Page 40 of Pippa of Lauramore
“I don’t think it’s a pearl,” Archer says, voicing his opinion yet again. He’s not riding far in front of us today, and is close enough to join in the conversation.
“What is it then, Archer?” I ask, my tone snippier than I mean it to be.
“I don’t know yet,” he answers with an easy grin.
We’ve been riding half the day, and we’re very near the Eldentimber tree now.
Patches of goodleburgen brush sporadically sprout up here and there, their strange blue leaves almost glowing in the dappled forest light. Birds call to one another, twittering like they haven’t a care in the world. That’s a little strange—there are usually many predators in the deep woods. Songbirds don’t live here.
Archer takes in a sharp breath, and I look at the trail in front of us.
A silver stag, perfect and regal, crosses our path. Glancing at us like we’re nothing more than bothersome squirrels, he continues on his way. I watch, my mouth hanging open, as he disappears in the brush.
The Eldentimber tree grows just beyond the spot where the stag crossed. Its gold leaves sway in a breeze I don’t feel. I gasp as a whir of white light flies past us, around the white trunk, and then up into the branches to join hundreds of other sparkling lights.
“Pippa?” Archer asks, concerned. “Were there fairies living in this tree last time you were here?”
“No.”
“Actual fairies?” Galinor asks, bemused.
Before I can answer, one of the lights zooms to Archer and pauses in front of his face. I can just make out the tiny man, but his wings move like a hummingbird’s; they are nothing but a blur.
“You trespass on King Brugpondam’s territory. What do you have to say for yourselves?”
“We most certainly do not trespass,” I say hotly. “This land belongs to my father, King Ewan ofLauramore, and you may tell your king he is trespassing himself.”
Leaving a flicker of sparks in his wake, the fairy flits to me. His hair is white like his flame, and his clothes are like doll clothes—just like ours but tiny. “You are Princess Pippa?”
“I am.”
“Then you are forgiven.”
I open my mouth to retort, but Galinor interrupts before I have a chance.
“Good sir.” He gives me a look that plainly says I am to keep my mouth shut. “We are sorry to disturb His Majesty, but we are here for an item precious to us. If you can help us secure that item, we will leave you in peace.”
Before I can flick the fairy across the grove and into the tree trunk, the little man whirs over to Galinor. Dozens of lights have ventured closer, and we’re surrounded. “What item?”
“Eldentimber resin.”
A strange murmur passes through the crowd of lights, and it almost sounds like they are laughing at us.
They are nothing but a nuisance, these fairies.
He flits back to me, offering a mock bow before he flies into the branches. “For you, Princess, I will ask.”
“I hate fairies,” Archer says dryly.
One of the lights dive-bombs him, hitting him in the head. He jumps and says a string of curses that I suspect would be harsher if I were not here.
A golden light drifts from the tree, followed by an entourage of white. The light stops in front of me. The man would be very handsome if he weren’t the size of abird. He crosses his arms, studying me, and hovers in the air.
“We will make a deal with you, fair Princess,” Brugpondam says. “You may have a token of resin if you can enchant us with your voice. One beautiful song for one piece of beautiful resin.”
Archer makes a choking noise.
I can’t sing.
