Pippa of Lauramore Page 8

  “All right.”

  The sun continues to set, and we continue toward the palace.

  “Pippa?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “I believe we’ve found ourselves an inger nest.”

  It’s a tiny patch of waspnettle, only four or five plants together, and the nest is fully visible from the trail. Still, Archer gets stung several times along his arms and twice on his neck.

  As we near the palace, I glance at him, concerned. “Does it hurt horribly?”

  The red welts on his arms are swollen. His jaw is clenched, and he looks like he’s in pain. “It’s uncomfortable.”

  The inger egg is tucked safely in his saddlebag. No harm will come to it until we meet Galinor tomorrow.

  “How will you get to your rooms without someone noticing you?” His chambers are in the lower halls with the unmarried knights. He’s bound to meet someone on his way in.

  “There’s an empty cottage a few minutes from here. It used to belong to the woodsman before he married. I will stay there tonight. The welts should be better by tomorrow.”

  “Let’s go there now. I can sneak in by myself.”

  He shakes his head. “I need to see you to the gate.”

  I give him a stern look. “No. I can take care of myself. We can’t risk you being spotted in this condition.”

  He gives in and leads me to the cottage. I’ve never seen it before, though it’s not far from the palace. In the dim light of dusk, I can just make out the small stone structure in the dark.

  “I will be back with a salve from Yuven,” I tell him, turning Willowisp back toward the palace. We’re off before he can object.

  ***

  I don’t like the look Yuven is giving me.

  “What exactly do you need a salve for?” He runs a hand through his messy black hair.

  I shift from one foot to the other. “Poisonous plants.”

  “Like…” he sits down at his bench and taps his fingers, “stinging waspnettle?”

  “Something like that,” I mumble.

  “And it’s for…?”

  I grimace and then answer, “Archer.”

  Yuven takes a deep breath. “Pippa—”

  I lean down, making him look at me. “Please, Yuven.”

  He gives the table another tap, and then he goes to the cabinet along the wall. There’s dozens of tinctures, tea mixes, and salves.

  “Thank you,” I say as I gratefully take the glass jar of green goo.

  He purses his lips and nods. “You made it last time you helped me, remember?”

  I nod and make my way to the door, turning back before I leave. “How did the garden maid like the yallow?”

  He turns a deep shade of red. “She liked it.”

  “I’m happy to hear it.” I grin.

  “Don’t forget my herbs.”

  “I’ll see if I can find them tomorrow.”

  He pulls a thick volume off a shelf, already dismissing me. “Oh, and Pippa? Be kind to Archer.”

  I blink at him. “I’m always kind to Archer.”

  He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t answer.

  ***

  Firelight shines from the cottage when I arrive. I knock on the door and go in, not bothering to wait for an answer. Archer’s lying on a cot in the corner, and he sits up, looking groggy, when I come in.

  “How are you?” I sit next to him.

  The welts are angry and bright red. I check his forehead for a fever. He’s hot but nothing serious. His hair is messy, and his face is pale.

  “I brought the salve.”

  “You shouldn’t be here.” His voice is ragged. The poison from the waspnettle has taken effect.

  I release the seal on the jar and dip a finger in the green goo, scrunching my nose at the strong herbal smell. I remember my training with Yuven. “Oh, I need to wash the welts first.”

  Smearing the goo back in the jar, I wipe my finger off as well as I can and glance around the cottage. There’s not much in here. There’s a kettle on the table, though.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  “Pippa, you don’t have to—”

  “Hush.” I push him back down on the cot. “You rest. I’ll only be a moment.”

  I hear the creek from outside the cottage, but I’m not sure how far away it is. It’s a dark night. A storm has moved in, and the clouds cover the moon. I walk through the woods, feeling a little spooked in the dark.

  When I finally find the creek, I fill the kettle and stumble back to the cottage. Archer is already asleep. I set the kettle to boil and then wander the cottage, feeling lost with nothing to do. With nowhere else to sit, I settle down next to Archer.

  He shifts, his arm bumps my leg, and he groans in his sleep. I turn toward him, careful not to disturb him, and brush a few short strands of hair away from his face. Idly, I brush my fingers over his temple.

  He’s got a small, light scar just under his left cheekbone. I’ve never noticed it before, and I’m not sure where he got it. I glance down at the long scar on his arm.

  The water comes to a boil, and I remove it from the fire. Finding no clean cloth, I pull my knife from my boot and slice a rectangle of fabric from my underskirt. I dip the cloth in the water and wait just a moment for it to cool so I don’t scald him.

  If I’m careful, I might be able to tend him and slip away before he wakes up. His eyes flutter open when I dab the cloth over the welts. I give him a rueful smile. “You weren’t supposed to wake up.”

  Archer blinks several times and cringes like his head hurts. “What time is it?”

  “Late,” I answer. “I wasn’t able to sneak away until the palace was asleep. I’m sorry it took so long.”

  I clean the two welts at his neck. “I believe these are the only two wasp stings. The rest are from the nettle.”

  “It’s cold.” He tries to rise. “I’ll add more wood to the fire.”

  “You have a fever. It will break soon.” I still him with my hand. His chest is hot and feverish under my fingers.

  He looks at my hand, glances around the cottage, and finally meets my eyes. “You shouldn’t be here,” he says, his voice a whisper.

  Something knots in my chest and then releases—like a key in a lock. His gaze is still on me, and there’s not enough air. I rip my eyes back to my work. I gently smear the salve on the wounds, but I feel his stare.

  “Pippa…” he says, his voice deep and rough.

  I don’t dare look up. I’m not sure what’s wrong with me, but I know I can’t acknowledge it.

  His hand is on my cheek, and I close my eyes, leaning into his touch. “Look at me.”

  I shake my head, my eyes still closed. He sits up, and the bed shifts underneath him. He cups my other cheek, and I finally open my eyes.

  His gaze is strong but bright with fever. “I lied to you.”

  A shiver runs through me, and I try to move away. I wave my hand. “It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. My father would have probably found out somehow.”

  He looks confused, but then he laughs—a soft, surprised sound. “No, Pippa, not about the other night. About the tournament. If I were able, I would fight for you.”

  My heart is racing, and for the second time today tears sting my eyes.

  He leans forward, and his ocean eyes are intent on mine as he strokes my cheek with his thumb. “It makes no difference. It doesn’t change anything, but I want you to know that. I need you to know that.”

  Then his hands slide from my face, and he lies back down on the cot. His eyes are already closed. Slipping into sleep, he murmurs, “I would fight for you.”

  I watch him, stunned, and I don’t stand until I am sure he won’t wake when I go. I leave the cottage, shutting the door softly behind me, and then I lean against the rough wood, trying to catch my breath.

  It’s the fever speaking, that’s all. Just the fever.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Eldentimber

  When I was a little girl, my
grandparents brought me a globe from Ptarma. When I shake it, glittering pigments mix with a clear oil and shimmer over a little sculpted village. There’s beautiful chaos for several minutes, and then the pigments settle and the scene is calm again.

  I feel like I’m in that globe. Archer turned my world upside down, sending a riot of beautiful sparkling pigments around me, but this morning everything is settled and calm.

  I steal a glance at him. The salve worked well, and the welts are barely visible. He hasn’t mentioned last night’s conversation, which tells me it was nothing more than the fever addling his brain. I’m not sure he even remembers my visit to the cottage.

  That’s for the best.

  I don’t need my friendship with him getting confused and complicated. Archer is my friend. Galinor is my love.

  “Pippa, you look lost in thought this morning,” my mother says.

  My family, our knights, Lady Marigold, and Archer all look my way. With the visiting princes and lords away for the scavenger hunt, I’m allowed to join the family breakfast.

  “She’s probably dreaming of Prince Galinor.” Alexander snorts.

  My brother’s comment gets a round of quiet laughter. Leonora smiles at me from her place next to Percival. I haven’t spoken with her in the last few days, and I know she’s noticed my absence. She hasn’t asked me to explain my whereabouts. Not yet, anyway.

  Lady Marigold is quiet, just as she was the day I met her. She’s seated next to Archer, and my eyes wander to her. She eats in silence, glances up when someone speaks, and then quickly lowers her gaze back to the table. From the bits of conversation I’ve actually been listening to, Leonora has been keeping her company the last few days.

  It’s harsh to think it, but I’m glad I haven’t been charged with entertaining Lady Marigold. She seems awfully dull. I have no idea what I would do with her.

  I’m startled when she lets out a quiet laugh. Archer is smiling at her, passing her the basket of bread. She glances at him, blushes, and then accepts a roll.

  I snap my eyes away, feeling…something.

  Leonora catches my eye, tilts her head to Archer and the smiling Lady Marigold, and gives me a quick grin.

  What’s that supposed to mean?

  I rise from my chair. The scavenger hunt is wreaking havoc on my stomach, and I have almost no appetite. “Excuse me. I have lessons.”

  My mother gives me a funny look. “Paint with me today, Pippa. I have nothing else to see to, so I am going to enjoy myself.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not feeling well. I’ll do my lessons then rest for the afternoon.”

  My father gives Archer a disapproving look. “You’ve been too strenuous in your training. I’ve heard how much time Pippa has been spending on her archery.”

  “No, Father. I have been relentless in my training. With the conditions of my punishment, I have found practicing my bow a worthwhile pastime. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  “She’s besotted with that prince from Glendon,” I hear Percival say as I leave.

  “He’s far from the most suitable,” my father answers. “But we have little to fear. There is no doubt Lionel will come out victorious.”

  We’ll see about that.

  ***

  Since Anna disappeared again after breakfast, I excused myself from my lessons by switching them up so my tutors think I am with someone else all day. It was effective yesterday, and I hope it works as well today.

  Archer has been in an uncharacteristically good mood. He’s even being chatty with Galinor. I can’t help but think it has something to do with his morning with Lady Marigold. Leonora seems delighted at the prospect of the two of them getting along well.

  I glance at Galinor. He smiles, reaching out to take my hand as we ride.

  Good. Archer deserves to be happy.

  “What’s troubling you?” Galinor asks. His brow creases in concern.

  “The fifth item,” I answer. Though it’s not entirely true of the moment, the fifth item has been on my mind.

  “I’ve heard rumors it’s a black pearl.” He doesn’t seem troubled. In fact, he’s in much better spirits than yesterday. He was overjoyed when I presented him with the new inger egg and thanked Archer profusely.

  Neither Archer nor Galinor are concerned about the eldentimber resin, but I’m a little uneasy. Eldentimber trees are rare, and it’s a good half a day’s ride to the one I know of. Archer was late leaving breakfast, and it made us late meeting Galinor. I had to wait for him in the armory until the third bells of the day sounded.

  “Black pearls are the rarest known gem in Lauramore, and they are certainly worth more than anything I can think of,” I agree.

  The eldentimber will take us most of the day, but that still leaves tomorrow to find a pearl. I just hope Lionel doesn’t find one first.

  “I don’t think it’s a pearl.” Archer voices his opinion yet again. He’s not riding far in front of us today but instead is close enough to join in the conversation.

  “What is it then, Archer?” I ask, my tone snippier than I mean it to be.

  “I don’t know yet,” he answers with an easy grin.

  We’ve been riding half the day, and we’re very near the eldentimber tree now.

  Goodleburgen brush are sporadically sprouting up here and there, their strange blue leaves almost glowing in the dappled forest light. Birds call to one another, twittering like they haven’t a care in the world. That’s a little strange—there are usually many predators in the deep woods. Songbirds don’t live here.

  Archer takes in a sharp breath, and I look at the trail in front of us.

  A silver stag, perfect and regal, crosses our path. Glancing at us like we’re nothing more than bothersome squirrels, he continues on. I watch, my mouth hanging open, as he disappears in the brush.

  Just behind the spot where the stag crossed grows the eldentimber tree. Its gold leaves sway in a breeze I don’t feel. I gasp as a whir of white light flies past us, around the white trunk, and then up into the branches to join hundreds of other sparkling lights.

  “Pippa?” Archer asks, concerned. “Were there fairies living in this tree last time you were here?”

  “No.”

  “Actual fairies?” Galinor asks, bemused.

  Before I can answer, one of the lights zooms to Archer and pauses in front of his face. I can just make out the tiny man, but his wings move like a hummingbird’s and are nothing but a blur.

  “You trespass on King Brugpondam’s territory. What do you have to say for yourselves?”

  “We most certainly do not trespass,” I say hotly. “This land belongs to my father, King Ewan of Lauramore, and you may tell your king he is trespassing himself.”

  Leaving a flicker of sparks in his wake, the fairy flits to me. His hair is white like his flame, and his clothes are like doll clothes—just like ours but tiny. “You are Princess Pippa?”

  “I am.”

  “Then you are forgiven.”

  I open my mouth to retort, but Galinor interrupts before I have a chance.

  “Good sir.” He gives me a look that plainly says I am to keep my mouth shut. “We are sorry to disturb His Majesty, but we are here for an item precious to us. If you could help us secure that item, we would leave you in peace.”

  Before I can flick the fairy across the grove and into the tree trunk, the little man whirs over to Galinor. Dozens of lights have ventured closer, and we’re surrounded. “What item?”

  “Eldentimber resin.”

  A strange murmur passes through the crowd of lights, and it almost sounds like they are laughing at us.

  They are nothing but a nuisance, these fairies.

  He flits back to me, offering a mock bow before he flies into the branches. “For you, Princess, I will ask.”

  “I hate fairies,” Archer says dryly.

  One of the lights dive bombs him, hitting him in the head. He jumps and says a string of curses that I suspect would be harsher if I were not
here.

  From the tree drifts a golden light, followed by an entourage of white. The light stops in front of me. The man would be very handsome if he weren’t the size of a bird. He crosses his arms, studying me, and hovers in the air.

  “We will make a deal with you, fair Princess,” Brugpondam says. “You may have a token of resin if you can enchant us with your voice. One beautiful song for one piece of beautiful resin.”

  Archer makes a choking noise.

  I can’t sing.

  Well, I can sing, but it most certainly won’t be enchanting.

  Galinor gives me an encouraging smile, assuming, I’m sure, that all princesses sing like my mother or Leonora.

  I have no choice but to try. I take a deep breath and decide on a piece Master Draeger assured me was coming along nicely. I start a little sharp, and I wince.

  Now I’m too flat so I adjust again. I close my eyes and concentrate on the song. When I finish, I feel a little out of breath from nerves. I open my eyes, hesitant to see how I’ve been received. Awestruck faces stare at me. It might not have gone too badly after all.

  Then the laughter begins. For such small people, they can make quite a ruckus. Even Archer is holding back a smile. He snorts but controls himself when I glare at him. Galinor—well, he simply looks gobsmacked, the poor prince.

  “I sang for you. Give me the resin,” I snap, holding out my hand.

  More laughter.

  “We had a deal!” I demand.

  The king sobers, crossing his arms again.

  “I asked for a beautiful song in exchange for a piece of beautiful resin. The resin is beautiful, yes. But the song…” He shrugs, as if the matter is out of his hands.

  I sweep down from Willowisp and place my hands on my hips. “Now you listen you little insect—” I start and then suddenly stop when the forest begins to grow around me. I gasp, looking for something to grasp.

  The king flashes me a wicked smile as he grows larger and larger until he is the same size as I am. I look to Archer and Galinor for help, but they have grown as well. They are huge, and they’re staring at me with twin helpless expressions.

  The world hasn’t grown. That idiot fairy king has shrunk me.