Page 23 of Anwen of Primewood (The Eldentimber #2)

T he fire has burned low, and only embers remain. They shift from red to black and then back again. The night is well into the wee hours of the morning, and our visitors have just left for their own tents and wagons. Our party is finally alone.

Rosie glances at me, looking hurt as she blows steam from a cup of tea. “ Lady Anwen, is it?”

I shift on my bench. “Yes.”

Her eyes move to Bran and Dristan. “ Your family puts on the end of summer festival in Triblue?”

She must have caught Bran’s slip.

Bran and Dristan share a glance, but then Bran nods.

Rosie’s eyes travel over Galinor, and she frowns, thinking. Her gaze then moves to Irving, who is next to her.

“Who are you really? How do you fit with a lady, two southern princes, and…?” She shakes her head. “Who knows what the rest of you are. ”

Irving looks uncomfortable—not an expression that often graces his face. “I’m Irving of Primewood.”

Since the troupes don’t often travel through Primewood, it’s not all that surprising that Rosie doesn’t know what that means.

“Are you all after Dimitri because of what he did to Anwen?” she asks Irving. “Or are you truly after the king’s horse?”

Irving looks at me as if he wants me to jump in. Is it my imagination, or does he look worried? When has he cared enough to be concerned?

“It’s all right,” I say. “I’ll explain.”

I tell her my story—of meeting Irving in Lauramore and dumping cider on Galinor, of searching and finally finding the fairies, and of our horses being stolen.

She listens intently. Her expression changes little, but her eyes are a window to her disbelief. She turns back to Irving and quietly hisses, “You’re a prince.”

Irving winces. “I truly do want to find Anwen’s horse.”

“And you asked me to marry you. What kind of game were you playing?”

He looks shocked, and the rest of us stay quiet.

“It wasn’t a game…”

“You rush to her honor”—Rosie sharply motions toward me—“And then you do the same thing to me that Dimitri did to her?”

Irving sets his hand on her arm, but she shrugs it off.

“What was I?” she demands, her voice increasingly shrill. “A lark? An amusement?”

Irving’s eyes are wide, and his mouth works, but he seems unable to form a complete thought .

Rosie leans forward, her eyes sparking with anger in the dim firelight. “Or did you use me to find Dimitri?”

“It’s not like that!” Irving finally exclaims, irritated now. “I asked you to marry me, and I meant it!”

Rosie narrows her eyes. “Of course you did. Primewood would welcome a Bandolian queen.”

Irving tosses his hands in the air. “I don’t care what they think! It’s my life—my happiness—not theirs.”

I believe it’s time to give them some privacy. I stand, and the others follow me. Apparently, we’re all eager to be away from their argument.

My mind is still so consumed with my own mess, I can’t think of Irving’s problems now.

Is it true? Did Dimitri search me out just to obtain the changeling stone?

As much as it hurts to believe it, in my heart, I know he did. How didn’t I see it sooner?

Marigold steps into the cart. I’m about to go in behind her when Galinor sets a hand on my shoulder, stopping me.

I pause on the first step and turn in the dark to face him. The sounds of late summer hum around us. Crickets chirp in the grass, and a soft breeze blows through the trees.

Dristan and Bran retire to the large tent they are sharing with Galinor, and Irving and Rosie continue to bicker at the campfire around the front of the wagon.

We’re alone.

Galinor looks as if he doesn’t know what to say. After a moment, he whispers, “I’m sorry, Anwen.”

The way he moves his hands when he says the words makes me think he might embrace me, but then he drops his arms to his sides.

I smile, but there’s no joy behind it. “It’s my fault. I was a fool to trust him.”

Galinor’s eyes flash with emotion, and he takes a step forward. “It was foolish to give him your father’s stone, yes. But why was it foolish to think he loved you?”

I bite my lip, hoping to trap my emotions inside, but my eyes already sting. I look away and shrug. For once, I wish he would go away. To have Galinor know how I was used makes me feel pathetic and small.

Turning back to the door, I softly say, “It’s late, and I’m tired. Sleep well.”

“Anwen—”

I’ll never know what he’s about to say because a blood-curdling shriek rings through the night.

Rosie.

“Stay here,” Galinor commands before he takes off for the front of the wagon.

I cross my arms, fully intending to listen to him this time. Then I hear a low feline hiss.

I race for the campfire. “Pika!”

The cat crouches low, facing Irving with her back to Rosie. Agitated, her tail whips across the grass. Irving holds his hands up, trying to talk the glasseln down.

Terrified, Rosie has flattened herself against the caravan cart.

Unfortunately, her shriek didn’t only alert our party. Even as I take in the scene, other dark figures race to our fire. Judging from the glinting of steel in the firelight, they are armed .

“Pika, no!” I race past the feline’s outstretched wings.

When she hears my voice, she immediately sits—though she continues to glare at Irving. One last hiss escapes her, and then she becomes calm. She leans her head over for me to scratch, looking proud of herself for cornering the prince.

“What happened?” I demand.

Before Irving can answer me, a nearby man aims his bow at Pika.

“No!” I scream.

Without thinking, I leap in front of the cat. The arrow pierces my thigh, and I cry out as I fall to my knees, clutching my leg.

Pandemonium breaks out around me. Galinor takes after the man who shot me, and other men soon attack Galinor. Drawing his sword, Irving joins them. Dristan and Bran, who have come out of their tent to see what the ruckus is about, race in to defend their comrades.

Pika crouches low, preparing to leap into the air. She’ll kill someone if I don’t do something, and then she’ll be put to death.

“Pika, no,” I gasp. Before someone else can shoot at her, I pull myself up and call for her to follow me.

She comes, though she pauses several times, looking as if she’s going to join the fray.

I hold firm to her coat as I drag myself along. Finally, we make it to the back of the caravan cart. I fling the door open and frantically attempt to pull her inside. Marigold gasps when she sees me.

“What’s going on out there?” she demands, and then she spots Pika. “ What are you doing? ”

“They’ll kill her!” I cry.

Changing tactics, I get behind the cat and shove her into the cart. She barely fits through the narrow doorway.

Marigold scrambles back on the bed, keeping as far away from the glasseln as possible. Pika eyes Marigold’s perch, deciding it looks more comfortable than the tight fit below, and leaps up.

Marigold screeches and jumps down. Pika circles, but she must crouch low to fit, and her wings still catch on the trim. Finally, she lies down, stretches out, and breaks into a loud and inappropriate purr. Danver, thrilled to have his friend with him, joins her, snuggling against her furry chest.

Marigold turns from the glasseln to glare at me. Her expression is murderous, but then she sees the arrow sticking out of the side of my leg.

“Anwen!” she exclaims. “You’ve been shot!”

I sit on the bench, trying not to bleed on Rosie’s things. “I have to get back out there,” I say, realizing I must break up the fight.

Marigold cocks her head to the side, listening. “I think they’ve stopped.”

Sure enough, seconds later, Galinor throws the door open. Disbelief shadows his features when he spies the lounging glasseln. He quickly dismisses her and rushes to my side.

He kneels, examining the wound. After several seconds, he exhales loudly and rests his head in his hands.“It’s not as bad as I feared.”

“It still hurts,” I snap .

He looks up, his expression angry. “You’re the one who jumped in front of the arrow!”

“They were going to kill Pika.”

“Better her than you!”

We stare at each other, neither of us relenting.

I give in first. “It happened so fast. I just didn’t want her to get hurt. I wasn’t exactly thinking of sacrificing myself.”

His blue eyes narrow. “You didn’t think at all.”

I’m about to say something testy, but Irving rushes in. His eyes widen when he, too, sees the glasseln on the bed.

“We need to leave,” he says, still eyeing the cat. “The castle steward just paid us a visit. His and Her Majesty want us gone now .”

“Now?” Marigold exclaims. “It’s the middle of the night, and Anwen’s injured.”

Irving clears his throat. “Apparently if we’re still here by the next bell, they’ll hang us for the disruption.”

Slim chance of that. They wouldn’t hang four princes and two ladies—they’d have a war on their hands with no less than three kingdoms. But Rosie lingers by the door, looking pale and worried.

They would hang her.

“Tie our horses to the cart,” Galinor tells Irving as he studies the arrow sticking out of my leg. “I’ll have to take care of this on the way.”

“I can ride one of them,” Rosie volunteers.

They agree, and soon the caravan cart is jostling out of Lenrook’s castle gates. Each bump makes the pain all that much worse .

It’s just Galinor and I inside the cart now, with Pika and Danver watching us intently.

I grit my teeth, wondering what’s taking Galinor so long. “Can’t you just pull out the arrow?”

“No.” The prince’s voice lacks emotion, and that worries me. “Brace yourself—this will probably hurt.”

He snaps the shaft in two, and I yelp, surprised by the intensity of the pain.

Galinor cringes, avoiding my eyes. “Sorry.”

A short finger-length piece of the shaft protrudes from my ruined skirt. It’s a shame—I was beginning to like this skirt, too.

Pika is at attention, her eyes pinned on Galinor. Irritated with the noise, Danver stands and stalks to the edge of the bed before he curls up again.

“I’m fine, Pika,” I say, exasperated.

She settles back but continues to watch.