Page 84 of Pippa of Lauramore
“What happened to you?” I find a seat close to him.
His brown eyes are droopy, but he seems coherent despite his fatigue. He’s obviously had the pain-relieving tea. “My leg was crushed.”
“Can Clarion mend it?” I feel sick.
“He is trying.” Dristan lays his head back. “But he says it will never be the same. There will be no more crawling up ship’s rigging for me.”
I like Dristan, but I’ve never felt about him the way I do about Archer or even Galinor. I wish I did, though. He needs someone to tell him they’ll stand by him, that they’ll love him even if he loses his leg. That girl is not me, but it breaks my heart that it is not.
“Can I tell you something, Princess?” He turns his head toward me.
I nod. He hides his pain well, but the longer he talks, the harder it is to conceal. The tea only does so much.
“I wanted to save you from Lionel.” A ghost of a smile crosses his face. “I wanted to beat Galinor and be your knight.”
I hate the tournament. How selfish I was to think these men should risk their lives for me—and all so I don’t have to marry Lionel.
Dristan closes his eyes, succumbing to the tea, and I squeeze his hand. He smiles as he drifts to sleep.
I can’t standit anymore. The sun is setting, and I’m nearly hysterical. Galinor and Archer are not back. They are the last.
Marigold is with me. Together, we stand on the highest parapet, scanning the roads and woods. We wait. We watch.
Below us, Father prepares a search party. With the rock slide, everyone expects the worst. Alexander and seven of his elite knights prepare to leave. Percival and Sir Kimble will wait here. No one will let me go. They won’t even hear of it.
The wind blows my hair, whipping it around my face. A storm is moving in. Dark, ominous clouds drift in from the north. There is moisture in the air, and the closer the storm moves, the lower the clouds settle. The last of the sun’s rays disappear behind the mountain, and without its light cutting through the mist, it becomes impossible to see past the first stand of trees at the forest’s edge.
“Is it Galinor you’re taken with?” I ask Marigold, raising my voice to be heard over the wind. I stare into the great nothingness, waiting for her answer.
Her face is etched with worry, marring her features. Like me, her hair is a mess of flying strands. She looks oddly beautiful, and once again I am reminded of how cruel I was to think her plain.
“It is,” she says, answering. “You don’t love him,” she adds, her voice kind but accusing.
“I know.”
Her eyebrows knit as she thinks about my answer.
“I saw him as a sure bet,” I say. “Someone to beat Lionel.”
She’s about to argue, already working up an indignant look, but I cut her off before she can start.
“And that was wrong,” I say. “He’s kind and caring and deserves so much better than me.”
I expect her to argue, just to be polite if nothing else, but she keeps quiet, waiting for me to continue.
“I have come to care for him,” I say. “But not in the way I have led him to believe.”
“What will you do?”
I worry my lip. “I will tell him.”
I don’t think she heard me, but then she nods. “It’s for the best, Pippa. He is noble and true—he will still fight to save you.” She pauses. “But he deserves the truth. He needs to know you are in love with Archer.”
Hearing Archer’s name brings on a fresh bout of worry. Where is he?
“What about you?” I ask. “Will you hate me if Galinor is victorious?”
She shakes her head. “No. It’s why he’s here. I don’t expect anything else.”
