Page 26 of Pippa of Lauramore
“I should be there!” I say, though there is no one in the room to hear me.
I should be sitting next to Mother, waving and smiling as each participant gallops through the arena in their colors, their men holding their flags behind them. I should hear the trumpets blare, not hear their faint call on the breeze.
This ismytournament.
A small nagging voice, one I tend to ignore, reminds me it’s my fault I’m here and not there.
“This time Father’s gone too far, though!” I exclaim and then realize I am, in fact, arguing with myself.
Five trumpets have sounded, and still no Anna.
Six trumpets.
Seven.
“Enough!” I march from the room and swing the door open, startling the poor guard who was unlucky enough to be on my watch today. I’m sure he’d rather be at the tournament too.
He calls to me, but I ignore him and stalk down the hall. I look one last time for Anna and then escort myself down the stairs.
The trumpets continue to sound, but I’m too far away to hear the names announced. I hope I’m not too late to see Galinor ride through the arena. I don’t know if he received my message. I don’t even know if the boy was able to find him.
I didn’t bother to cover my hair or dress, so I’ll be easy to spot if anyone is looking. With the excitement, I don’t think too many people will even notice me.
I don’t go to the stands. I couldn’t even if I wanted to; they are too crowded. Instead, I stand with the hordes of people outside the arena. I see the end of Irving’s introduction. He joins the line of mounted men across the arena, facing my family’s platform. They won’t be fighting today, so they aren’t in armor but instead are wearing tunics in their kingdom’s colors.
Rigel is on his midnight steed next to Irving. His dark hair is pulled back, just long enough to secure at the nape of his neck. He glances toward the crowd, and I swear his eyes meet mine. I feel a chill and look away. There’s no way he singled me out in this crowd. I’m sure of it.
A lord from Framnull is announced, and the crowd cheers. He and his men circle the arena. The men exit with their flags, and he takes his place next to Irving.
I’m not surprised when Archer steps up next to me.
“Watching for me, were you?” I ask, standing on the tips of my toes as the trumpets sound for the youngest of the Triblue princes, Dristan.
“I assumed you would find a way.” He crosses his arms over his chest.
“I don’t see Galinor.”
A man bumps me from behind, and Archer turns to glare at him. The man apologizes and moves away.
“He’s third to last,” Archer says.
I nod. Bran’s announced after Dristan, and he makes his loop and joins his brother.
“Why aren’t you up there?” I motion to the platform where my family is seated. Standing behind them are my father’s elite.
“I’m not a knight,” he answers, his voice clipped.
I pull my eyes from the arena, irritated. “You are Father’s master archer.”
He holds a hand up, asking me to let it be, and shakes his head.
“It’s not fair,” I hiss at a whisper, irritated—as I always am when the subject comes up. “What more does he require of you? You saved his brother’s life!” I exclaim, referring to a particularly bloody battle near the end of the dragon war—one of the last in Errinton that Sir Kimble and Archer shouldn’t have technically been involved in.
I run my finger down the long scar on his arm to remind him.
He jerks away. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Your grandfather is a lord.”
