dragon.”
“What happened?” I ask as I settle in a chair next to him.
“I thought I was being stealthy, sneaking into his lair unnoticed, but he saw me.” He closes his eyes. “He warned me if I didn’t leave he was going to singe me. He was true to his word.”
One of the maids hands me a cup of tea, and I help him up to a seated position. I hand him the drink. “What did he do to your leg?”
He makes a funny face when he sips it. “I fell down a ravine while I was trying to escape the flames. He laughed at me—the bloody beast laughed at me! That’s the last thing I remember before the knights found me.”
Father must have men out scouting during the tournament. To a large degree, that makes me feel better. It might also be a problem. What if they find Galinor and Archer together?
The physician, Clarion, comes to Irving now. He rubs his white beard as he assesses my work. With careful hands, he lifts the bandages over the burns. “You’ll be fine, young prince. It looks worse than it actually is. I don’t expect it will scar.”
Irving sighs and looks relieved. “Not that I’m vain, mind you, but that’s a relief.
”
“That will need to be stitched.” Clarion examines Irving’s leg, tucks the bandage back down, and then turns to me. “Pippa, how is your shoulder? Let me look at it.”
I grumble but end up sitting down for an examination. Clarion’s tended me since I was young, and I was in his quarters often. I know by now he won’t take no for an answer.
“Hmmm, Yuven did a fine job.” His voice is full of pride.
The herbalist glances up when he hears his name. He’s wrapping the head of the other man, who I now recognize as the lord from Biorth.
“Irving.” I’ve just now realized if he came back with a treasure, he will be tied with Lionel at ten points. “Did you get the treasure?”
His eyes are already droopy from the tea. “I’m sorry, my love. I did not.”
Lionel is still in the lead.
***
I’m weary as I eat dinner. Lady Marigold is quiet beside me. She’s barely said a word. There are dark circles under her eyes, and I know she’s hasn’t slept much. After she heard of Irving’s injuries, she spent the day with him instead of resting like I think she should have.
Many more men have returned. All are a little ragged, but none are as beat up as Irving. Like him, none obtained the dragon treasure. Tomorrow evening is the end of the hunt.
I eat, but I don’t taste my food.
A knight enters the great hall and speaks with my father. Usually, I wouldn’t pay him any mind, but the look on his face has caught my attention. He looks as tired as I feel. I excuse myself from Marigold, who only nods, and I kneel beside Father.
“Is it another one?”
He nods. “Would you like to assist Clarion again?”
“Yes,” I answer.
“Go on, then.”
I leave the hall and fret all the way to Clarion’s quarters, wondering if it’s Archer or Galinor I will find there.
It’s not.
Peter of Coppel is lying in the corner. He’s red, sweaty, and clutching his stomach. Yuven notices me hovering in the doorway, and he meets me.
“There’s nothing you can do for him, Pippa. It appears he ate some type of poisonous berry. He’s not sure what they were, but we think it may have been daphantha.” He grimaces when Peter leans over the bed and empties his stomach. “We’re taking care of it.”
By taking care of it, he means they’ve given him tea that will make him retch over and over until the poison is gone. It’s not pleasant, and I don’t want to be here for it.
“How is Irving?”
“He’s sleeping for now.”
I turn to leave, but then I look back.
“Yuven?” I call. “Did Peter return with a treasure?”
He frowns. “No, Princess.”
***
“Pippa!” someone says, shaking me. “Wake up!”
I open one eye and then the other. I bolt upright when I wake up enough to see that it’s Leonora and she’s worried.
“What’s happened?”
“There’s been a rock slide to the north. The Triblue brothers have just returned and reported it. Dristan is injured.”
I throw back the warm covers and dress quickly. Leonora helps guide the dress over my shoulder—which is very stiff this morning—before she laces the corset top.
We rush to Clarion’s quarters. Including Irving, there are eight men in Clarion and Yuven’s care. Peter looks better this morning, and he’s sipping tea and speaking with Marigold. Irving is flirting with a physician’s maid. The others are listening to Bran and Dristan’s tale.
“We were near the dragons.” Bran uses his hands as he speaks. “Suddenly, there was a great rushing sound above us. We looked up, and it was if the entire mountain was coming down. We almost escaped, but the rock slide took out our trail. Dristan was behind me, and he went down.”
The men murmur amongst themselves.
Bran continues, “I was surprised to find him alive. His horse didn’t make it.”
“It was up north?” Espin is still covered in burn salve, but he looks much better today. “That’s where I found the colony of dragons I ran into.”
“That’s right. There were others up there.” Bran nods and glances at me, giving me a subtle, meaningful look before he turns back at Espin. “Galinor of Glendon was nearby.”
A cold feeling settles over me, starting in my neck and sinking down to my toes. My stomach knots, and the room goes blurry. I think I might pass out, but I’m brought back by Leonora’s reassuring hand on my arm.
“That doesn’t mean anything,” she whispers. “There’s no way to know if they were in it. Archer knows the land. He can tell if an area is prone to slide. I doubt they lingered.”
She’s right. Archer is smart when it comes to the mountains. He would have known better than to travel that way. Still, it’s hard to listen to logic when you’re worried. There’s a cold, nagging voice in my head that won’t let me rest.
What if, what if?
Dristan looks up, surprising me. I thought he was asleep.
“Princess Pippa,” he says, acknowledging me.
I move to his side. He’s the youngest man in the competition, only eighteen, like me, and it’s especially sad to see him stretched out in Clarion’s care. From the waist down, he’s covered with a thin sheet. Besides a few scratches and bruises here and there, he seems fine.
“What has happened to you?” I find a seat close to him.
His brown eyes are droopy, but he seems coherent despite his fatigue. He’s obviously had the pain-relieving tea. “My leg was crushed.”
“Can Clarion mend it?” I feel sick.
“He is trying.” Dristan lays his head back. “But he says it will never be the same. There will be no more crawling up ship’s rigging for me.”
I like Dristan, but I’ve never felt about him the way I do about Archer or even Galinor. I wish I did, though. He needs someone to tell him they’ll stand by him, that they’ll love him even if he loses his leg. That girl is not me, but it breaks my heart that it is not.
“Can I tell you something, Princess?” He turns his head toward me.
I nod. He hides his pain well, but the longer he talks, the harder it is to conceal. The tea only does so much.
“I wanted to save you from Lionel.” A ghost of a smile crosses his face. “I wanted to beat Galinor and be your knight.”
I hate the tournament. How selfish I was to think these men should risk their lives for me—and all so I don’t have to marry Lionel.
Dristan closes his eyes, succumbing to the tea, and I squeeze his hand. He smiles as he drifts to sleep.
***
I can’t stand it anymore. The sun is setting, and I’m nearly hysterical. Galinor and Archer are not back. They are the last.
Marigold is with me. Together we stand on the highest parapet, scanning the roads and woods. We wait. We watch.
Below us, Father is preparing a search party. With the rock slide, everyone expects the worst. Alexander and seven of his elite knights prepare to leave. Percival and Sir Kimble will wait here. No one will let me go. They won’t even hear of it.
The wind blows my hair, whipping it around my face. A storm is moving in. Dark, ominous clouds drift in from the north. There is moisture in the air, and the closer the storm moves, the lower the clouds settle. The last of the sun’s rays disappear behind the mountain, and without its light cutting through the mist, it becomes impossible to see past the first stand of trees at the forest’s edge.
“Is it Galinor you’re taken with?” I ask Marigold, raising my voice to be heard over the wind. I stare into the great nothingness, waiting for her answer.
Her face is etched with worry, marring her features. Like me, her hair is a mess of flying strands. She looks oddly beautiful, and once again I am reminded of how cruel I was to think her plain.
“It is,” she says, answering. “You don’t love him,” she adds, her voice kind but accusing.
“I know.”
H
er eyebrows knit as she thinks about my answer.
“I saw him as a sure bet,” I say. “Someone to beat Lionel.”
She’s about to argue, already working up an indignant look, but I cut her off before she can start.
“And that was wrong,” I say. “He’s kind and caring and deserves so much better than me.”
I expect her to argue, just to be polite if nothing else, but she keeps quiet, waiting for me to continue.
“I have come to care for him,” I say. “But not in the way I have led him to believe.”
“What will you do?”
I worry my lip. “I will tell him.”
I don’t think she heard me, but then she nods. “It’s for the best, Pippa. He is noble and true—he will still fight to save you.” She pauses. “But he deserves the truth. He needs to know you are in love with Archer.”
Hearing Archer’s name brings on a fresh bout of worry. Where is he?
“What about you?” I ask. “Will you hate me if Galinor is victorious?”
She shakes her head. “No. It’s why he’s here. I don’t expect anything else.”
“How did it happen?”
“He danced with me the night of the scavenger hunt feast, and he was kind—so kind. I felt as if he understood. He didn’t mind that I was quiet or awkward. I didn’t feel awkward with him.”
I give her a wry smile. “Archer danced with you as well. Wasn’t he kind?”
She laughs, but it’s soft. “He’s so obviously in love with you, Pippa. Every story he tells, every anecdote—you’re there. I want to be loved like that.”
I rub my collarbone, trying to relieve the pain that’s settled there. My shoulder aches as well. The closer to night it becomes, the stiffer I get, and the more the wound from the glasseln’s claws burns.
Father mounts his horse, and the others with him do the same. Alexander turns on the back of his mare and looks up at us. He raises his hand in goodbye, and I do the same. I worry about them as well. My father and my brother are dear to me, and I don’t want them near the rock slide.
Trumpets cry through the air. Their metallic song startles me, and I scan what I can see of the road. A lone rider, brilliant on the back of his bay stallion, emerges through the mist.
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