“Will I?”
Nels turned to her. She was already staring at him, her eyes somber.
“I think not,” she said. “The tailor was right about everything. How can I be free of you, knowing I could have done something to —” She paused. “You win, ghost. I will help you.”
Nels jumped to his feet. He could not believe his ears. “You will?”
“If I must,” Tyra answered quickly. “I cannot promise that I will find this needle or whatever it is that will bring you back, but I will search for it — instead of leaving you to die.”
“You’d feel guilty if I died, you mean?”
“Responsible — and nothing more.” Tyra slid out of bed, put on a pair of slippers, and walked to him. “If you want my help, you must do as I say. I expect no less from my living subjects.”
“Can do!” Nels beamed as he nearly hugged her. “Thank you, Princess!”
Tyra arched her neck back. “You’re rather close.”
“Oh.” Nels stepped away. “Is that better?”
“Much.” In the moonlight, Nels saw something new in her blue eyes — her change of heart. Tyra slowly walked to a divided screen in the far corner of the room, stopping to pick up a silk evening gown draped over the foot of her bed. “Please turn around? I want to change.”
“Into a nightgown?” Nels asked. “Why?”
“It’s the middle of the night. I’m going back to bed.”
“Or you’ll sneak off on me again. I’m not falling for it.”
“Are you giving me a reason to change my mind?”
Nels turned to look through the dark windows instead. “There are a couple of guards stationed outside your door. How are we going to ditch your escorts and leave the castle?”
“I’m not sure. They do pose a problem. Maybe they should come with us.”
The suggestion tempted Nels to look at her. “With us?”
“If we are to comb every haystack in the kingdom for a needle, the more hands the better. Plus I have questions for the tailor, and maybe Sir Arek will give us a hand!”
“Oh,” Nels mumbled. “I’m sure he will …”
“What was that, ghost?” she hummed. “Don’t mumble.”
It was clear that she had her heart set on Arek, even though Nels knew perfectly well where the knight’s true intentions resided. Such ignorance was not fair to her. He had to say something.
“Tyra —”
“Princess. Helping you does not make us friends.”
“Look …” Nels turned away from the windows. “I need to warn you —”
His words fumbled at the sight of a man standing in Tyra’s room. Wearing a lavish suit and a rich mantle, he looked terribly pale — so pale that Nels could see the chamber door behind him.
“Beg your pardon,” said the stranger. “I did not know Her Highness had company.”
He turned and walked through the locked door.
“Warn me about what?” Tyra asked.
Nels shook his head as the princess emerged from behind the divide, wearing a slender, pearly nightgown. The fabric shimmered in the moonlight, hugging the curves of her frame.
She looked wonderful.
Tyra crossed her arms. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Nels turned to the door, almost forgetting what he had seen. “Wait here.”
Leaving the princess behind, he walked through the door and saw the guards still stationed on the other side. Nels looked down the hall and called out to the stranger. He heard no response. Apparently, Nels was not the only ghost in Avërand after all.
“What’s going on?” Tyra asked through the door. “Who are you shouting at?”
The two guards glanced at each other and laughed quietly.
Tyra batted her eyelashes for Arek. He smiled back as they reached the shaded ashen hills. With a cool breeze and no clouds above, it was the perfect afternoon for a picnic.
She felt much better after a good night’s sleep. She had also apologized to the scullion for her behavior the day before. Father did not come to eat with them, but her mother was impressed — impressed enough to grant Arek his request to share the afternoon with Tyra, on the condition that they bring an escort. Tyra would have preferred to be alone on this outing with Arek, but if she was going to help the peasant find his needle, they would have to set off on their journey regardless. Arek had provided the perfect excuse for them to leave the castle.
Tyra had a new dress for the occasion: green satin embroidered with a bright gold thread that matched her flowing hair. Much like the dress she wore for archery, it had pockets sewn within her bodice, which laced up the front. Beneath it all, she wore a flattering flax chemise. The tailor had made them especially for hard travel. But when did he have time? And how did he know she had agreed to go? Strangest of all was what he had given her: a small cedar box, filled with beeswax and sewing tools. When she tried to ask about these items, Bosh gave her a cryptic answer: “There are dangers in the wilderness, so mind your dress. It will serve you well.”
She accepted both gifts, finding his response rather peculiar and unhelpful.
He never answered my question.
Tyra knew the peasant would be more direct. She wanted to ask him, but at present, it was best to say nothing. Maintaining the appearance of sanity was far more important.
So far, everything was going according to plan.
“How do you plan to sneak off with all these guards watching?” the peasant asked.
“Relax,” Tyra spoke through her smile. “Everything is going the way I want it.”
He stared doubtfully at her. “Bosh said we have to make this journey alone.”
“Stop worrying so much,” Tyra said. “Let me deal with the living, all right?”
Arek dismounted as the caravan arrived at the summit. The prominent view of a noon horizon stretched out before them. Castle Avërand lay to the southeast. The distant shore lay beyond. Her home looked so small from here, but Tyra needed to be this far away if they stood a chance of leaving. If their escort refused to help, evading them here would be easier than evading the entire castle host.
“What a sight,” Arek said, standing by Brooklet. “May I assist you down?”
Tyra smiled. “You needn’t ask.”
Blushing at the knight’s hands around her waist, Tyra held on to Arek’s broad shoulders. He raised her from the saddle and lowered her to the ground, lush with shin-high grass. He offered her his arm, took Brooklet’s bridle in the other, and tied the mare next to his stallion. Tyra guided them to a shaded spot by the edge of a thicket, where two servants stretched a blanket over the cool grass. Two more servants followed, carrying a basket from the carriage that had accompanied them.
Skipping onto the blanket, Tyra sat herself down. “This is such a gorgeous day.”
“Indeed, it is,” said Arek. “You look mighty comfortable. Might I join you?”
Tyra giggled. “Is that not why we are here?”
“No. It’s not,” the peasant grumbled.
“Please,” Tyra said, having found it easier to ignore the ghost after a good night’s sleep. “Sit with me.”
The knight obeyed after he removed the sheathed sword from his belt. He crossed his thick legs and lay on his back, sinking into the grass-cushioned blanket. Clad in brown trousers and a cream shirt, Arek had dressed well for the occasion. He placed his hands behind his dark hair, putting his muscular arms on display. He was a vision of perfection, a man Tyra dreamed of having all to herself. If they had been alone, there was no telling what she would’ve done.
“I was thrilled when you accepted my invitation this morning,” Arek said.
Tyra urged the men with the basket to finish their serving. “I’m glad you thought of me. I do enjoy this place.” She stopped to think. “I’m terribly sorry for what I said yesterday. I don’t know what came over me.” She glanced at the peasant, who yawned. “I’m better now.”
“Glad to
hear it. You gave me a start.” Arek stretched his neck. “I wished to be alone with you, to be honest, but with this talk about a murderer roaming the land and all …”
“You’re referring to the man who killed the Harvestport merchant?” Tyra asked.
The knight nodded. “I helped reclaim the body. Stabbed in the back, terrible sight.” Arek leaned on his side and supported his head with his hand. “How did you know about this?”
“The scribe brought it up yesterday during breakfast.”
“Not an easy story to digest first thing in the morning,” Arek said. “I had no idea you were privy to that kind of information. It was meant for the king alone — a royal secret.”
“I am royalty, Sir Arek,” she said, smiling. “I will be privy to all affairs one day.”
“Yes,” he said, placing his hand over hers, “with a man to shoulder that burden with you.”
Never before had Tyra felt their fingers entwine. Her breath stilled as she returned his tender grasp, until a foot entered her view and stomped through both of their hands. The peasant was glaring down at them, his arms crossed impatiently. Tyra swallowed and pulled her hand away.
“Will you need anything else, Your Highness?” asked one of the servants.
“Flowers!” she answered. “Some bluebells and pansies will do nicely.”
Arek snapped his fingers. “I should have thought of that! Sir Canis!”
One of the older knights emerged from among the escorts. “Sir Arek?”
“Take a few men below the hill and gather flowers.”
“Send them all,” Tyra said into his ear. “I must ask you something.”
He smiled at her and whispered back, “So must I.”
Sir Canis restrained a frown. “You want us to gather flowers?”
“Send everyone. Make the largest bouquet Her Highness has ever seen.”
“Your Highness.” Sir Canis’s tone was perturbed — clearly not amused by the request. “Our mandate is to protect you, not leave you alone while we make floral arrangements.”
“I insist,” Tyra said. “Check the grounds, but start at the bottom of the hill.”
“And as I live,” Arek added, “no harm will come to her.”
Canis grumbled as he turned. “Ready your feet, lads. We’re pickin’ pansies!”
Excited and nervous, Tyra waited for them to go before she spoke. If she could make Arek realize her problem and convince him to come, it would be a cinch to persuade the others.
“I see what you’re doing,” the peasant said, looking at the knight. “What about him?”
She glared at the ghost before she mouthed, “Be quiet.”
“Now that we are … alone,” Arek started, “may I speak my mind?”
Tossing her hair over her shoulder, Tyra focused all of her attention on the knight. This was it. Time to make her move. “Do not think me prudish, Sir Arek, but I must ask you —”
“Tyra.” The knight moved close, his finger suddenly pressed against her lips. “I can no longer hide my feelings for you, Tyra. You and I know that we are meant for each other.”
He leaned forward. His bruised lips neared her face, ready to kiss her.
Startled, Tyra pulled away. “What are you doing?”
“I love you, and I know you feel the same.” A frown appeared on the peasant’s face as Arek stared longingly into Tyra’s eyes. “Am I too forward? Please, forgive me.”
“No, Arek,” Tyra said. “I mean, I feel the same, but —”
Reaching for her hand, the knight rose to his knee. “Your father still disapproves? Why does he not trust me? I serve him well, and I returned his crown that the Vagas stole. Am I not the favored Knight of Avërand?” He took her by the hand. “What must I do, Tyra?”
“Oh, brother …” The peasant sighed. “He’s a better thief than they are.”
Choosing to ignore his words, Tyra grasped Arek’s hand back. “Leave with me.”
Arek jumped back this time. “Leave with you? You want to elope?”
Tyra’s cheeks flushed at the thought. “No, but I need your help with something, a special task that only we can accomplish, together. If we do not find it, I will be haunted forever.”
“Haunted?” Arek asked. “What do you mean?”
“This is your plan?” The peasant groaned. “You want him to come with us?”
She didn’t respond to Nels, nor did she look at him. An awkward silence hung over the picnic, but then, without warning, the peasant stormed into the thicket and vanished among the trees.
“Tyra?” Arek’s eyes locked with hers.
“I’m sorry. I —”
“What is the matter? You can tell me anything.”
Tyra slinked out of his grasp and started to worry. She had worked hard all morning to maintain her appearance, to ensure a sane demeanor. If she were to speak about ghosts, she could ruin everything, but what else was she supposed to say? “You would not understand.”
“I want to understand, Tyra. But more important, I want you to marry me.”
Stealing the breath from her chest, Tyra stared at him. “What did you say?”
“Marry me,” Arek said, bolder this time. “I will be yours forever.”
She could not believe it; the rumors of his proposal were true. “Oh, Arek!” Tyra cried. “Of course I will!”
She surveyed the scene — a picturesque, romantic place — wanting to capture a memory of this moment with Arek. The knight suddenly pressed his lips against hers. Tyra’s eyes flashed open before she returned the kiss. The touch of his warm breath on her skin sent a newfound elation through her body, like the fluttering of a thousand butterflies — far better than kissing a corpse. But something was amiss, her excitement short-lived. Where was the peasant?
What if he’s watching us?
“No,” she said as they parted. “I can’t. Not yet.”
The knight’s joy changed to a wounded stupor. “Why?”
“I …” She hesitated. “I must see the Mountain Witch.”
“The who?” Arek raised his chin. “Whatever for?”
“Because she may know where a magic needle is.”
Arek scooted back. “Are you delirious? You cannot visit her!”
“I’m not delirious, Arek,” she said. “And if you love me, you must believe me. I need your help.” Tyra realized how ridiculous she was sounding. Talk of witches and magic needles was just as bad as ghosts. “Please,” she said, closing her eyes. “I don’t know who else to —”
Thwack!
A loud crack, like the splitting of a tree branch, sounded behind Arek. Tyra watched as the knight’s hazel eyes rolled back. He slumped forward and fell on top of her. Shrieking, Tyra struggled to free herself. Their picnic basket tipped on its side, spilling its contents onto the blanket. Her heart quivering, she stood up and looked over her love, lying unconscious on the ground.
A thick stick entered her view.
“Hold this,” said the peasant.
Tyra complied, still in shock, and took hold of the wooden stick as the peasant darted for the packhorses. When she examined what she was holding, she made the connection. “What have you done?”
The peasant reemerged, holding supplies in each hand. “We can’t wait any longer.” A waterskin slipped through his wrist. “Help me. I don’t want to spook your mare again.”
“Wait.” She pointed at the waterskin. “Since when are you capable of carrying things?”
“I’ll tell you after we go.” He winked at her and left for another load.
Hoping that Arek was not seriously hurt, Tyra knelt beside him and touched his face. She could feel his breath passing through his nose with her fingers. He was alive, only unconscious, but that was more than enough to boil her blood. “Why did you do this to Sir Arek?”
“This is our journey,” the peasant said, shrugging as he came back, “and I’d hate to see what the knights will think when they see you standing over him with a club in your hand
.”
Tyra threw the stick on the grass. “You conniving —”
“Make it quick, Your Highness. They’re coming back.”
Frightened, she looked at Arek again. “They’ll blame me!”
With that, the peasant smiled, as if that was his plan.
Caught in his trap and knowing that she could never explain what happened, she ran to the carriage, grabbed her bow and quiver, and her dagger in its sheath. She seized a traveling cloak and her personal knapsack. Brooklet whickered as Tyra approached. She didn’t return the salutation. As soon as they loaded the mare with the additional supplies, the peasant hoisted himself up and sat behind her.
“After we bring you back to life, run as fast as you can, before I kill you!”
“Remind me after we find the Needle.”
“If we find the Needle, you mean.”
“We will. Just don’t ride too fast; I’m not good with horses.”
From the concerned look on his face, Tyra could tell that he was speaking the truth. Shaking her head, Tyra handled the reins of her mare and guided Brooklet into the thicket as fast as she could ride. Tyra looked around the peasant’s arm and caught a glimpse of her knight sitting up and rubbing his head. She didn’t want to leave Arek like this, but she had no choice.
Dyre took his place under the stone arch between the outer and inner doors. The shade was cool here, a pleasant perk from the summer heat. He crossed his arms and leaned back — something the real Dyre would have done.
I wish I’d had more time to study him, but this will do for now.
“You’re late,” said Jarvis, one of the other gatekeepers. He was impatiently waiting for Dyre to end his shift, no doubt. “I was about to have the guard search for you.”
“No need,” Dyre replied. “I had to run an errand. Have I missed much?”
“Princess Tyra and Sir Arek left with a caravan. A picnic, I gather.”
“Did they?” Dyre asked. “I hope they enjoy themselves.”
Woven Page 12
