Pippa of Lauramore

by Shari L. Tapscott

  “We’ll go for a picnic.” I like the idea now that it’s planted in my head. “You need to get away for a few hours.”

  She shakes her head and sighs. “No, what I need is to get you to Prince Kimble so I can help your mother with the final events today.”

  “Go on. I’ll go as soon as my hair is finished.” I wave her off.

  She actually laughs at me.

  I tap my foot, impatient to be done in this chair. “I promise you. I will go straight to Sir Kimble.”

  She leans forward. “Pippa, so help me—if you don’t show up—”

  “Go,” I say again, rolling my eyes.

  “Thank you.” Leonora touches my shoulder as she brushes by. “Don’t make me regret it.”

  “If you can’t trust me, who can you trust?” I call after her, a grin on my face.

  Her laughter echoes down the hall.

  ***

  Sir Kimble cranes his neck, looking past me, and peers in the hall. “Where’s Anna?”

  I shrug. “Leonora said she had something to do this morning.”

  “Where’s Leonora?”

  I step past him and take my place at the table. “She had to help Mother with the village tournament.”

  He looks bemused. “You came…all by yourself?”

  “Honestly,” I scoff. “You all act like I’m incapable of following instructions.”

  My uncle tilts his head to the side. “Are you capable of following instructions?”

  I have a purpose for today’s geography lesson, so I ignore him and cut to the chase. “Tell me about Errinton.”

  “What do you want to know? It’s rocky, cold, inhospitable, and has the largest population of dragons of any of the known kingdoms.”

  “Tell me about their involvement in the Dragon Wars,” I say, referring to a decade long battle that was waged from the time I was a tiny toddler to my thirteenth year. Lauramore created a truce with the dragons only three years in the war, but many kingdoms fought for five, six, or seven years. Only Errinton fought the entire ten.

  Sir Kimble sits down, his face serious. “Errinton is a very old kingdom, and their dragon armor was much sought after. They’re the only kingdom with the knowledge of creating an alloy of iron and dragon scales, and it made their land rich. Once the truce was accepted, the killing of dragons was forbidden.”

  I know all this. “Is that why so many of their citizens are turning to thievery? Is the kingdom going broke now that they can’t make the dragon armor? Or are they really a cruel, savage people as I’ve been told?”

  “There’s not much coming out of Errinton. There’s ore in their mountains, but it’s never been seriously mined. Other than that, the kingdom is rock, some scraggly grass here and there, and dragons. Right now, the people are starving. No one goes to Errinton for a holiday—no one goes there for anything. There’s no money going in whatsoever.”

  “Are they a cruel people?” I ask again.

  He thinks about it, scratching his chin. “Some are, certainly. But they’re also desperate.”

  “That doesn’t make it right to rob people—to steal their livestock and crops.” And much, much worse, but I don’t mention it.

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “Why is Lord Rigel here?” I get to the point.

  “The same reason as the rest. He’s competing for your hand.”

  I shiver, feeling cold.

  Sir Kimble leans forward. “He’s neither cruel nor savage. He has ideas to save the kingdom, and he and your father have discussed a great many things in the last few years. My brother would be very happy with a match between the two of you.”

  It’s becoming clear that my father’s idea of a good match is very, very different from mine.

  ***

  I slip the needle in the handkerchief I’m working on and admire my stitches. Anna pauses over my shoulder, and I glance up. She’s scrutinizing my work.

  “What?” I look at the embroidery closer. It’s perfect.

  She holds out her hand, and I give the handkerchief to her. She flips the piece over and examines the back. Finally she sighs. “Your skill has improved vastly in the last year, Pippa.”

  I still want to know what’s wrong with it.

  “I’m afraid I could do no better myself.” She doesn’t sound happy.

  “Is that a problem?”

  Isn’t that the point of lessons? What does she expect? I’ve embroidered more skirts, pillows, curtains, handkerchiefs, linens, and scraps than anyone I know—including the fine and demure Leonora. Every time I find myself in trouble I’m either assisting Yuven, copying endless scrolls, or sitting for hours on end with a needle.

  And I’m in trouble a lot.

  The chorus of bells rings, announcing the hour.

  “Set it aside for now. I’ll walk you to archery, and then I have to find your mother.”

  I don’t set it aside. I thread my needle and settle back against the chair to continue. “I’m not going to archery today.”

  I steal a glance at her, and she looks mildly surprised.

  “Are you feeling well?” she asks, setting her hand on my forehead.

  My stomach growls. I couldn’t touch the afternoon meal because I was so worked up over seeing Archer. “I’m fine.”

  “Then you will be going to your lesson. Archer has already been summoned from the events.”

  I might as well get it over with. Over the last day, my anger has boiled away to hurt. I still can’t believe he lied to me.

  I lay the handkerchief on the chair, and Anna gives me an approving nod. I follow her into the armory and smile at the guards stationed at the door.

  “Good morning, Princess,” Owen, the older guard, says.

  His wife is one of my mother’s maids, and they’re both very kind.

  “You’ve polished your armor,” I say, seeing the way it gleams. “It looks very nice.”

  “Thank you, Princess.”

  I pause when I see Archer in the door, tending his hawk. He’s heard us and turned around. I keep the smile on my face, but it’s forced. We pass into the room, and I turn toward a wall of swords, as if I’m interested in them.

  “You are to escort the princess to the palace gates after the lesson.” Anna seems rushed.

  Archer nods. “Of course, Lady Anna.”

  She gives him an indulgent smile and then leaves us. The huge wooden door closes with a heavy thud, announcing we’re alone.

  I can’t look at him. I’m so mad I think I might cry—and I most certainly do not cry. I fetch my bow, check to see that it’s been well cared for, and march past him.

  Archer touches my shoulder. “Pippa—”

  I jerk away.

  He runs a hand over his face. He hasn’t shaved today, and there’s light stubble along his jaw. “Pippa, now listen.”

  “Now you listen.” I whip around so quickly, the end of my braid hits my shoulder as I turn. “You promised.”

  I don’t like the way my voice hitches at the end.

  He sets his hands on his hips, his eyes flashing at the accusation. “I didn’t tell your father.”

  “You didn’t?” I ask, my tone mocking.

  His shoulders tense, and he takes a step closer. “No, I didn’t.”

  “All right then, Master Archer, who did?”

  He looks away, frustrated, and rolls his shoulders. “I don’t know.”

  I huff out a breath.

  “Fine. You didn’t do it,” I say finally, even if my tone says otherwise.

  “You don’t trust me?”

  I do trust him. Or at least, I did. I can’t answer, so I shrug instead.

  Archer takes my shoulders and pins me with his eyes. “Pippa, I didn’t tell your father. I didn’t tell anyone.”

  There’s a little crack in my certainty, and I waver. Absently, I notice his eyes look a little more green today than blue.

  “I don’t want to speak of it anymore.” I look away. “It doesn’t matter. What�
��s done is done.”

  His shoulders relax, and he releases me.

  The archery yard is busy today, with several of our visitors using the last day before the tournament begins to practice. Several turn when we step through the armory doors, and some call their greetings. Archer is stiff beside me.

  He chooses a seldom used target toward the back wall. Over here, perseverant meadow grass pokes through the courtyard floor. A large apple tree shades the target with dappled light, and the shadows move with the breeze.

  I pull the gossamer fabric from my arms, fighting with the laced cuff at my bicep. Once I finally get them both free, I hang them over a branch.

  “What is their purpose?” Archer asks, scowling at the sheer fabric. His tone is back to casual and, as usual, a little aloof.

  “To irritate me.” I slip on my leather arm guard.

  A smile plays at his lips, but he doesn’t answer. He taps my elbow. “Stop dropping your arm.”

  I straighten it, take a breath, and let the arrow fly. It hits three circles from the center. I drop my bow to my side.

  “It’s fine. Try again,” Archer says.

  I raise my bow, he taps my elbow again, and the arrow hits the target. This time it’s in the last circle. I do it again and again, but I still can’t get the arrow in the center. I’ve been doing this for years. I’m good at it—really good.

  Not today, though.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks. “Your mind isn’t here. Where is it?”

  “Nowhere.” I raise my bow.

  “You’re standing all wrong. Pippa, pay attention.” Irritated, he steps behind me and places his hands over mine, moving me into place. “Now control your breathing.”

  I take a deep breath, noticing Archer smells like deep woods, and I glance over my shoulder. “My breathing is perfectly controlled, thank you.”

  His hand twitches over mine, and our eyes meet. My stomach clenches, and I jerk away from him. The arrow hits the stone wall and falls to the ground.

  I shouldn’t have skipped the afternoon meal. “I’m hungry. I didn’t eat.”

  He has a funny look on his face, but he nods. “All right.”

  “All right?”

  “Let’s find food.”

  ***

  “Do you think this wise?” I ask Archer as we wander through the stalls, buying food here and there. I’m quite full now, but there is so much I haven’t tried yet.

  He snorts. “Since when do you care?”

  “I’m not fond of this new form of punishment. I feel trapped.”

  “This is only your second day—and you’ve managed to get yourself to the festival twice. How could you possibly feel trapped?”

  I ignore him and purchase a small package of rock candy for Leonora. I’m sure she’s kept herself so busy she hasn’t been able to enjoy any of this. At least she’ll have a break for the next few days. During the scavenger hunt there are no festivities, not until a winner is declared.

  “Do you know what’s on the scavenger hunt list?” I’m careful to sound nonchalant. I might not have to wheedle it out of Leonora if he knows.

  “Pippa, no.”

  “That’s all you ever say.” I frown. “Pippa, no.”

  Two young boys stand on tiptoes, eying the candy at the stall. They check their pockets, but their hands come out empty. They begin to argue about who had the coin when Archer flips one to them.

  “Thank you, Master Archer,” they say, delighted.

  “What?” he asks after the boys buy their candy and run off.

  I shake my head. “Inside that irritable exterior, you’re really quite soft.”

  His forehead creases. “I am not irritable.”

  “You are. You won’t even tell me what’s included in the scavenger hunt. Really—what harm is there in me knowing?”

  Archer crosses his arms in front of his chest. “I don’t know everything on the list.”

  “What do you know?”

  He hesitates. “Grim boar.”

  Grim boars are huge gray pig-beasts with large, sharp tusks. I believe they’re named for their smell—they reek like death.

  They’re quite tasty, though.

  I cringe. “Why would an animal be on the list?”

  “They’ll be roasted for the feast. Any we can’t use will be smoked for later.”

  There are thirty men participating in the tournament. If they each kill one, that will be a lot of pig.

  “Do we need thirty boars hanging in the cellars?”

  We pass through the stalls at a lazy pace. Archer casually scans the crowd as we go, looking for trouble before it finds us.

  “There are too many in the woods right now. It’s becoming dangerous. There’s not enough food for them, and they’re starting to scavenge the farms near the wall.”

  In my mind, I see a young shepherdess finding a boar in her field. “It’s a good idea to include them, then.”

  “Thank you.” Archer’s lips almost tip up in a smile. “It was mine.”

  It doesn’t surprise me Percival enlisted him to help with the scavenger list. He’s already in charge of the archery tournament.

  “What else is on the list?” I press. “I’m sure you know more.”

  He shakes his head.

  I wrap my arm around his and tilt my head toward him, batting my eyelashes playfully. “Please, Archer.”

  He untangles his arm and rolls his eyes. “Save the charm for your prince.”

  I let the playful look fall from my face. “Please?”

  “You really care for this man?” His tone is even and his face expressionless. “After only knowing him for a few hours?”

  I nod.

  He’s thinking, deciding. Knowing Archer, I’m sure he’s debating whether our friendship is a valid enough reason to break the rules.

  “My entire life is decided by this tournament,” I say, serious now. “I can’t marry Lionel. Please, help me.”

  “Grim boar.” He takes a step back and crosses his arms again. “Maid-of-the-shadows, inger egg, and eldentimber resin.”

  The grim boar will be easy to find, if not so easy to kill. I already showed Galinor where to find the maid-of-the-shadows. Ingers nest in waspnettle, which isn’t too hard to locate, but incredibly difficult to get through. The eldentimber resin will be the hardest item on the list, as the tree is quite rare, but I happen to know where one grows.

  He’s only told me four.

  “What’s the fifth item?”

  “I don’t know. Percival never shared it with me.”

  Four is better than none.

  “I have to tell Galinor,” I say, already moving toward the tents.

  Archer shakes his head and takes my arm, pulling me to a halt. “It’s too close to the arena, and you aren’t in disguise today.”

  I shake off his hand. “What good does it do to tell me if you won’t let me help him?”

  “Have you no faith in him? Give him a chance, Pippa.”

  I want to have faith in him and give him a chance. But I want him to win more.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Scavenger Hunt

  I slip through the palace, silent like a wraith. The nearly full moon shines bright, and the clouds cast strange moving shadows on the stone walls. I stick to halls that are unlit and rarely used. The only people awake are the guards, and even they are dozing in the quiet, wee hours of the morning.

  I still don’t know what the fifth item in the scavenger hunt is, even after I spoke with Leonora. She didn’t know and informed me she couldn’t have told me if she had known. I thought about asking Percival but decided that would be unwise.

  Galinor isn’t expecting to hear from me, but I need to get this information to him. Archer refused to deliver the message, as I knew he would.

  I make my way through the kitchen. There’s a hint of warmth from the sleeping coals, but the light has burned out. I’ll need to find another way back in the palace. The sun will be up in a few hours, and the
cooks and kitchen maids will be rising any time now.

  I slip through the garden door, cringing as it creaks. The sound echoes through the empty kitchen. A dog barks somewhere in the palace. I wait, ready to flee, but hear nothing more.

  Outside, the only sound comes from the waterfall. It’s a lonely, cold roar. Even though I’m warm under my cloak, I shiver. I slip through the gardens and into the stables.

  A boy I don’t recognize, who’s twelve, maybe thirteen years old, sleeps on a cot outside the hall where the men’s horses have been stalled. I crouch down and gently shake his shoulder. He wakes with a start, and I hold my finger to my lips, alerting him to be quiet. I pull my hood down so he will recognize me.

  His eyes go large as he pulls himself up.

  “Princess Pippa,” he says, his voice scratchy. “I—”

  “I need you to do something for me.” I point two stalls from where he’s resting. “Do you know the man this crest belongs to?”

  He nods vigorously. “Yes, Princess. He is Prince Galinor of Glendon.”

  “Give him this message.” I hold out a folded paper and warn, “He will notice if the seal in broken.”

  “I will not read it, Your Highness,” he says, bowing his head.

  “Good. Only to him, you understand? Not his squire or page or guards—only Galinor.”

  He nods again. “I swear.”

  ***

  The trumpets sound. The tournament—my tournament—is officially beginning.

  This is agony.

  I pace back and forth in front of my balcony. Do I want to go out and see what I can? Or will that make it worse?

  Anna should be here by now. She didn’t mention going to the opening ceremony this morning. Where is she?

  “I should be there!” I say, though there is no one in the room to hear me.

  I should be sitting next to Mother waving and smiling as each participant gallops through the arena in their colors, their men holding their flags behind them. I should hear the trumpets blare, not hear their faint call on the breeze.

  This is my tournament.

  A small nagging voice, one I tend to ignore, reminds me it’s my fault I’m here and not there.

  “This time Father’s gone too far, though!” I exclaim and then realize I am, in fact, arguing with myself.