Page 36 of Pippa of Lauramore
“If I were allowed to compete—and let’s remember I am not—I am still a lowly archer. Archers don’t marry princesses.”
We’re in murky territory, and I should leave it alone—but, alas, it’s not in my nature to leave things alone.
“That’s ridiculous. What difference does it make if you’re a master archer? It’s only one social step under a knight—just one. I could marry a knight if he were to win the tournament. Why couldn’t I marry you?”
Archer’s no longer smiling. In fact, he looks angry. “To be a knight, you must be a lord’s son. I am not.”
“You’re a lord’s grandson. Doesn’t that count for anything?” I demand, yet again bringing up the tender subject.
His eyes flash. “My mother chose to marry my father, knowing full well it would forfeit any right to a title she or her offspring would have.”
“It’s so unfair!”
“Enough! I would not wish to compete anyway,” he snaps, his voice hot and angry.
I feel like I’ve been slapped. I look away, my eyes stinging with tears. I pushed too hard, and I’ve hurt him. I know that. But he is my friend, and what he said was cruel—even if it is true.
Archer clears his throat. “Pippa, I’m sorry.”
I nod, refusing to look at him.
“Princess, I know my place. Let’s not confuse things with fanciful what-ifs,” he says, his voice soft and remorseful. “We are friends. Let’s not fight over something neither of us would want.”
“All right.” But it doesn’t feel all right, not really.
The sun continues to set, and we continue toward the palace.
“Pippa?”
“Hmmm?” I murmur, not looking at him.
“I believe we’ve found ourselves an inger nest.”
We stareat the waspnettle for too long, debating how we’re going to retrieve the egg without protection, and finally Archer decides to simply go in. It’s a tiny patch, only four or five plants together, and the nest is fully visible from the trail.
“Careful,” I coax, unable to watch.
It only takes Archer half a minute to claim the egg, but he still gets stung several times along his arms and twice on his neck.
As we near the palace, I glance at him, concerned. “Does it hurt horribly?”
The red welts on his arms are swollen. His jaw is clenched, and he looks like he’s in pain. “It’s uncomfortable.”
The inger egg is tucked safely in his saddlebag. No harm will come to it until we meet Galinor tomorrow.
“How will you get to your rooms without someone noticing you?” His chambers are in the lower halls with the unmarried knights. He’s bound to meet someone on his way in.
“There’s an empty cottage a few minutes from here. It used to belong to the woodsman before his family outgrew it. I’ll stay there tonight. The welts should be better by tomorrow.”
“Let’s go there now. I can sneak into the palace by myself.”
He shakes his head. “I need to see you to the gate.”
I give him a stern look. “You know very well I can take care of myself, and we can’t risk you being spotted in this condition.”
Too uncomfortable to argue, Archer gives in and leads me to the cottage. I’ve never seen it before, though it’s not far from the palace. In the dim light of dusk, I can just make out the small stone structure in the dark.
“I will be back with a salve from Yuven,” I tell him, turning Willowisp back toward the palace. We’re off before he can object.
