Page 9 of Pippa of Lauramore (The Eldentimber #1)

“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.

Archer 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?”

Frustrated, he looks away 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 greener 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. We stand here, not quite looking at each other for several moments, and then I brush past him and head out the door.

The archery yard is busy. Several of the competitors skip the festival and use the last day before the tournament to practice.

A variety of squires, pages, and family members loiter with them.

Many turn when we step through the armory doors, and some call their greetings.

Archer nods, but he ushers me away. I smile at the men over my shoulder.

My solemn instructor 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 cuffs at my biceps. 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 dark woods, and 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, that’s all .

“I’m hungry. I didn’t eat,” I say, my tone almost defensive.

He wears 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.

There are no festivities during the scavenger hunt, not until a winner is declared. Speaking of the hunt…

“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 Archer knows.

“Pippa, no.”

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

Two young boys stand on tiptoes, eyeing 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. “I don’t know everything on the list.”

“What do you know?” I look him right in the eye, make him hold my gaze.

He hesitates but gives in after only a few moments. “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. Softly, I say his name, letting him know how much I need him.

“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 repeats as 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.

But Archer’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 Galinor—I want to give him a chance. But I want him to win more.