CHAPTER SIX
Crown of Wildflowers
I blink. “I don’t understand the question.”
“A fairy would only give the gift of a changeling stone if a person were cursed. So, who is it? Before you misplaced it, who wore the stone?”
I shake my head, my lips parting as I try to understand. Brug runs a finger down my cheek, but I am so stunned, I don’t pull away.
“Who wore it?” Brug asks again.
I look down at my lap, focusing on my clasped hands. “My father.”
“Did he wear it all the time? Only at night?”
I meet his dark eyes. “During the day. He kept it on his bedside table at night.”
“A daylight curse, then,” Brug says.
“No, you don’t understand.” My throat feels tight, and I try to clear it. “It was a fantastic bauble. You could change shape with it, that’s all. Father never used it—”
Brug brushes a finger over my lips, silencing me. “It will also keep a person from changing form, should they be cursed.”
I lean away from his touch and take a shaky breath. Around me, the party begins to blur.
“Anwen,” Brug whispers, my name soft on his lips. “Drink a little more.”
He offers me the goblet, but this time I take it from him and gulp down the sweet, bubbly liquid.
“You should slow down.” He chuckles and takes the goblet back.
The liquid warms me, soothes me. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “What exactly are you saying my father will turn into without the stone?”
Brug shrugs. “It depends on the caster; it depends on the curse. He could be a mouse, a griffin, an ogre, a troll—”
“All right.” I hold up my hand. “I understand.”
Brug runs his fingers through my hair. “I am sorry.”
I eye his hand. They’re very touchy, these fairies.
To put more distance between us, I tilt away from him. “Do you have another stone? Please, ask anything of me.”
He brushes a curl behind my ear and leans forward. “You are so trusting, Anwen. Never offer anything to a fairy.”
I shiver with apprehension.
“Don’t be alarmed.” He smiles. “I won’t do anything to you.”
It’s too much to take in all at once. I glance at Irving and Galinor to see what they think. Irving’s attention is on a petite blond fairy who has draped herself across his lap. She giggles and feeds him cut slices of berry.
Galinor steals glances at me, concerned, but the brunette fairy sets her hand on his cheek and repeatedly draws his attention back to her. He looks uncomfortable, and under different circumstances I might laugh. Tonight the scene makes me feel ill.
I turn back to Brug. “Do you have a changeling stone I may have?”
He shakes his head. “I do not. They are rare—even for fairies.”
I wring my hands. “Do you know where I may find one?”
“Nowhere I would send you. It would be best to retrieve the one you’ve given away.”
Once again my path is directed back to Dimitri.
“Or you could wait until the caster of the curse dies, and then the curse would be lifted immediately.”
“How will I find out who cursed him?”
“Ask your father.”
I shake my head. “I can’t go home—not without the stone.”
What have I done? Who knew what a mess taking one little trinket would cause.
“Did you know fairies can read things about people, Anwen?” Brug sits back and crosses his arms. “It’s one of our gifts. That man there—” Brug motions to Irving. “He’s entertaining; he’s loyal. He’s a bit of a knave at times, but he’s not a bad person to have around.”
I nod for him to continue, unsure what this turn in the conversation has to do with my current plight.
“And you—” He taps my arm. “You are gentle and entirely too trusting.” I open my mouth to protest, but he sets his fingers on my lips again. “It’s why the female glasseln is so taken with you.”
“Coal is a girl?”
“Her name is Pika, and yes—she is a girl.”
I grin down at the napping cat. “She has a name?”
Brug smiles. “All animals have names.”
“What is Danver’s animal name?”
“Snoob.”
I scrunch my nose. “That’s awful. He stays Danver.”
Brug laughs. The sound is intoxicating. These fairies could be very dangerous should they choose to be.
“Now, you see that man there—” Brug nods to Galinor.
I glance at the prince. He is very politely attempting to keep the fairy woman’s hands off of him.
“He’s something unique. Not only is he strong, but he’s kind and chivalrous.”
I chew my lip, studying Galinor as Brug makes his quiet assessment.
“Keep him close. He will bring you the changeling stone.”
“He won’t go where I need to go.” I look away from Galinor. “He wants to go home.”
“All you have to do is ask him,” Brug says. “But be careful. The tournament damaged his spirits. You will have to take care with his heart.”
I flush. “I don’t want his heart.”
Brug smirks at me. Ignoring him, I twist a gossamer napkin in my lap. “Was he in love with Pippa?”
“He was in love with the idea of Pippa.” The knowing look in Brug’s eyes irritates me. “But as for being in love with the girl herself?”
I lean forward, waiting for his answer.
“No.”
I take another sip of cider, trying to work up the courage for my next question. “I gave the changeling stone to a gypsy named Dimitri.” I pause, my heart’s pace quickening. “Does he love me? Did he ever?”
The fairy’s eyes are warm with compassion. “I can’t read him if he is not here, but I think it would be safe to assume he does not.”
***
I wake to birds singing their morning songs. I know before I open my eyes that I am in the forest. I am plagued with a horrible sense of déjà vu. I peek an eye open and find myself lying on my side, Danver cuddled next to me. There’s something warm behind me. It’s Pika. She shifts and begins to purr.
I blink several times, trying to clear the sleep from my vision. My arm lies stretched out in front of me, and my hand is clasped with Galinor’s. Galinor lies perpendicular to me, with his arm extended over his shoulder. He will ache when he wakes.
I try to remember falling asleep, but the last thing I recall is the fairy banquet. I gently pull my hand free, not wanting to disturb Galinor. I’ll be embarrassed should he wake now. What would he think?
What do I think?
I forget what rabbit trail my mind is bounding down when I sit up and see Irving. Oh, goodness.
He’s dressed in a garment of woven grass and leaves, and there is a crown of wildflowers on his head. He’s stretched out, and in sleep he looks like he hasn’t a care in the world. That will likely change when I wake him.
“Irving.” I shake him gently. “Irving, wake up.”
He mumbles in his sleep, and a smile tips his lips.
“Irving, wake up,” I say again, a little louder this time.
One eye cracks open. “Anwen?”
Unable to keep the laughter out of my voice, I say, “Good morning, Irving. Did you have a nice night?”
He opens both eyes and looks around. Along with the fairy crown, an assortment of twigs stick out of his ruffled, blond hair.
“Where are we?” he asks. “Are we alone?” His eyes narrow as if he’s trying to retrieve his memory of the night before. He sits up and rubs his neck. Still groggy, he looks around. His finger catches his foliage tunic. He glances down, looks at me, and then scowls at himself again. “What am I wearing?”
“I have no idea.” I try to clamp my lips shut, but I can’t keep from laughing. “But you look lovely.”
Galinor groans from his forest bed an
d scowls at Irving. “What in the kingdoms do you have on?”
Irving narrows his eyes. “Where are my clothes?”
I look around the glen. It appears to be fairy-free this morning. I don’t see Irving’s clothing anywhere, but I do spy his bow and quiver. I stride to them and pluck a note from one of the arrows.
“To my most beloved Irving,” I read, and then I waggle my eyebrows in his direction.
Irving groans and rubs his temples.
“I will wait with bated breath for your next visit. Fondest wishes and much love, Kiralia.”
Irving stands and attempts to pull the tunic to an acceptable length. “How am I supposed to ride in this?”
Galinor tries to hide his glee. “I don’t know, but I’m fairly sure you’re going to chafe.”
Irving clutches his head in his hands. “Let me die now.”
Galinor slaps him on the back. “Not yet, but you might want to when we ride to Palace Lauramore. I’d take the flowers out of my hair, if I were you.”
***
“That thing can’t follow us any farther,” Galinor says. I turn around, ready to scold him, but he cuts me off. “Pika can’t follow us any farther,” he amends.
I nod. We’re nearing the second terrace. Galinor helps me down from the horse, and I walk to the glasseln. She rubs against me, butting me with her head. I scratch the soft fur between her feathered wings. “Pika, you need to stay here now.”
Her ears twitch, and then she yawns.
“You can’t come with us. It’s dangerous.”
I give her one last scratch and then walk back to Galinor’s horse. As we ride away, I peek over Galinor’s shoulder. Pika is strutting after us. I dismount again.
“Pika, stay.”
She takes a step toward me. I look at Galinor and Irving for help.
“Maybe she’ll fly off when we get closer to the palace?” Irving suggests.
I walk back, stepping over the exposed tree roots in the trail, and accept Galinor’s help back on the horse.
Will she fly away? What if she’s seen?
“It will be fine,” Galinor says, patting my shoulder like on old man would comfort a child. The gesture irritates me, and we ride in silence.
By mid-morning, we’ll be back, and Galinor will leave. I can’t ask him to help me again. I just can’t.
“You’re quiet,” Galinor finally says.
I shrug.
“Is this about the glasseln or the gypsy?”
I sigh. “A little of both, I suppose.”
Once again, he sets his hand on my shoulder, but this time he runs it down my arm and back up again. “Pika won’t get close to the palace, I’m sure.”
I nod, and silence envelops us again.
“Stop it,” he says, his voice growing irritated.
Startled, I turn and look at him. “Stop what?”
“You’re brooding. You haven’t stopped talking once in the last few days, and now I can’t get a word out of you.”
We’re approaching the ascent to the last terrace, and the trail widens. Irving nudges his horse forward and matches us. Galinor has taken pity on him, and he’s given Irving the cloak from his pack. The weather is cooling in the mountains, already preparing for autumn, but the day is still warm. Irving must be dying of heat, but he hasn’t complained.
“What did the fairies tell you, Anwen?” Irving asks. “You’ve been very tight-lipped about the whole thing.”
“You would have heard if you hadn’t been so enamored with Kiralia,” I say, teasing him in hopes the subject will turn back to him.
“They didn’t give you a changeling stone,” Galinor says.
It’s the first time we’ve spoken about that part of the evening outright.
“They didn’t have one to give me.”
“You need to go home, Anwen.”
“My father is cursed!” I blurt out, no longer able to keep it to myself.
“What?” Irving asks, and his tone is as disbelieving as mine was. “Baron Millner?”
I toss my hands in the air. “Yes, that would be my father, Irving.”
That was too testy, and now I feel awful. I mumble an apology.
“What kind of curse?” Galinor asks.
“He changes into something during the day. Brug called it a daylight curse.”
Galinor snorts. “Brug?”
Irving ignores Galinor. “Something? Something like what?”
“I don’t know!” I exclaim. “For all I know, he could be prancing around the battlements as a unicorn.”
Irving shakes his head. “You can’t curse someone into a unicorn. They would just undo the magic themselves when they shifted.”
I glare at the blond prince.
“Now that I think of it,” he muses, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “It’s too bad we don’t know where to find a herd of them. They could undo your father’s curse, and then he would never need a changeling stone.”
“That’s a wonderful idea, Irving,” I say with mock sincerity. “And then we can all sit down for tea with a manticore!”
Irving grins. I know I’m rising to his bait, but right now, I can’t seem to help myself.
“If I remember correctly,” the prince says. “We dined with fairies last night. Is finding a herd of unicorns so unimaginable after that?”
I’m about to retort, but Galinor holds his hand up. “Enough, you two.”
I groan and dismiss Irving with a wave of my hand.
Galinor nudges my shoulder. “What are you going to do?”
Instead of answering, I watch a little blue bird hop from tree to tree, following us.
“Anwen?”
“I’ll do the same thing I came to Lauramore to do. I will track Dimitri down, and I will take back the changeling stone.”
“But how? You can’t just wander until you find him. You have no resources—you don’t even have a horse.”
“She has me,” Irving says. “I promised I would help her, and I will.”
“Where will you go?” Galinor asks.
Irving glances at me. “Vernow has festivals year-round. We should try there first.”
Galinor shifts behind me. “You’ll travel through Glendon to get there. I’ll ride with you. We can make it to my castle in two days. You can stay as long as you want and take whatever you need.”
I wish he’d offered to seek Dimitri out with us, but at least this gives me a few more days to change his mind.
That’s enough for now.
We’re on a higher terrace, and the palace is now visible. I must find a way to persuade Pika to go back to her woods. “Oh,” I whisper when I look back.
Galinor turns toward the empty path. “It’s better this way, Anwen.”
It’s foolish, I know, but I am sad she’s gone.
CHAPTER SEVEN
To Glendon
The day dawns as beautiful as we could hope. There are a few clouds in the sky, and the morning is cool. Soon autumn will touch the trees. I wish I could be here to see it. Autumns in Primewood are unspectacular; only the brush turns color. Until the snow tops the evergreen boughs late in the season, it doesn’t look much different from spring or summer.
We prepare to leave, and I wait and watch, not sure what I can do to help. During last night’s evening meal, Bran and his brother decided to travel with us as well. When the decision was made, all four princes sent their men on ahead, satisfied the group is large enough for safety.
Bran’s brother, Dristan, joins me by a mountain cherry. He walks with a slight limp, but he seems to be doing very well for being in a rock slide, which is what Irving said happened to him during the tournament.
“Are you ready, Lady Anwen?” he asks. “Irving has bought you a horse so you don’t have to ride with Galinor anymore.”
I glance at Irving, startled. He holds a strawberry roan mare by the reins, and he motions for me to come over. It will be nice to have my own mare again. Who would want to ride the entire w
ay two to a horse?
I chew my lip, and my eyes wander to Galinor.
Leonora comes up behind me and sets her hand on my arm. “So you’re leaving?”
“I suppose I am.”
She eyes the group. “You realize you’re riding with four very handsome and very eligible princes, don’t you?” She lowers her voice, but not enough.
“Leonora!” I glance at Dristan to see if he’s overheard her.
His brown eyes meet mine for a short moment before they fall away, and a faint blush colors his cheeks. He joins Bran, acting as if he hadn’t just overheard Leonora.
“He is adorable,” Leonora whispers.
Taller than Bran, Dristan’s possibly the more handsome of the two brothers.
I give her a stern look. “He’s two years younger than I am.”
Bran laughs at something Dristan has just said. Seeing me watching, he nods at me, his lips tipping up.
“What about Bran?” She loops her arm in mine. “He’s two years older.”
What about Bran? Everything about him boasts that he’s the nautical prince he is. His hair is blond and sun streaked. His eyes are brown, just a shade lighter than Dristan’s, and his skin is tan.
I shake Leonora’s ideas out of my head. “Marigold is going as well, why don’t you try to match her up?”
Leonora sighs and runs her hand over her belly. “I thought she was taken with Galinor, but she seems to have changed her mind.”
“What of Galinor?” I examine my fingernails. “How does he feel about her?”
Leonora laughs softly. “Who knows? He’s wonderful to everyone, isn’t he?”
“Is he?”
Leonora nods, her eyes narrowing slightly.
“Come on, Anwen,” Irving calls. “Time to ride.”
“Thank you for the gowns,” I say to Leonora.
We exchange goodbyes, and I walk to my new horse. I give her a pat and then turn to Irving. “She’s lovely.”
I feel a little pang of longing; I miss Mara.
Irving smiles. “I had a thought, Anwen.”
I stroke the horse’s nose, and she leans into my hand. “What’s your thought?”
“I need a bride, and you need something to toss in this gypsy villain’s face. What do you think of marrying me?”
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