Page 61 of Pippa of Lauramore
We settle into a comfortable, frustrated silence. I pull myself up on the sheep fence and watch Willowisp graze. Archer stands next to me, leaning against the fence. The only outward sign of change between us is his hand resting on my knee.
CHAPTER 15
We pause on our way to the palace to watch the sun illuminate the clouds on the western horizon. The sunset burns a deep red with streaks of sunlit yellow. Above us, where the sky is already darkening, a few puffy clouds glow gold, as if they are clinging to the last rays of light.
We don’t discuss Archer’s confession. There’s nothing more to say. Well, that’s not entirely true. I have something to say, but I’m terrified.
He knows. Even though I don’t say the words—he knows.
There’s a rocky terrace that rises above the others, and movement on the top catches my eye. There’s a lone figure staring at the sky like we are. His horse grazes beside him. I squint, though I can already tell who it is by his silhouette.
I point. “It’s Galinor.”
Archer’s brow furrows. “What is he doing here? He should be much farther north by now.”
“Let’s find out.” I’m already nudging Willowisp forward.
Archer follows, but he asks, “They will be expecting you soon. Do you want to lose your freedom the same day it was granted back to you?”
I wonder if he’s jealous of Galinor like I was of Marigold. I don’t want to hurt Archer, but I need Galinor. I need him to win. Archer knows that.
“We’ll be quick,” I answer.
Archer is familiar with the area, and he leads us to the trail up the terrace. I can feel the sun set, sinking lower with each moment.
Galinor hears us and turns. He doesn’t look surprised to see us.
I try to keep the concern out of my voice. “What are you still doing here?”
I’m not meddling; I’m asking. It’s different.
He turns back to the sunset, and we join him. He has a troubled, far-off expression that makes me think he doesn’t feel the pressure of the sinking sun like I do.
“Galinor?” I prod.
“I was six when the Dragon Wars officially began and only twelve when my grandfather brought me to my first battle. I was his squire, of sorts. I was excited—thrilled—to be part of the war. The excitement wore off after several years. I’ve seen blood and death and misery and sadness.”
He pauses, and we wait for him to continue. Archer understands. I can see it in his eyes.
“I watched my grandfather die when I was thirteen. We refused to show mercy on a female dragon with aclutch of eggs. We found her on the side of a cliff, alone. She wasn’t attacking; she wasn’t part of the war. We slew her anyway. Her mate found us five days later, tracked us by our scent like a dog. He killed Grandfather in front of me. It was a gruesome thing.”
I feel numb. Families—both human and dragon—were ripped apart by the war. It’s not an uncommon story. Everyone has someone they lost. If it hadn’t been for Archer, my someone would have been Sir Kimble.
Galinor continues, “He left me alive—to remember, he said. Before he left, he warned me if I were to so much as speak to another dragon, he would hunt down my family, and kill them in the same way he struck Grandfather down. I swore I would not.” He pauses. “I haven’t seen a dragon since.”
Dragons are wise, calculating, and deadly. You don’t break an oath to a dragon. It would be a death wish.
“I’ll retrieve the treasure,” Archer says. I open my mouth to protest. He can’t do this for me. It’s too much.
Galinor shakes his head. “Archer, I can’t ask that of you?—”
“You didn’t ask. I offered,” Archer says, cutting Galinor off. “And I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for Pippa.”
I want to command him not to go. Doesn’t he know it’s dangerous? Doesn’t he know he may die? Our eyes lock. I read his expression, and I know I won’t change his mind.
“I’m coming,” I say.
They both protest, but I hold up my hand to silence them. “I’m coming.”
