Galinor steps through the brush, several hares hanging from his hands. “You won’t be eating breakfast then, I assume.” His eyes drift to the stag. “Where did you get that?”
“Pika,” I answer for Irving.
Galinor raises his eyebrows and tosses the rabbits at Irving.
“I’ll just take care of those for you,” Irving grumbles.
Galinor grins. “Thanks, Irving.”
The blond prince pauses. “Aren’t the women supposed to prepare the meat?”
Marigold looks up from her book—I can’t imagine how she reads by firelight—and scrunches her brow. “The only dead animals I’ve touched have been properly cooked.”
Irving looks at me and laughs when I cringe. Still smiling, he turns his attention to Rosie. She meets his eyes, challenging him to ask her to take care of the stag. He only smiles wider and then continues his task. Her eyes stay on him for several moments after he’s looked away.
The two are still at each other’s throats, but they’ve learned to keep their arguments to themselves. Every time Irving raises his voice, Pika corners him. It’s hard to have a good, cleansing fight when the glasseln insists on interfering.
Galinor sits across the fire, next to Dristan, and I try not to think of the empty space next to me. It’s been two weeks since he almost kissed me, and ever since he’s been keeping his distance. It’s just as well because every time he’s close I become distracted.
Galinor rests his elbows on his thighs and leans down by the fire. When he looks up, he catches me staring at him. He smirks and raises an eyebrow in question.
I flush and turn back to Bran, desperate to think of something else. “What will we do when we reach your castle?”
“You will be our guests,” he answers. “You’ll have plenty of time to explore before the festival starts. The whales migrate through this time of year, and there are always pods of dolphins not far from the shore.”
I’ve only seen a dolphin once when I was young. I’ve never seen a whale. One of Father’s ships happened upon a sea serpent once on our way to Ptarma, but that isn’t an experience I wish to repeat.
“Thank you,” I tell Bran. “You all have been so generous.”
He claps me on the shoulder. “You’re most welcome. It’s certainly been an experience.”
Pika cleans her paws. Now that her belly is full, she’s content to stretch by the fire and watch Irving tend her kill.
Bran laughs. “I never thought I would sit this close to a glasseln.”
Danver curls up next to Pika. She licks his head, yawns wide, and goes to sleep.
I smile at the pair and then go back to watching the fire.
***
We ride through the winding, stone-lined streets, making our way to the castle. People everywhere call to Bran and Dristan, recognizing their princes, and the rest of us smile and wave when acknowledged. So far, no one has raised so much as an eyebrow at our strange attire and gypsy cart. With all this attention, I feel a little like royalty myself.
Triblue is everything I remember from my youth. The sky is blue; the ocean is bluer—a teal green shade that seems to radiate like a jewel. The sandy beaches are white, and palm trees sway in a soft breeze. Brightly colored flowers in reds, pinks, and yellows grow rampant amid the needled evergreens and fat-leaved bushes not far from the shore.
Castle Calland is built up on a hill by the ocean surrounded by the village, Saltwreath, and its seaports. A grand structure, even to one who has seen castles all her life, it’s a breathtaking sight. Hundreds of tall, arched windows sparkle from their setting in the warm, tan rock. Balconies call for guests to bathe in the sun, and red flowering vines crawl from the lower walls, competing in color only with the lower citrus trees loaded with fruit.
Marigold takes in everything with eager, sparkling eyes. “I’ve never been this far south.”
I give her a small smile. “I invited you to come with my family years ago. Do you remember?”
She nods, but her enthusiasm dims. “It was too soon.”
She’d lost her family only a year before the invitation. I had hoped travel would help her forget, but instead, she stayed locked up in the castle library.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I ask her gently.
I whistle to a bird watching us from one of the trees. Eagerly, it swoops down to me. I hold out a finger, and it lands, its little feet tickling me.
“An azure monakeet.” Marigold looks at the bird longingly. “I left my sketch pad in the cart.”
The little bird stretches his wings as if he is showing off his brilliant blue plumage and scarlet tail. Danver, who is stretched across Rosie’s lap in the cart, watches the bird with avid interest. His ears twitch, and his eyes light up. Luckily for the bird, Danver isn’t close enough to attack.
I give the monakeet a boost into the air. “Go on now.”
We come to the front gates. Two guards stand at attention, and when they see the princes, they call for the gates to be opened. A trumpet sounds, announcing Bran and Dristan’s arrival, and we ride into a circular courtyard.
I gape at the fountain in the front entry. A stone artisan has carved the likeness of a mermaid on a rock with two dolphins jumping next to her. The fountain sprays into the air and the mermaid tilts her head up in laughter, holding her hand out to the falling water.
“Have you been to Castle Calland?” Dristan asks, riding next to me.
“No, my father has only taken me to the ports.”
“The festivals are by the eastern port.” Dristan points toward the ocean. “The tents are already being set up.”
From the courtyard balcony that overlooks the town, I see several brightly colored tents and a few gypsy carts.
Dristan looks back at me. “It will still be several days before they’ve all arrived.”
Grooms meet us, and they whisk our horses away. One man frowns at Bran and Dristan’s mounts. “What has happened to your Altiers?
Dristan shoots Irving a look. “Stolen at an inn in Glendon.”
“Errintonians?” the groom asks.
“It was more of a personal squabble,” Bran answers. The groom asks no more, but before he leaves, Bran stops him and motions to me. “Lady Anwen has a pet with special requirements. I will need you to tend to it.”
“Of course.” The groom gives me an easy smile. “Where is your animal?”
I glance at Bran, unsure how to proceed.
“In the gypsy cart,” Bran answers.
The man strides to the cart, climbs the steps, and opens the door wide before swiftly slamming it shut. “What is that?”
Bran chuckles. “It’s a glasseln—but do not worry. It is a tame one.”
The man goes pale, and he almost looks as if he’s swallowed his tongue.
Bran only smiles. “She is quite docile on a lead now. I believe if you keep her well fed, you won’t have any trouble with her.”
“Where will we keep her?” the groom asks.
Bran glances at Dristan, and they both appear to be in thought.
“Might I suggest the dungeons, Your Royal Highnesses?” the man says.
“Absolutely not,” I snap.
The man tips his head in apology. “She would be very happy, I assure you. There is an abundance of rats, and we would take her out several times a day.”
There’s nowhere for Pika to roam free near the castle. The seaport town is too large, and there are people in abundance.
“Can we have the gypsy cart taken down for her?” I ask. “I would like her to have somewhere soft to sleep.”
Bran grins. “We’ll have a room made up for her. She’ll have the finest quarters the dungeons have ever seen.”
I nod, though I’m not sure I like this arrangement. I pass the groom and enter the cart. With the lead clipped to the new leather collar Dristan fashioned for her, I coax Pika into the sunshine. She stretches low, her shoulders down and her haunches in the air, and extends her wings.
Gasps s
ound from all around the courtyard, but I ignore them and stroke her soft fur. She purrs, happy to be out of the confined space of the gypsy cart.
I hand the lead to the groom. “She needs a good, long walk before she’s taken to her quarters.”
He stares at the strip of leather, and his hand trembles when he takes it from me. “Of course.”
I watch the man amble off, half-leading, half-pulled by Pika. Only once they pass under an arch and out of sight do I follow Bran and Dristan inside the castle.
“You don’t think she’ll eat him, do you?” Irving asks.
I frown. “I don’t think so.”
***
I stroke the dark wood bedpost, lifting aside the canopy of fine netting. I had assumed Rosie, Marigold, and I would share a room, but Bran and Dristan’s parents are as generous as their sons and gave us each our own. Rosie, uncomfortable with the finery of the castle, offered to sleep in the gypsy cart. The king and queen wouldn’t hear of it.
Someone has left the doors to my balcony wide open. A soft, warm breeze blows through, bringing with it the smells of the sea. Ships float to and from the port. Many are large, multi-sailed vessels with carved prows, but there are small fishing boats on the water as well.
A knock sounds on my door, and when I open it, I find Galinor. Surprised, I look around to see if any of the others are with him. My stomach flutters when I see he’s alone.
An easy smile tips his lips. “Bran and Dristan are attending family business. The last I saw of Irving and Rosie, they were bickering, and Marigold has disappeared into the library. I assume we will see her again in a few days.”
I washed away the dust from the road as soon as I stepped into my room; he must have done the same. His hair is wet and dark, and his jaw is smooth from a recent shave. My fingers itch to run across his skin, but I keep my hands to myself where they belong.
After the last two weeks, I’m beginning to wonder if I imagined our moment in the cart. Maybe it was a vivid hallucination brought on by Rosie’s sleeping draught.
Galinor crosses his arms over his chest, and he watches me like he’s waiting for something.
“Oh.” I step away from the doorway. “Come in?”
He enters but stops only a few feet in and turns back toward me. There’s little room left between us. “So it looks like it’s just us,” he says, his voice lowering. “I thought you might like to sightsee with me.”
I’m so shocked, I don’t answer right away. “You want to go with me?” I ask, and then I clamp my mouth shut.
He smirks. “Yes, that is the idea.”
Having abandoned his gypsy garb now that we’re no longer amongst the troupes, he once again looks like a prince of Glendon. His tunic is gray and fitted, and the fabric looks soft. He wears his sword belted at his hip—he keeps it on him at all times—and his tall leather boots are clean and gleaming.
He waits for my answer, his eyebrows raised. The subtropical air seems a little too heavy and warm to breathe.
I glance at my gown. It’s the same rose velvet Leonora gave me before we left Lauramore. It looks a little drab amongst Triblue’s colors. “I need to change before we leave.”
“You look lovely.”
I smile at the compliment but shoo him out the door anyway.
I would like to hang the amethyst dress his mother gave me before I wear it again, but it will have to do. I pull it on and glance in the large mirror as I struggle with the ties. I frown at my hair, which falls down my back in partially dried spirals. It’s too bad I don’t have time for a maid to tend it. I twist it in a simple braid and coil it up with pins. It will have to do.
Once dressed, I take a deep breath and open the door. Waiting for me, Galinor looks out a floor length window, his hands clasped behind him. I clear my throat, and he turns. His eyes light with appreciation, and he offers me his arm.
I feel giddy and nervous. I’m worried my blush is going to extend all the way from my cheeks to my chest, leaving me ugly and blotchy. If it does, Galinor doesn’t seem to notice.
He escorts me through the hall, down the stairs, and into the balmy sunshine. In front of us is an open-top carriage with a driver waiting. I hesitate when Galinor leads me toward it.
“You didn’t expect to explore on foot, did you?” he asks, his tone light.
I’m not sure what I expected, exactly. I can’t take a long walk through the town with my leg still healing, and I certainly don’t want to wear this dress on a horse.
Galinor helps me step into the carriage, gives the driver instructions, and then sits down next to me.
I am forced to look up because he is so much taller than I am, even when we’re seated. “Where are we going?”
Galinor leans close, his eyes shining as he tilts his head to whisper in my ear, “It’s a surprise.”
Chapter Fifteen
My heart races in my chest—as much from Galinor’s nearness as his words.
He doesn’t seem to notice my discomfort, and he only smiles at me before telling the driver we are ready. Here in Triblue, where all the colors are amplified, his eyes shouldn’t be so startling.
But they are.
We drive through the village, and I take in the sights with shameful exuberance. There’s so much to see. I can’t tell if there’s always this much hustle and bustle in the streets, or if the villagers are knee-deep in festival preparations. Our driver moves slowly because of the foot traffic. People dart this way and that, and children run across the street. Everywhere someone is calling a greeting to someone else.
It’s mesmerizing.
Galinor laughs. “You’re going to fall out of the carriage.”
I hadn’t realized I was leaning so far over the side, but now I sit back, feeling foolish. “There’s so much going on. It’s so different from Primewood.”
“And Glendon,” Galinor agrees.
We pass the western pier and most of the town, and when it seems we are leaving Saltwreath altogether, again, I ask Galinor where we are going.
He sits back, stretching his legs in front of him. “I told you; it’s a surprise.”
Feeling brave, I nudge him with my shoulder. “You said you’ve never explored Triblue.”
He turns, an easy smile on his handsome face. “I haven’t, but Dristan mentioned something I think you might like.”
The suspense is killing me. I’ve never been good with surprises or secrets; I can barely contain myself. I glance at Galinor, wondering if I can sneak a hint out of him. He must read my thoughts, because he gives me a cocky grin and raises an eyebrow, daring me to try.
I inhale softly. The change in him is remarkable. Just over a month ago he was sullen, but now he’s open and happy and completely at ease. Apparently dining with fairies, traveling amongst gypsies, and being tossed out of a kingdom was all that was needed to raise his spirits. This beautiful, balmy air can’t hurt either.
Galinor cocks his head to the side. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Under this confident exterior, I think he might be as nervous as I am.
He smiles, waiting for my answer. My mind wanders from thoughts of his smile to thoughts of soft kisses, and from soft kisses to soft embraces, and before I know it, I’ve flustered myself into forgetting what he’s asked me. I shake my head, acting as if I didn’t hear him properly.
“I asked why you are looking at me like that.”
Because I want you to kiss me, you beautiful idiot. Now. What are you waiting for?
I tap his chest, hoping to change the subject. “You’re better suited to tunics than vests and scarves.”
He laughs. “I wholeheartedly agree.”
“Are you glad you came with us?” I blurt out. The question takes him by surprise, and I quickly continue, “Forgetting about the parts where we traveled across the kingdoms in a wild goose chase and where we were kicked out of Lenrook in the middle of the night.”
“And when you were shot?”
I tilt my
head, agreeing. “Yes—most certainly forgetting when I was shot—but other than all that?”
“And the parts where I was forced to dress as a gypsy against my will?”
I give him a wry look. “I didn’t force you.”
“You cut my tunic apart.”
“It wasn’t a bad look for you.” Heat returns to my cheeks. I bite my lip and look away.
Galinor leans close, and I wonder if it’s so our driver won’t overhear what he’s about to say. “Anwen, you’re blushing.”
He smells good, too. The soap he used to bathe with before our outing must have been scented with citrus oils, because he smells like ternfruit and tangerines.
“You realize that if you take that all away, you’ve discounted our entire trip,” he teases, bringing me back from my wandering thoughts.
I shake my head to argue, and then realize that yes—yes—he is correct.
“All right,” I say, preparing to amend my original question. “Are you glad you came with us despite all of that?”
“Yes. Who knows what trouble you would have gotten in if I hadn’t been here.”
I give him a solemn nod. “I told you.”
He’s about to say something else, but the carriage stops, and the driver announces our arrival. We’ve reached the eastern pier. I look at Galinor in question. The pier is all hustle and bustle and excitement, but it wasn’t where I expected Galinor to bring me. I accept his hand as he helps me down from the carriage. A little thrill passes through me when he doesn’t drop it once I’m on the ground.
Happy to make our way through the crowds with my hand in his, I follow him without question. Galinor passes the docked vessels, and he appears to be looking for something in particular.
He stops in front of a small sailing ship and nods to the captain. “Are you Jacques?”
The man looks over and acknowledges Galinor with a wave. He makes his way around boxes and coils of rope, and then he joins us on the pier.
“I was told by Prince Dristan that you would sail us to Isle Merrily.”
Sail?
It’s not lost on Jacques that Galinor has dropped Dristan’s name quite intentionally.
“You a friend of the prince?” the man asks.
The Eldentimber Series: Books 1 - 3 Page 38
