Page 42 of Pippa of Lauramore
“Stop!” I yell. “If you do anything, I will kill him.”
They hesitate, but angry rumbles travel through the crowd.
“You will let us leave the forest safely and unchanged, you will give us the Eldentimber resin, and you will restore me to my proper size.” I push the knife’s edge against the king’s neck for emphasis.
“All right,” he says through clenched teeth.
I move the knife a fraction of an inch, and he gasps. “Swear it.”
“I swear.”
“You will never bother us again.”
“I swear.”
“Turn me back.” I drop the knife, knowing a fairy is bound by his word—whether he likes it or not.
The king turns, and there is an even larger grin on his face than before. “I was right about you. You are a fiery thing, and I really do like that.” He winks. “I won’t change your hair. That wasn’t my work.”
I stare at him, surprised. “A fairy really did enchant my hair?”
He laughs, and it’s a rich sound. The others join him. He pulls a strand forward and raises his eyebrows. The golden ends shimmer in his fairy light. “How could this be anything but the work of a fairy?”
Suddenly the tree and all of its shimmering inhabitants shrink. I’m suspended in the air, but once I reach my proper size, I fall to the ground.
Hard.
The fairies laugh at my squeal.
Archer is already helping me up, and his protective hand stays on my arm. I snap my fingers at the king and hold out my hand, palm up. A white fairy hauls over a good-sized chunk of resin, struggling with the weight as he flies, and places it in my hand. I feel instant relief as I close my fingers over the precious treasure.
The king gives me a final wave. We leave the grove as quickly as we can safely ride, glad to be away from the fairies and their tree. Through the thick blanket of theforest, I can’t see where the sun is in the sky, but judging from the angle of the shadows, I fear it will be very late before I’m back at the palace.
“Pippa,we don’t have time for this.” Archer clicks his tongue, impatient with me.
My feet are getting soggy through my boots, but the only patch of waterchivel I’ve seen is in the middle of this creek. I promised Yuven I would find it and the merryming, which is already safely hanging from my pack. I had almost forgotten but remembered when I saw the purple flowers growing alongside the trail.
The waterchivel wasn’t so easy to find.
“We’re late anyway. What difference will a few more minutes make?”
Late is an understatement. It’s past dusk, and I know we’ve missed dinner. Not only will my absence be noticed, but Archer’s is sure to be as well. It won’t take Father long to figure out who I disappeared with this time.
“Princess,” says Galinor, climbing down from his horse. “I will retrieve it for you. What if you fall in?”
“Then I’ll get wet,” I answer, irritated. “I’m sorry. I’m fine, Galinor, thank you,” I amend as I hop from one rock to another.
The creek isn’t deep or fast; it’s just wide.
Galinor hovers at the edge, unsure how to save me.
Archer snorts. “It’s all right. Our princess is as surefooted as a mountain goat—and equally as stubborn.”
I glance at him, a sharp remark on my tongue, and the rock I’ve just settled on shifts under my foot, tipping sideways. Suddenly, I’m sitting in the creek, water up to my stomach. My hind end—which was already tender from falling from the Eldentimber tree—throbs in pain.
Galinor crashes through the water, soaking his fine leather boots, and drags me to my feet. My skirts cling to me, and I pull the drenched fabric away from my legs so I can walk. Archer waits for us at the bank, and for the second time today, he’s trying very hard not to laugh. He holds his hand out to me, offering assistance, but I slap it away.
“Your fault,” I say to him, and he frowns at my testy answer, trying not to smile.
