Page 91 of Pippa of Lauramore
My stomach knots when I remember how it felt to be held by him last night. “All right.”
Lionel is back in his seat, watching us. I tense, and mywaist still hurts from where he dug his fingers into my skin. Archer adjusts his hand at my side, and I wince.
“He did hurt you,” Archer says, appalled.
“Don’t let him win the tournament,” I answer. “Please, Archer.”
The song ends, and Archer has no choice but to release me. I feel cold as he steps away.
“I will do everything in my power, Pippa.”
Lionel is already making his way back through the crowd, ready to claim me. Before he can, Bran asks for a dance and then Galinor after him. It seems like I dance with everyone, and anytime there’s a lull, one of our knights whisks me away. I’m exhausted before the night is through, but I manage to avoid Lionel for the rest of the evening.
“Thank you,” I say to Sir Asher after our dance.
I’m relieved when the quartet of players stands up after the song, done for the evening. I excuse myself, passing Alexander as I leave. He smirks, and I know it wasn’t by chance the knights were keeping me busy tonight.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
CHAPTER 23
Besides those rousing in the kitchens, there’s no one up yet. I woke up feeling edgy. The feeling follows me out the palace and to Mother’s gardens. The morning is cool, and I know the water will be frigid. I wore a simple gown today, and I pull it over my head. I lean over the ledge and drop the dress and woven blanket to the rocky, moss-covered terrace below.
Dressed only in my shift, I stand a moment and breathe in the smell of the earthy mist. I pull myself up on the short wall, and the jagged, moist rock digs into my bare feet. Raising my hands above my head, I dive into the water.
It’s dark and disorienting, but I locate the surface and kick myself up. I gasp as I break through the barrier between water and air. I was right—the pool is freezing. I swim behind the waterfall and crawl up and into the cave, passing through a curtain of hanging ferns, making my way through the darkness. My shoulder, which throbbed in pain when I first made contact with the water, is nowblessedly numb from the cold. There’s only a dull ache as I walk.
I wince as little pebbles dig into my feet, but I know where the large holes and boulders are so I don’t trip or stub a toe. Maid-of-the-shadows grow in abundance toward the middle of the cave. I make my way past them. I have a new appreciation of their potency, and I am especially careful to keep away from them now.
Using my hands to navigate the tunnel, I brush my fingers against the cool cave walls as I go. The tunnel has a permanent just-rained smell, and I breathe it in. It will be something I miss when I am wed. The wall curves under my fingers, and I follow it to the right.
Soon the glowing bell flowers disappear, and there’s a circular patch of very dim morning light at the end of the tunnel. I come to the mouth of the cave, which is nearly flush with the face of a large terrace cliff except for a small, uneven ledge. I gaze at the valley beyond. In the barely-there light of morning, the valley is awash with blues and grays.
Still dripping, I retrieve my flint and knife from a leather strap at my calf. I collect fallen pine needles, cones, and dead leaves from the crevices and ledges on the face of the cliff. Stretching up on my tiptoes to reach, I break several branches from a dead tree that hangs over the ledge above me.
Unlike the cave, the cliff face is dry, and the tinder is brittle from the winds that pass through the valley.
I cross my legs, make a little nest of pine needles, and strike the flint with my knife. Sparks fly, and soon theneedles catch. Careful to keep the tiny flame alive, I add sticks and then the larger branches.
The fire warms me, and I watch the sky lighten as the sun creeps closer to the top of the mountains. Keeping the water away from the flames, I wring out my hair.
The joust is tomorrow, and the day after that is the hand-to-hand combat. In two days, I will know the man I’m going to marry.
It won’t be Archer.
Galinor is in the lead with eleven points—not including his chosen points. Lionel is in second with ten, and Rigel and Irving are tied for third with six. Of course, Irving won’t be completing the tournament, so that just leaves Rigel.
There are another possible twelve points—six for the joust and six for the hand-to-hand, so it could be anyone, but it will most likely be one of those three.
The joust and the hand-to-hand events are Galinor’s strengths. Archer and I have held his hand through the others, but these he will have to do on his own.
I close my eyes and lean my head against the hard stone, thinking.
Who will Archer eventually marry? I wonder what his son will look like. I imagine a little boy with serious eyes and light brown hair. His father will teach him to shoot and hunt, and at the end of each day, they will return home to a beautiful woman. She will kiss Archer, welcoming him home, and he will wrap?—
Stop.
Anna told me once when I was young that a girl can’t die from a broken heart. At the age of thirteen, after oneof the stable boys I thought I’d loved kissed a milkmaid, I believed her.
