Page 7 of Anwen of Primewood
“You have my only coin.”
Inger frowns. “You can earn some from me. You know how to wash linens? Scrub pots?”
Inwardly I cringe, and I don’t answer her right away. Admitting I have no idea how to do either of those things will tell her more than I am willing to share.
She brushes her hair out of her face, studying me. “I figured as much,” she finally says, taking my silence as an answer. “Hurry up and finish your meal. You have much to learn.”
After spendingseveral weeks working as an inn maid, I’m finally on my way to find Dimitri.
I lean out the carriage window with Danver perchedon my lap, and together we take in the sights. The palace of Lauramore is directly in front of us. Just as I remember from the time my family came when I was young, a waterfall cascades from the mountain terrace, falls next to the palace like a long, white ribbon, and crashes into a pool on the terrace below.
On the same level as the pool, but farther down into the meadow, an arena has been constructed. Flags wave in the breeze, but the seats are empty. I’m not as concerned with the arena as I am with the cluster of peasants, traveling merchants, and entertainers who have made a temporary camp not far from the structure.
I recognize no one.
“It was quite the tournament,” a young man says from next to me, his eyes trained on Danver.
I glance at him. “Was?”
He nods. “It ended a few days ago. Haven’t you heard?”
I shake my head, waiting for him to continue. He raises his eyebrows, surprised.
“Who won?” I ask, hoping he’ll continue.
“Prince Lionel of Vernow.” He chuckles when I cringe. “But he cheated, broke the Dragon Treaty, and was carried away by the largest red dragon seen in years.”
I laugh. “You jest.”
The man shakes his head. “No, it’s true.”
“Why hasn’t this news reached Primewood?”
He shrugs. “Not many have left Lauramore. Most are staying through the wedding.”
“I don’t understand. You just said the victor was carried away by a dragon.”
“The win went to Lord Archer of Errinton.”
I try to place the man’s face. “I know no one by that name.”
But I do know only vile things come from Errinton.
“No one did,” a woman across from us interrupts. “He was Lauramore’s master archer. He and the princess fell in love not knowing he was titled.” She sighs. “Lord Rigel of Errinton discovered his heritage, and Archer won the tournament.”
The man scowls at the woman for stealing his story. “We thought the win would go to Prince Galinor of Glendon, but it turns out Archer was completing all the events for him.”
I blink at him, surprised. How dishonorable.
“And you are?” I ask the pair. With how familiar they are with each other, they must be traveling together.
“I am Emery,” the woman says. “And this is Geoff. We work in the kitchens. We traveled to Glendon to buy beef for the wedding feast.”
“When is the wedding?” I ask.
“Three days,” Geoff answers.
What am I going to do for three days? I don’t want to spend them like the first few weeks away from home, scrubbing floors and hanging laundry, but I have used all my coins to get here.
