Page 22 of Anwen of Primewood (The Eldentimber #2)

Galinor leans against a tree. With crossed arms, he watches them all, and a scowl plays over his features. I grab his wrist as I pass, pulling him with me. Perhaps I’m a coward, but I don’t want to find Dimitri alone.

“What does he look like?” Galinor asks as we prowl through the crowds, looking for my target.

“Dark hair, dark eyes, average height,” I answer. “Acrobatic build.”

Galinor frowns. “So, like every man here?”

“That’s right.”

I loop my arm through his as we continue. The festival is in full swing, and I can’t believe the number of entertainers and merchants who have flocked here for the event. We weave through all the shops and cottages, and walk the squares several times.

Dimitri and his troupe are nowhere to be seen.

“They must be here,” I say, losing hope. “The fortune teller said…”

I watch the festivities, not feeling festive at all.

Gently, Galinor says, “Do you think she might have lied to you?”

My throat closes and tears prick my eyes. “Why would she? ”

Instead of answering, Galinor wraps his arm around my shoulders, guiding me back to our caravan cart.

Evening is falling, and there’s a chill in the air. People have started pine wood fires in cooking pits, and the rich smell of smoke welcomes us. The flames’ glow is pleasant in the twilight, and I pick up our pace, hoping our party has started one as well.

When we’re near our camp, we find there is not only a fire, but visitors as well. Five performers sit with our friends, talking and laughing. After exchanging a curious look, Galinor and I hurry to them.

We arrive just in time to hear a woman with a thick accent say, “Dimitri was never here.”

The woman’s hair is glossy and full, and it falls down her back in perfect black waves. “We parted ways in Primewood.”

Rosie seems completely at ease as she turns a trio of grouses on a spit over the fire. “Why?”

My stomach growls at the savory aroma. Suddenly I’m starving.

“You know Dimitri.” The woman waves her hand. “He’s entertaining, but he can be cruel.”

Rosie’s eyes flicker to us, and she gives us a welcoming smile. “What did he do?”

The woman shakes her head and leans in as if to share a secret. “When we were in Vernow earlier this summer, there was a rumor of a wealthy merchant in Primewood with a changeling stone—a man by the name of Baron Thomas Millner.”

Galinor tenses at my side, and my heart starts to pound. Marigold’s eyes meet mine, and I shake my head so she won’t announce our presence just yet.

“A changeling stone?” Rosie scoffs, laughing out loud.

“Dimitri was obsessed. He had to have it,” the woman continues. “We traveled to Primewood—and you know how welcoming that kingdom is to our people.”

“I’m sure you made very little along the way,” Rosie says.

The woman nods. “Once we arrived, Dimitri visited the village every day, nosing around for information.”

I stand as if frozen, barely daring to breathe. Galinor wraps his arm around my shoulders.

“Dimitri found out the merchant had a daughter,” the woman continues. “We bided our time, and eventually, the girl came into the village. Dimitri befriended her—charmed her and made her fall in love with him. It didn’t take him long to convince her to steal her father’s stone.”

Tiny black dots begin to cloud my vision. This woman is wrong—it wasn’t like that.

“Poor thing,” she says, shaking her head. “She ran away with him to join our troupe. He behaved so strangely, many of us were convinced he was in love with her. She was a lovely girl—curly honey-blonde hair, pretty eyes.”

Rosie’s gaze flicks to me, and her eyebrows knit. “What happened?”

“The girl assumed they would be married, and Dimitri decided she was more trouble than she was worth. He left her in the woods.”

The man next to her shifts forward. “Dimitri even took her horse.”

“He couldn’t take the little fox, remember?

” The woman pokes her friend in the side, laughing at the memory.

She then turns back to Rosie to explain.

“The girl had a strange little pet fox. Dimitri thought he’d make a funny act for the children.

He tried to take him, but the animal bit him—sliced his hand good. ”

He tried to take my Danver.

I begin to tremble—I don’t think I’ve ever been this livid.

The man wraps his arm around the woman’s waist. “We left the troupe in Estlebrook. Dimitri has done some shady things, but I’ve never been so disgusted with him. That poor girl. I often wonder if she’s all right.”

“She’s managing,” I say from behind them.

They turn, startled by my voice. The woman’s eyes widen with recognition, mirroring my own. She’s the woman I saw that first night, and next to her—yes, it’s the man whose lap she sat on. I don’t recognize the other three, but from the way they look at me, they apparently know who I am.

Rosie’s eyes narrow as she tries to work out this story with the one Irving has fed her.

“How did you get here?” the woman asks.

“It doesn’t matter.” I wave my hand. “Can you tell me where Dimitri is?”

She gives me a look of pity. “You’re better off without him.” Her eyes then drift to Galinor, and she raises her brows. “Much better off.”

I find a seat next to Marigold. Galinor sits on my other side. Sparks from the fire fly into the ever-darkening sky, and I watch them for a few moments before I speak. “I don’t want him. ”

After hearing the story, I wholeheartedly mean it.

“I want my changeling stone back.”

The man shakes his head. “He’ll never part with it.”

Galinor slides his hand into mine, offering comfort. “He won’t have a choice.” His voice is cold and deadly, and I would not want to be Dimitri for anything in the world.

The woman sizes Galinor up—a task she seems to be relishing. “He is going to Triblue.”

Dristan and Bran have been listening quietly, both whittling away at scrap tinder, but now they look up, intrigued.

Bran looks at Dristan. “He’s taking them to the End-of-Summer Festival in Saltwreath.”

Dristan nods.

“What is that?” I ask.

I never attended festivals while traveling with Father. There was always a schedule to keep, somewhere more important to be.

Bran turns his attention to me. “It’s a huge festival our family puts on before autumn. Many ships return for winter and won’t sail again until spring.

I wait to see if anyone has caught Bran’s slip that announced his lineage. If they have, they don’t call him on it.

“I thought Triblue was warm year-round,” Galinor says, hurrying past the mistake, hoping no one takes too long to think about it.

“It is, but the weather out at sea is turbulent and unpredictable in autumn and winter. ”

Galinor turns to our guests. “How long will it take to travel from here to Triblue?”

The woman looks at a man sitting farther from her, waiting for his opinion.

“A fortnight,” the man answers as he squints with thought. “Give or take a few days.”

I groan silently and rest my head on my knees. I’m never going to find Dimitri.

“Anwen,” Bran says. “It’s fine. The festival won’t begin until the last week of summer. We still have a few weeks.”

Dristan nods in agreement.

I glance at Marigold. She won’t want to travel that far—not when we’ve come this far already and found nothing. What if this is another wild goose chase?

“There was a woman at the festival in Crayhope,” I say. “A fortune teller. She told me Dimitri came to Lenrook. Why would she lie to me?”

“Many are still loyal to the royal family.” The woman tosses her hair over her shoulder. “We may not have land, but we are a people. Dimitri is still our crown-prince.”

“Then why do you help us? How can I trust you?”

The woman sighs and stretches her sandaled feet toward the fire. “Are we still traveling with Dimitri?”

“No…”

She smiles. “Then there is your answer.”