Page 7 of Pippa of Lauramore
“Don’t tell.” I rush back to Willowisp.
Archer nods once, agreeing though he still doesn’t look happy about it.
“No,” I say as I mount Willowisp. “Promise me.”
Our eyes meet. “I swear to you, Pippa. I will tell no one.”
We slipout the back of the stables and go through the rear palace gate. Very few use it because it’s always locked.
Luckily, I have a key.
We pass through the mountain meadows where sheep graze and livestock dogs keep watch. There are usually shepherd children with them, but tonight they are in the great hall. Neither the sheep nor the dogs care that we’re sneaking away.
I laugh in the moonlight, reveling in how easy this is.
The ornate copper gown Mother made for the evening is now a tangled mess, and the wispy layers of skirt fly behind me. Riding in a gown is a nuisance, but tonight nothing can dampen my enthusiasm—not even anticipating the look of horror on Mother’s face when she sees the mud-caked hem and pulled stitches.
Soon we’re in the forest, safe away from the main road, and the night sounds soothe me. It was a close call with Archer. I’m surprised he let me go. We both know he could have marched my wayward self right back into the great hall.
“Do you trust the man?” Galinor speaks for the first time since we’ve left.
I nod. “Oh, yes. He’s a bit of a killjoy, but he’s not a liar.”
“Who is he?”
“He’s the master archer.” I glance at him, wondering how the prince will handle the news that he has taken orders from a mere archer. “And my archery instructor.”
He seems satisfied with my answer. “You call him by his title instead of his name?”
I shrug. “I’ve never heard him called anything else.”
The rest of the ride is quiet. Willowisp is familiar with the trail, and she flies across it. Galinor must concentrate to keep up with us.
In the distance, there is a sharp, bone-chilling screech.
“What was that?” Galinor asks, startled.
“Mountain cat,” I say automatically. And even though I know I’m right, I can’t help but wonder if it’s a glasseln.
There hasn’t been a full-grown one spotted in years. There was an abandoned litter of cubs found when I was ten or so. After much discussion, they were left to die. The sweet little things were soft and fuzzy, and they looked just like cuddly barn kittens. At the time, I was furious.
Now I know better…I know what they grow up to be.
“Are they dangerous?” Galinor asks, speaking of mountain cats and not the deadly glasselns.
I glance at him. The steel at his side glints in the moonlight.
“You have a sword,” I say as I nudge my mare to go faster. “We’re fine.”
Galinor’s stallion doesn’t like the long, stair-stepped paths cut into the earth, but Willowisp glides over the last terrace with speed. We’re lower now, and the terrain evens out. The woods are thick here, and the forest is alive with the scurrying of small nighttime creatures.
“Almost there,” I call to him and turn off the path to follow a small deer trail.
“Princess Pippa, are you sure about this?” Galinor eyes my path with suspicion.
“Positive.”
The cave is just around this last grove of trees. Our path opens to a meadow backed by a rocky incline, and there, in the moonlight, is the mouth of my cave. If I didn’t know better, it would look foreboding.
