The memory of Marigold’s villa thick with flames bursts unbidden to my memory, but I nod anyway.
The dragon turns back to Penrith. “Nothing to fear unless you have come to my mountain to hunt me or my young—then you will have much to fear.” A wisp of smoke curls from her nostril.
She turns toward Galinor, whose downcast eyes are focused on the fire. “Why do you not look at me, young slayer?”
“He has taken oath to one of your own,” I answer for him, my voice quivering. “To never again speak to your kind.”
The dragon breathes a soft flame on the waning fire. “And you still respect that, even after the treaty?”
Galinor nods, his teeth clenched.
“Consider yourself free of it,” the dragon says, stretching her scaled shoulders in an almost human shrug. “No dragon will break the treaty. We are honorable creatures—unlike humans.” She settles down as if she’s going to stay awhile. “What is your name?”
Galinor looks up, meeting her eyes for the first time. “Galinor of Glendon, second born of King Howell and his queen, Penelope.”
Penrith’s eyes go wide.
The dragon is silent, thinking. Finally, she says, “I know of you and your oath. Old Murgstead died years ago. You are free.”
“Thank you.” Galinor’s shoulders sag with relief. “Truly.”
The dragon stretches and shakes the falling snow off her wings. “I like you, Galinor of Glendon.” She turns to Penrith. “I don’t like you, Errintonian. See to your business, and get off my mountain.”
Penrith gives the dragon a mock half bow.
She pins him with a gaze so hard, I shrink back. Penrith doesn’t flinch.
The dragon opens her great wings and takes to the sky. It isn’t until she disappears into the clouds that Penrith turns to us. “I’ll take the first watch. You two get some sleep.”
Galinor agrees, and we lay our bedrolls on the cold, stone ground. I toss and turn and shiver. I’m sure I won’t sleep at all tonight.
***
I wake, unsure what’s roused me. I glance across the tent. Galinor is asleep, and the night is still black. Not yet time for our watch, I close my eyes and try to find sleep again. I ache with the cold. I don’t know how I fell asleep at all; I have no idea how I will find it again.
I stretch my toes, trying to warm them, and then I freeze. Voices drift through the tent.
“I checked on them myself. They’re both asleep,” Penrith says.
“Did you give them the draught?”
Penrith laughs. “It was in the mead. Since I drank it as well, they never thought to check it.”
I suck in a gasp.
“Lucky you’re immune to the stuff,” the second voice says.
“Drink it enough and it stops working.”
There’s the sound of footsteps, and I believe the men have sat down in front of the fire. Now that my eyes have adjusted, I can faintly see two silhouettes through the canvas.
“Do you think Peter knew he sent us a prince?” Penrith asks.
“Peter is a fool,” the visitor says. “He saw their clothing and guessed at wealth—nothing else.”
His voice is familiar.
I stretch over and shake Galinor. He doesn’t wake.
The men continue to discuss their luck. We don’t have much time. If they’re planning to rob us, I doubt they’ll leave us alive.
I jump back to my bedroll and close my eyes when I hear the men rise. For now, it’s probably best to appear asleep.
“I want the girl,” Penrith says.
They pause outside the tent, and the second man answers, “If you keep the girl, you’ll get no share in the gold.”
“They’ll be more gold. I want her.”
“What will you do with her? Take her as your wife?”
Penrith snorts. “Not likely.”
They enter the tent, and the firelight glows through my eyelids.
“I didn’t think the draught worked on her at first. She tossed and turned for a good hour before she finally fell asleep.” There’s an odd strain of admiration in his voice.
“You’d keep her alive even though she could be your death?”
It sounds as if they’ve turned away, and I chance a peek. As I suspected, it’s the barman.
Penrith is quiet for a moment. “I don’t think we should kill him either.”
“What?” The barman quietly hisses. “Leave him alive? Are you insane? Did you see how close he was to killing that fool Maynard for touching her? He’ll run you through without so much as a regret.”
They leave the tent, and I can finally breathe again.
“He’s a prince, Edmund. Imagine the life we could have if we befriended a high and mighty royal of Glendon. No more preying of lowly travelers. We could leave Errinton for good.”
Edmund snorts. “Yes, he’s likely to become chummy with you when he finds out what an iktar is.”
“That was your story, not mine.”
What does he mean? What is an iktar?
My arm is going to sleep, and I’m forced to shift. Next to me, Galinor groans and rolls over.
“Shhh,” Penrith says. “Someone stirred. Get back, I’ll whistle when I need you.”
Since they’ve heard me anyway, I pull back my bedroll and go to the tent flap, giving Galinor a good shake before I step out. Only Penrith sits by the fire.
He turns as if startled to see me awake. “Anwen,” he says. “What are you doing up?”
If they are continuing with the ruse, perhaps Penrith has convinced Edmund to rethink his plan.
“I’m not a sound sleeper.”
He motions to the fire. “Sit with me.”
I take a seat across from him. He watches me, questioning my hesitation. Despite the scar, one could say he is a decent looking man, but even before I knew his dark intentions, he made me nervous.
“Why do you look at me like that?” he asks.
“Why a sleeping draught instead of a poison?” I whisper so Edmund can’t hear me.
His eyebrows shoot up, and then his lips purse to a thin line. He takes a slow breath before he finally answers, “You think I like to murder people, Anwen? I don’t.”
“It was your plan anyway, wasn’t it? Wouldn’t poison have been more expedient?”
His eyes are hard. “It was not my plan. It was Edmund’s. All I came to the tavern for was a tankard of mead.”
“But you accepted it.”
He nods. “I did.”
“Why?”
“My sister’s husband was killed in the wars. Her children are starving.” He narrows his eyes. “We are all starving. The only money that enters this forsaken kingdom is in the pockets of travelers.”
I shake my head and look at the fire. “There must be something—’
“What?” he demands, his voice raising now. “Look around. Do you see what we have? We have miserable, useless dragons.”
“That can’t be all—”
He leans forward and cuts me off, “And when we venture lower, like vermin escaping a sinking ship, we are chased back to drown. You think we don’t know how the lower kingdoms feel about us? What you all say?”
“But it’s true!” I burst out, unable to hold my tongue. I’m not sure why Edmund hasn’t shown himself yet, but I no longer care. “Look what you were planning to do to us!”
“Were?” he asks.
He’s on his feet now. I step back only to walk into the rock wall behind me.
“Edmund, you can come out now,” Penrith calls as he stalks toward me.
My heart races in my chest, and my throat constricts with fear. What good was it to provoke him? Now I’ve only made him angry.
Penrith slides his hunting knife out of its sheath, and he runs it down my cheek. “I was going to spare your life,” he says. “But you are ungrateful.”
Behind Penrith, Galinor steps from the tent, his sword already in hand. “Let her go, Penrith.”
Penrith tenses,
but he doesn’t move his knife. “Toss me your gold, and I will free her.”
Galinor loosens the pouch at his side, but before he can toss it, Pika strides into the camp, dragging an unconscious Edmund behind her. I gasp when I see them, and Penrith turns his head.
Surprised by both the glasseln and her captive, Penrith doesn’t stop me when I duck away from his knife and knee him with all my might. When he doubles over, I kick him in the knee for good measure. He stumbles and makes a grab for me, only narrowly missing.
I rush into Galinor’s arms and take a deep breath. We’re safe now that he’s awake.
“Is he dead?” I ask Galinor as I look at Edmund.
The man in question groans.
“Not yet,” Galinor answers.
Pika comes to me. She sits at my feet and lays her head against my side so I may pet her.
Penrith hops to the rock wall and leans against it, clutching his knee. “You have a glasseln.”
I nod.
“If you’re going to kill me, then get it over with.”
Galinor wraps his arm around my shoulders. “You want to feed your family?”
Penrith sets his jaw, glaring at us.
“Go find Lord Rigel and tell him you wish to work. He will find you something.”
Penrith narrows his eyes. “He’s one of the king’s pets.”
“He’s a good man.” The way Galinor says it, it sounds as if the words pain him, and I wonder at their history.
I don’t have time to ponder it. The sun is just beginning to peek over the mountains, and the sky is lightening.
“Where can we truly find an iktar beast?” I demand.
Penrith laughs without humor. “In the valleys.” He raises an eyebrow. “They move lower when winter comes.”
***
We have wasted two days on this mountain. Unfortunately, once we reach the valley, it’s evening again. Gelminshard is the only town near.
We pass once more through its gates, leaving Pika and Danver to hide. Galinor doesn’t have the look of a friendly traveler tonight, and very few watch us ride through the streets. We stop at the first inn. It is a warm, friendly establishment with few patrons. Confident we are far safer here than we were the first night we spent in Errinton, Galinor buys two rooms. We wake more well rested than we’ve been in days.
In the morning, we travel west, leaving Gelminshard well behind. As we ride, we exchange stories from our childhoods. I laugh at the antics of Galinor and his brother, and he listens, disbelieving, as I give him a list of the woodland pets I’ve kept. We ride until almost dark, and yet we still haven’t come across another village.
I’m beginning to feel very weary when we cross a hill, and there, on the other side of the valley, is a castle. It’s large, and like the entrance of Gelminshard, there are stone dragons standing guard at the gates.
Galinor looks relieved. “We will beg their hospitality.”
I’ve heard nothing but horrible things about Errintonians—especially the kingdom’s royalty. I’m not sure we want to be at their mercy.
There are a few cottages near the gates. None have attempted to farm the land around them, though a few have small vegetable patches, most bare now that the weather has turned. More shaggy cows graze a ways off, and there are chicken coops near the homes, no doubt harboring their feathered occupants for the night.
We stop at the gates.
“State your name and your business,” a guard calls out.
“I am Prince Galinor of Glendon and traveling with me is the Lady Anwen of Primewood. We beseech the lord of this fine castle to allow us rest for the evening.”
The guard nods and passes the message to a runner next to him. Our horses shift under us as we wait for the reply. They too are weary.
Soon the gates open, allowing us entry. We ride in and hand our horses to a groom. I’m just taking in the tall, lonely castle when a woman throws open the doors and comes racing for Galinor. Her red hair flies behind her in a cascade of waves.
I stare, dumbstruck, as she jumps up to embrace him, laughing and chattering at him like a wild thing. At first he’s shocked, and then he laughs with her, asking her questions and answering her own.
Finally he turns to me. “Pippa, this is Anwen.”
“Anwen, this is Pippa.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
It’s Pippa. Of course it is.
The princess I remember was very pretty. This woman is gorgeous. She would make a siren look average. She makes me feel very plain, indeed.
“Hello,” I say, my voice quiet.
Pippa doesn’t seem to notice my hesitation. She grabs me by the hand and drags me into the hall. “I have no idea what you’re doing here, but I couldn’t be happier.” She turns to me. “Do you know how many visitors we get?” She holds up her hands, exasperated. “None. You are the first.”
A man with light brown hair and friendly eyes enters the hall. “Pippa, allow them to breathe.”
Though very good looking, he’s not as handsome as Galinor. Pippa must disagree, however. When she sees him, she lights up, a wide smile stretching across her face. “Archer, look who’s come!”
Archer smiles at his wife’s exuberance. “Yes, I can see.” He laughs. “It is good to see you, Galinor. You are well?” He then turns to me. “I am sorry, I’m Archer. You are most welcome in our home.”
“Home,” Pippa scoffs with a grin. “It’s cold and gloomy.” She laughs again. “But, yes, you are most welcome.”
Then, with nothing left to say, the hall becomes quiet. Both Pippa and Archer look at us expectantly, waiting for the story of who I am and why Galinor and I are together.
“Lady Anwen is Baron Millner of Primewood’s daughter,” Galinor offers.
I nod, unsure what to add.
“You must know Irving and Marigold,” Pippa says.
“I do, yes. We grew up together.”
“How is Irving?” Archer asks.
They lead us through the halls to a small, intimate dining area. A fire burns, and it’s much warmer in here than the rest of the castle.
“He is well,” Galinor answers. “He’s engaged to a gypsy.”
They both raise their eyebrows, but neither look all that surprised. Apparently they came to know Irving well during his stay in Lauramore.
“And you are in Errinton because…?” Pippa lets the question hang in the air.
“It’s a long story,” I mumble.
Pippa’s obviously not going to let it go. She leans her elbows on the table and rests her chin in her hands. “Oh, good. I hope it’s nice and long. I’ve been bored to tears.” She smiles encouragingly.
I let Galinor tell them our tale. He glosses over the embarrassing bits, making me sound much more like a damsel in distress than I truly am.
“How horrible.” Pippa’s expression is as serious as it has been since we arrived. “But, Galinor, why did you go to the mountains for an iktar? And why would you hire a guide?”
A shadow passes over Galinor’s face.
“We’ve no idea what they are,” I admit. “I’ve never heard of them.”
Pippa nods. “That’s true. I’d never seen one until we came here.” She shrugs, nonchalant. “But they’re everywhere. We’ll help you hunt one tomorrow.”
“Anwen, where’s the list?” Galinor asks.
I draw it from my pouch and hand it to him.
“Pippa, you know about herbs. Where can we find all this?”
The princess reads the parchment. “You can still harvest water root and kember carrots this time of year, and I have pansley. I’m sure there are potatoes in the kitchen. You may have as much as you want.”
“You have fresh pansley?” I ask, incredulous it could grow here.
She nods. “Archer had a greenhouse constructed immediately after the wedding.” She beams at him, and he smiles back.
Archer doesn’t say much, but he is clearly as in love with Pippa as she is him. I glance at Galinor to see
how this affects him.
He meets my eye, takes my hand, and smiles. “After tomorrow we’ll have everything to take to Ergmin. Your father’s curse will be lifted.”
He’s right. Pippa has all the ingredients for Ergmin’s stew. Father will be free.
Galinor will go back to Glendon.
I try to smile back at him, and then I attempt to eat the food in front of me.
The topic of conversation turns back to the tournament, and they share stories. Once again, I wish I had been in Lauramore for it.
***
Pippa pulls on her quiver and bow, and then she slides a knife into her boot. I pull on my cloak and adjust my necklace.
I feel like an idiot next to Pippa.
“We’ll need our packs,” Galinor tells the stable boy that brings us our horses.
“We don’t have far to go,” Pippa assures him with a smile. She flips her braid over her shoulder.
Her hair is strange—unnatural. The red is usual enough, but it fades to gold at the ends. I tug at my own curls, which are looking dull after all the traveling we’ve done.
Archer joins us, and, true to his name, he wears a bow as well.
Pippa has a bow; Archer has a bow; Galinor has a bow.
I have a necklace.
“You have that sour look again,” Galinor teases me quietly. His eyes are shockingly blue against the gray skies, and he looks happy.
“I’m not eager to track an iktar,” I answer.
Archer leads us out the main gates. “No tracking required.” We pass through the walls, and then, just outside, he stops. “There.” He motions to the rocky meadow. “Take your pick.”
I don’t see anything but rocks and trees and shaggy cows.
Galinor narrows his eyes as he searches the landscape, but he doesn’t seem to have any more luck than I do. He shakes his head and turns to Archer. “What am I looking at?”
Archer laughs. “Do you see that cow out there?”
Galinor is growing impatient. “Yes…”
Archer nods. “That’s an iktar.”
Pippa laughs like Archer’s said something funny.
“The cow is an iktar beast?” I ask, sure they are having a joke at our expense.
“It’s not a cow,” Archer says. “Come, we’ll show you.”
The Eldentimber Series: Books 1 - 3 Page 46
