The Eldentimber Series: Books 1 - 3

by Tapscott, Shari L.

  He sets off directly toward the animals. As we near, the beasts look up.

  Instead of feasting on grass, they are digging in the dirt. Their feet are not hooved as I had assumed, but rather, they have paws with long, sharp claws on the front. Instead of hair, they have fur, and their ears are large and round.

  The creatures do not mind that we are near, and they go back to their foraging.

  “That’s an iktar beast?” Galinor asks, gaping at the strange animals.

  Archer nods.

  “We’ve seen them all over,” I say, irritated. I look at Galinor. “We saw some the day we rode into Gelminshard.”

  “The dragons do not like them, so they are one of the only creatures that truly thrives here,” Archer explains.

  “How do you kill one?”

  Pippa shrugs. “You shoot it.”

  “But it’s just standing there, looking at us,” I protest.

  “Fine.” Pippa’s eyes sparkle. “Galinor, shoot one that isn’t looking at Anwen.”

  I can’t do this.

  I can’t watch them kill this creature. He doesn’t even have a chance.

  “I’m going back.” I turn Mara away from the group.

  I hate that I’m riding away like a squeamish girl. All this will do is remind Galinor how unlike Pippa I am. Once I enter the gates, I hand Mara to a groom. Danver runs from the stable, and I scoop him into my arms. Pika should be hiding at the edge of the forest. I hope she doesn’t wander to the gates.

  I wait for the party to return. Not long later, they do. They laugh mid-conversation as they ride in. Galinor drags the thing in behind his horse. Archer calls to his men, and they take it to be butchered.

  Galinor spots me sitting on a bench, and he comes to me. I study Danver’s fur.

  “It’s cold out here.” Galinor touches my cheek. “Why aren’t you inside?”

  “I wanted to wait for you.”

  Galinor sits next to me. “We’re going to Pippa’s greenhouse now. Would you like to join us? No slaughtering required.”

  I glare at him.

  He nudges my shoulder, grinning. “Come on.”

  Pippa joins us carrying a mess of muddy weeds. She offers them to me. “Look what I’ve found.”

  I gingerly accept them from her. “Thank you?”

  Pippa laughs. “It’s water root and kember carrots. I dug them out of the stream bank.”

  Galinor rolls his eyes. “She did.”

  “This must be your fox.” Pippa peers at Danver. “Galinor also says you have befriended a glasseln?”

  I nod.

  “Incredible,” she says, wonder in her eyes. “I didn’t think it was possible.”

  “Anwen has a way with animals.” Galinor squeezes my hand. “Dristan has requested she come to Triblue in the spring when the wild horses foal.”

  My cheeks go pink with the praise.

  Pippa gives me a very satisfied smile before she turns to tell Archer to hurry and follow us. She then drags us to her greenhouse for the pansley.

  It’s a very unassuming herb—just a green mass of tiny leaves growing in a medium-sized clay pot. Pippa snips off a large clump, wraps the stems in a damp cloth, and then deposits the whole thing in an oil-cloth bag.

  “Keep the cloth damp, and they should stay fresh for several days. They may freeze, but it won’t hurt them any.” She adds the washed kember carrots and water root to the bag, and then hands it to me. “I’m sorry you can’t stay longer. Please say you’ll come back and visit.”

  I’m sure Galinor will return.

  “Thank you, Pippa,” Galinor says, and then he turns to her husband. “Archer.”

  Since we won’t make it to Glendon today, Archer tells us of a village to stop in with a respectable inn. Instead of retracing our path and going down through Coppel, we will travel south into Glendon and then down to Primewood. I can’t say I’m upset we won’t be seeing more of Gelminshard.

  We say our goodbyes. I look back as we leave. Archer’s arm is wrapped around Pippa’s shoulders, and she clings to him as she gives us a big wave goodbye.

  They are happy together. Truly happy. I think Galinor realizes it as well, because he seems content when we leave.

  ***

  The door to the gimly’s house swings open as if Ergmin knew exactly when we would return.

  “Have any trouble finding the iktar?” He gives us a wide, old-man grin.

  I bite my tongue and enter the cottage. The gremlin must be off hiding somewhere, because he’s not peering from under the table or bounding around the kitchen.

  “Here.” I thrust the bag of ingredients at Ergmin. Galinor sets the cloth wrapped loin on the table.

  Ergmin eyes the bag and scrunches his brow. “I was hoping you’d put it all together for me.”

  Unbelievable.

  I take a slow, calming breath. “After we make you this stew, you’ll do the counter-curse?”

  Something flickers in Ergmin’s eyes but he nods. “Yes. After you make the stew the curse will be finished.”

  I haven’t even been home yet. I can’t stand to see Father looking sick and frail again. I ache for this to be over.

  Galinor rubs my shoulder as if sensing my patience has reached its limit. “We’ll make it.”

  Ergmin’s cat watches with hungry eyes as Galinor prepares the meat. The prince sets me to slicing the potatoes and carrots, a simple task I’m finding surprisingly difficult. My knife slips, narrowly missing my finger. I glare at the blade, bite my lip, and continue slicing.

  If the kitchen windows were fitted with glass so the sun could shine in, and if I wasn’t worried about the gremlin appearing at any moment, the task might be a pleasant one. As it is, however, I just want to be done with it. I have little trouble with the pansley, though I do knick myself as I slice the water root.

  Finally the stew is bubbling on the stove.

  I turn to Ergmin and hold up my hands. “There, it is done. Will you please—please—do the counter curse now?”

  Ergmin sits at the table. “As soon as we’ve enjoyed the stew together.”

  I turn to Galinor. “How long until it’s finished?”

  “A good stew needs to simmer most of the day,” Ergmin answers for Galinor. He strokes his chin, continuing to think about it. “Yes, it should be ready by this evening.”

  Absolutely not.

  I take a step forward. “Listen here—”

  “We’d love to share dinner with you,” Galinor interrupts, his eyes widening as he tries to silently tell me to keep my mouth shut.

  I grumble, yank out a chair, and sit in it. With my arms crossed, I glower at our host. Ergmin only smiles to himself, and then he produces a stack of cards.

  For not wanting to converse in the wagon, the gimly is quite gregarious now. He asks questions about nearby villagers, my parents, and the royal family.

  “I don’t get out much.” Ergmin nods to the back where the furry, sharp-toothed monster must be sleeping. “I used to go to the palace for feasts.” He looks wistful. “But you never know when Brugo will get up to trouble. It’s hard enough to sell my crops.”

  Though I feel a twinge of guilt, I won’t let myself feel too badly. He has trapped us here, after all.

  We play the game with him for most of the afternoon, and finally Ergmin pronounces the stew finished. The cooked iktar smells odd. After seeing the creature, it’s not something I am eager to eat. Ergmin doesn’t share my hesitance. He digs in, relishing every bite. I pick at mine, mostly eating the carrots and potatoes.

  Ergmin wears a satisfied smile, and he pushes his bowl away. “That was good.”

  As I wait for him to declare he’s ready to help us, he lights a pipe. I tap my foot, clasp and unclasp my hands, and eventually sigh loudly. Still, Ergmin seems content to enjoy his after supper smoke.

  I glance at Galinor. He too looks impatient, but he is better at hiding it than I am.

  Through the cracks in the closed shutters, I see it�
��s growing dark outside.

  “Farmer Ergmin,” I say when I can’t take the wait any longer. “Do you think you could do the counter curse now?”

  Ergmin looks at me and then glances at the shutters. With a large sigh, he sets his pipe aside. “I suppose it is dark now, isn’t it?”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” I demand.

  Ergmin sighs. “There is a time for everything, young lady.”

  I open my mouth and then close it again, swallowing back my words. Galinor gives me a helpless shrug when I turn my gaze to him. He’s right. Ergmin’s the only one that can undo the curse. We have no choice but to do things his way.

  Ergmin takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and then waves his hand three times. His eyes snap open, and he gives me a grim smile. “The curse is lifted.”

  I blink at him. “It’s done?”

  “That’s right.”

  I huff out a breath. “Just like that? That’s all you had to do?”

  Ergmin picks up his pipe again, lights it, and takes a large draw before he answers, “What did you expect exactly? A fire display? Something smoldering in a pot?”

  I might lunge at the old man.

  Since I don’t want to spend the rest of my life as a rat or a toad, I think it’s best we leave.

  “Thank you,” I say, rising. “I do appreciate your help.”

  Ergmin nods.

  I grab Galinor’s hand and lead him out of the cottage. I hesitate at the door and turn back. “It’s truly over? No more curse?”

  Ergmin nods, his face solemn. “It is truly over.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I travel back to the manor in a daze. Suddenly, we are here, and I don’t remember the ride back. Galinor is at my side. His presence is a comfort to me, even if I fear this is the last I will see of the prince.

  We walk through the door and are greeted with silence.

  “They should be having dinner now,” I say. I’m not sure why I whisper, but it seems the right thing to do.

  There is no one in the dining hall. There is no one in any of the sitting rooms or the library.

  Dread settles in my stomach, and I cling tighter to Galinor’s hand. “Something has happened.”

  “We don’t know that.”

  I shake my head. I can feel something is wrong.

  I lead Galinor to my parent’s chambers. Outside the door, servants linger. Many of the women dab at red-rimmed eyes, and the men look ashen.

  “What has happened?” I demand. My fingers begin to tremble.

  Brynna looks up, and when she sees me, her face crumples. “Oh, Your Ladyship,” she sobs.

  Milton steps forward and gathers Brynna in his arms. He won’t look at me. “It’s your mother.”

  “What about my mother?” My shrill voice echoes in the hallway.

  “There’s been an accident.”

  Brynna weeps louder at the words.

  “Tell me what’s happened,” I demand again.

  Milton only shakes his head. The hall churns, and I’m not sure I can stand much longer. Galinor wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me to him.

  Brynna wipes her eyes and turns to face me. “She likes to go to him when he changes back—it’s so hard on him.” Her voice trembles and more tears spill onto her cheeks. “She went early tonight…he didn’t mean to.” She starts to sob. “He would have never…”

  I break from Galinor’s arms and undo the lock on the door. I open it slowly, afraid of what waits on the other side.

  There is only one candle burning atop the table. The rest of the room is bathed in shadows. At the bed, my father’s white head is bent over my mother’s still form. Great sobs wrack his frail frame, but Mother doesn’t move. And there is blood. So much blood.

  I go cold and begin to tremble. “What’s happened?”

  Father’s head snaps up. He looks ancient—much worse than even when I left him.

  “I did this,” he gasps. “She shouldn’t have been here.”

  “No,” I whisper.

  She can’t be gone.

  Even as I fight the thought, I’m unable to deny the blood I see soaking the blankets.

  “Leave, Anwen.”

  I stand, staring at my mother’s body.

  “Go!”

  ***

  The funeral is beautiful, I suppose. The weather has warmed a little, and the autumn sunshine heats our shoulders as Mother is laid into the ground. For the first time in months, Father is out during the day.

  Very few attend the funeral. Only those in Father’s employ—those who truly know how Mother died—stand with us. We’ve kept the news of her death quiet.

  Galinor has stayed by my side the entire day. Through the service and the meal—and now through the burial—he’s never been more than arm’s-length away. I’m not sure what I would do if he weren’t here. Father goes around as if sleepwalking. The curse is lifted, but his heart is shattered. Although it’s truly not his fault, I’m not sure he’ll ever forgive himself.

  But it wasn’t him; it was me. I killed her the day I stole the stone. If I’d only known at the time.

  A tear trails down my cheek, but I don’t bother to wipe it away. I’ve been numb since we returned.

  I need to say goodbye. As much as I don’t want to, I ask Galinor to return to the manor. He hesitates, not wanting to leave me alone, but finally turns away.

  I stand here, staring at the mound of dark earth, long after the service is over. My father and I are the only ones who remain.

  A hand touches my shoulder. I turn and find Ergmin.

  “I’m sorry, Anwen,” he says, his voice quiet.

  “It’s my fault,” I answer.

  He shakes his head. “I lied to you about the curse.”

  What does it matter now?

  “It does matter,” he says as if hearing my silent thoughts. “I didn’t lift it. It ended when your mother died.”

  I shake my head, unable to grasp what he’s saying. “I don’t understand.”

  “The curse was cast by your mother.”

  My stomach lurches, and I turn away. “Leave me, old man.”

  “It’s true.” Ergmin ignores me. “Long before you were born, like many desperate people before her, your mother was enchanted by the allure of magic.”

  I close my eyes, trying to block out his words.

  “She wanted children, and yet several years after your parents were wed, they still had none.”

  I wrap my arms around myself, unable to block out his words but not wanting to listen to them.

  “Not aware of the repercussions, she paid a witch for a fertility potion and gave it to your father. That is what truly caused the curse.”

  “No!” I whip back around. “You’re lying!”

  “Nine months later you were born.”

  “I don’t want to hear this!”

  Ergmin continues anyway, “Mortified—filled with guilt—your mother told your father it was the gremlin he had recently acquired that cursed him. He, of course, believed her. She came to me. She was desperate, but there was nothing I could do. Instead, I instructed your father to speak with the fairies.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” I gasp. Ugly tears fall freely from my face.

  “Gimlies are limited on the magic we possess, but we can see glimpses of possible futures. I saw only one outcome that didn’t end in your eventual death. Your mother begged me to keep you safe—even if it meant she had to die instead of you.”

  “No,” I whisper.

  He nods.

  “So you’ve known everything? You knew I would take the stone?”

  “Yes.”

  “You found me on the road. You knew exactly where I’d be, yet you pretended to be nothing but a simple farmer to deceive me!”

  Ergmin nods. “Your father’s men would have reached you before you came to Estlebrook.”

  “What else have you done?”

  He studies me, his eyes serious.
“I whispered the rumors of the stone to Dimitri.”

  “You orchestrated the entire thing?” I demand.

  My stomach rolls, and I think I might be ill.

  “It was the only future where you didn’t die. I did what I needed to do, when I needed to do it, to keep you alive.”

  “You kept me with you until it was finished,” I accuse. “You knew he was going to kill her!”

  “If you had gone home early, it would have been you. She loved you and your father very much.”

  I swallow another sob.

  “I am sorry.”

  With nothing left to say, Ergmin leaves me. I glance across the grave at my father. He sits next to the tombstone, staring into the distance.

  Thankfully, I doubt he heard any of the conversation.

  ***

  “I don’t have to leave today,” Galinor says. “I can stay.”

  He wears a winter cloak, and he’s ready to travel. His blue eyes aren’t as bright as usual; his expression isn’t quite as warm.

  He’s still the most handsome man I’ve ever met.

  I cross my arms to block the chill. “You’ll be missed, Galinor. You’ve been gone a long time.”

  He takes a step forward. “How long until I may return?”

  “You will always be welcome here. You know that.”

  He gives me a wry smile. “You know what I mean.” He sets his hands on my shoulders. “When will it be appropriate to ask for your hand?”

  I close my eyes and twine my fingers through his. “I can’t leave Father.”

  Galinor steps closer, his eyes intent on mine. “You’ll never marry, Anwen?”

  “What choice do I have?” My voice is harsher than I intend.

  “You could both come to Glendon. We’d take care of him together.”

  I shake my head. “He wants to stay here where they were happy.”

  He sets his forehead against mine and runs his fingers through my hair. “I’ll wait for you.”

  I settle against his chest and lay my cheek against the fine material of his tunic. “You can’t do that. You’re a prince—it’s your duty to marry.”

  He laughs softly, a heartbreaking sound. “But I only want you.”

  He holds me for the longest time, but I break away first.

  I need to let him go.