Page 100 of Pippa of Lauramore
“It won’t. Do it, Pippa.”
I hold the goblet to Galinor’s lips, which are turning a frightening blue color, and pour a small amount of the liquid in. Yuven tips his head back so the wine goes down his throat.
“Again,” he says. Together, we pour more of the liquid down Galinor’s throat. “That’s enough for now. It will help his body fight the poison.”
Clarion wraps the wound again, but this time the outside of the bandage stays white and clean. “There is nothing we can do now but wait. If he’s strong, he’ll pull though.”
I hate waiting.
Clarion stands and eyes Archer in Galinor’s armor. “Prince Percival, I assume this is to be kept quiet?”
“If you would, Master Clarion.”
“Of course,” the physician says with a small smile. “I must go before they come looking for me.
Percival thanks Clarion, and then the physician leaves. We all turn to Galinor, watching him expectantly.
Yuven notices and gives us a wry look. “It will be awhile before we can hope to see much improvement. If we’re lucky, he’ll wake by nightfall.”
I groan and stand to wash the blood from my hands.
Alexander steps into the tent. “Pippa, you need to get back. Leonora just came to tell me they’re missing you.”
“All right. I suppose there’s no use all of us sitting here, anyway.” I glance at Galinor and then back at my brother. I give Archer a weak smile. “Congratulations, Archer, and thank you.”
I squeeze his hand, wishing I could do more, and then leave. I weave through the tents, feeling numb. Many people wave to me, and I return their greetings, somehow smiling back. The rain has let up, and more villagers are wandering around, walking through the squishy, wet meadow grass.
“How is he?” Leonora whispers as I find my seat next to her.
“Yuven has stopped the bleeding and given him something to fight the poison. Clarion says all we can do now is wait.”
Leonora wrings her hands in her lap. “Wait for what, exactly?”
“For him to either wake up…”
Her face falls, and she finishes for me, “Or not.”
I’m thankful for the trumpet’s call, announcing the third round.
Leonora takes my hand and squeezes it. “Archer was magnificent,” she says, her voice too quiet for anyone around us to hear.
“I missed it,” I murmur.
“You’re here now.”
With only six competitors left, this round decides who places. Archer, Rigel, Lionel, and Bran are all still in the competition. I was hoping Lionel would have been knocked off while I was tending Galinor, but unfortunately, he remains.
Rigel is against Bran in the first round. The two men take their places, and the contrast is striking—Bran on his white steed and Rigel on his black. The men charge each other, their banners streaming behind them. The people in the crowd hold their breath. To my disappointment, but not my surprise, Rigel unseats Bran.
The whole thing looked too easy, and when Rigel takes off his helmet to acknowledge the crowd’s cheers, he barely looks like he exerted himself. He does surprise me by dismounting from his horse and offering a hand to his competitor. Bran accepts, and he doesn’t seem to be injured. The crowd eats up Rigel’s goodwill, and they call out for him.
Fickle crowd.
Next, Lionel is up against Peter of Coppel. It’s not to be a quick match, for neither falls off in the first go round. They line up and charge each other, and once again their shields deflect the lances. I lean forward, not daring to breathe. This next time Peter could very well knock Lionel to the ground. It could happen. It could.
Lionel flips his visor open, glaring at the other man.They charge each other, and this time, his lance hits Peter directly in the chest. Peter falls from his horse and crashes to the ground. I sit back, nauseous.
Lionel has placed in the final three.
