Page 25 of Anwen of Primewood (The Eldentimber #2)

A dead stag lands in front my feet, its blood seeping into the earth where it falls. I stare at the creature, so horrified, I’m not sure what to do.

Pika watches me with expectant eyes, and then she lowers her head and nudges the deer toward me with her nose.

“Good girl,” I murmur, realizing she’s simply a stable cat offering a mouse to her keeper.

Only Pika’s mouse is much, much larger.

This morning, Irving yelled at her and hurt her feelings when she once again swiped his kill from the fire—this time a trio of grouse. Apparently, she is trying to redeem herself.

The last few weeks seem to have passed quickly, and no one is nervous around Pika anymore. Even Marigold will absently scratch the glasseln’s head.

“It’s about time she makes herself useful,” Irving grumbles as he begins to quarter the animal .

He tosses Pika the entrails, and I have to look away so I won’t be ill.

Bran joins me by the fire. “Tomorrow we’ll be in Triblue—it will be good to be home.”

I’m happy for the distraction from Irving and the stag, and I scoot further down the log I’m perched on, making room for him to sit.

The stars shine brightly in the sky, and the evening air is warm. It feels like mid-summer again, even if the first day of autumn is only a few days away.

“How long have you been gone?” I ask, stretching my leg in front of me.

It still aches, but after the time it’s taken to travel this far, it’s healed enough I don’t have to be careful with it anymore.

In the fire, a log splits and sends a cascade of sparks into the sky. The noise wakes Danver, and the little fox yawns. He joins Irving, sniffing the deer, and Irving shoos him away.

“Since late spring.” Bran prods the coals with a long stick, letting it catch fire. He then blows it out and draws on the ring of rocks circling the flames. “We missed the summer season.”

“I’ve been to Triblue,” I say. “But our trips were focused on Father’s goods. I’ve never had a chance to explore. What’s your kingdom like?”

Bran runs a hand through his hair. “It’s warm, and you can always hear the ocean. I miss that more than anything.”

“And there are fish,” Dristan adds from across the fire, his voice dreamy. “I think I’d rather starve than eat another rabbit.”

Galinor appears from the forest, holding several plump hares. “I assume you won’t be eating breakfast then.” His eyes drift to the stag. “Where did you get that ?”

“Pika,” I answer for Irving.

Galinor raises his eyebrows, impressed, and tosses the rabbits at Irving.

“I’ll just take care of those for you,” Irving grumbles.

Galinor grins. “Thanks, Irving.”

The blond prince pauses and looks up. “Aren’t the women supposed to prepare the meat?”

Marigold looks up from her book—I can’t imagine how she reads by firelight—and scrunches her brow. “The only dead animals I’ve touched have been properly cooked.”

Irving looks at me and laughs when I cringe. Still smiling, he turns his attention to Rosie. She meets his eyes, challenging him to ask her to take care of the stag. He only smiles wider and then continues his task. Her eyes stay on him for several seconds even after he’s looked away.

The two are still at each other’s throats, but they’ve learned to keep their arguments to themselves. Every time Irving raises his voice, Pika corners him. It’s hard to have a good, cleansing fight when the glasseln insists on interfering.

Galinor sits across the fire, next to Dristan. It’s been two weeks since we almost kissed, and ever since, he’s been keeping his distance. It’s just as well because every time he’s close I become distracted .

Galinor rests his elbows on his thighs and leans down by the fire. When he looks up, he catches me staring at him. He smirks and raises an eyebrow in question.

I flush and turn back to Bran, desperate to think of something else. “What will we do when we reach your castle?”

“You will be our guests,” he answers. “You’ll have plenty of time to explore before the festival starts. The whales migrate through this time of year, and there are always pods of dolphins not far from the shore.”

I’ve only seen a dolphin once when I was young. I’ve never seen a whale. One of Father’s ships happened upon a sea serpent once on our way to Ptarma, but that isn’t an experience I wish to repeat.

“Thank you,” I tell Bran. “You have all been so generous.”

He claps me on the shoulder. “You’re most welcome. It’s certainly been an experience.”

Pika cleans her paws. Now that her belly is full, she’s content to stretch by the fire and watch Irving tend her kill.

Bran laughs. “I never thought I would sit this close to a glasseln.”

Danver curls up next to Pika. She licks his head, yawns wide, and goes to sleep.

I smile at the pair and then go back to watching the fire.

Tomorrow, we’ll be in Triblue. Tomorrow, I’ll be one step closer to retrieving Father’s stone.

We ride through the winding, stone-lined streets, making our way to the castle. People everywhere call to Bran and Dristan, recognizing their princes, and the rest of us smile and wave when acknowledged.

So far, no one has raised so much as an eyebrow at our strange attire and caravan cart. With all this attention, I feel a little like royalty myself.

Triblue is everything I remember from my youth.

The sky is blue, and the ocean is bluer—a teal green shade that seems to glow like a jewel in the sun.

The sandy beaches are white, and palm trees sway in a soft breeze.

Brightly colored flowers in reds, pinks, and yellows grow rampant amid the needled evergreens and fat-leaved bushes not far from the shore.

Castle Calland is built upon a hill by the ocean, surrounded by the king’s city of Saltwreath and its seaports.

A grand structure, even to someone who has seen castles all her life, it’s a breathtaking sight.

Hundreds of tall, arched windows sparkle from their settings in the warm, tan stone exterior.

Balconies call for guests to bathe in the sun, and red flowering vines crawl from the lower walls, competing in color only with the citrus trees loaded with fruit.

Marigold takes in everything with eager, sparkling eyes. “I’ve never been this far south.”

I give her a small smile. “I invited you to come with my family years ago. Do you remember?”

She nods, but her enthusiasm dims. “It was too soon.”

Marigold had lost her family only a year before the invitation. I had hoped traveling would help her forget, but instead, she stayed in the comfort of the castle library .

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I ask her gently.

I whistle to a bird watching us from one of the trees. Eagerly, it swoops down to me. I hold out a finger, and it lands, its little feet tickling me.

“An azure monakeet.” Marigold looks at the bird longingly. “I left my sketch pad in the cart.”

The little bird stretches his wings as if he is showing off his brilliant blue plumage and scarlet tail.

Danver lies across Rosie’s lap in the cart, watching the bird with avid interest. His ears twitch, and his eyes are focused. Luckily for the bird, Danver isn’t close enough to attack.

I give the monakeet a boost into the air as we arrive at the front gates. “Go on now.”

Two guards stand at attention, and when they see the princes, they call for the gates to be opened. A trumpet sounds, announcing Bran and Dristan’s arrival, and we ride into a circular courtyard.

I gape at the fountain in the front entry. A stone artisan has carved the likeness of a mermaid on a rock, with two dolphins jumping next to her. The fountain sprays into the air, and the mermaid tilts her head up in laughter, holding her hand out to the falling water.

“Have you been to Castle Calland?” Dristan asks, riding next to me.

“No, my father has only taken me to the ports.”

“The festival takes place by the eastern port.” Dristan points toward the ocean. “The tents are already being set up.”

From the courtyard balcony that overlooks the city, I see several brightly colored tents but only a few caravan carts.

Dristan looks back at me. “It will still be several days before they’ve all arrived.”

Grooms meet us, and they whisk our horses away. One man frowns at Bran and Dristan’s mounts. “What has happened to your Altiers?

Dristan shoots Irving a look. “They were stolen at an inn in Glendon.”

“Errintonians?” the groom asks.

“It was more of a personal squabble,” Bran answers.

The groom asks no more, but before he leaves, Bran stops him and motions to me. “Lady Anwen has a pet with special requirements. I will need you to tend to it.”

“Of course.” The groom gives me an easy smile. “Where is your animal?”

I glance at Bran, unsure how to proceed.

“In the caravan cart,” Bran answers.

The man strides to the cart, climbs the steps, and opens the door wide before swiftly slamming it shut. “What is that?”

Bran chuckles. “It’s a glasseln—but don’t worry. She is tame.”

The man goes pale, and he almost looks as if he’s swallowed his tongue.

Bran only smiles. “She’s quite docile on a lead now. I believe if you keep her well fed, you won’t have any trouble with her.”

“Where will we keep her?” the groom asks.

Bran glances at Dristan, and they both appear to be at a loss .

“Might I suggest the dungeons, Your Royal Highnesses?” the man says.

“Absolutely not,” I snap.

The man tips his head in apology. “She would be very happy, I assure you. There is an abundance of rats, and we would take her out several times a day.”

There’s nowhere for Pika to roam free near the castle. The seaport town is too large, and there are people in abundance.

“Can we have the caravan cart taken down for her?” I ask. “I would like her to have somewhere soft to sleep.”

Bran grins. “We’ll have a room made up for her. She’ll have the finest quarters the dungeons have ever seen.”