“Incredible,” she says, wonder in her eyes. “I didn’t think it was possible.”
“Anwen has a way with animals.” Galinor squeezes my hand. “Dristan has requested she come to Triblue in the spring when the wild horses foal.”
My cheeks go pink with the praise.
Pippa gives me a satisfied smile before she turns to tell Archer to hurry and follow us. She then drags us to her greenhouse for the pansley.
It’s a very unassuming herb—just a green mass of tiny leaves growing in a medium-sized clay pot. Pippa snips off a large clump, wraps the stems in a damp cloth, and then deposits the whole thing in an oil-cloth bag.
“Keep the cloth damp, and they should stay fresh for several days. They may freeze, but it won’t hurt them any.” She adds the washed kember carrots and water root to the bag, and then hands it to me. “I’m sorry you can’t stay longer. Please say you’ll come back and visit.”
I’m sure Galinor will return.
“Thank you, Pippa,” Galinor says, and then he turns to her husband. “Archer.”
Since we won’t make it to the border today, Archer tells us of a village to stop in with a respectable inn. Instead of retracing our path and going down through Coppel, we will travel south into Glendon and then down to Primewood. I can’t say I’m upset we won’t be seeing more of Gelminshard.
We say our goodbyes. I look back as we leave. Archer’s arm is wrapped around Pippa’s shoulders, and she clings to him as she gives us a big wave goodbye.
They are happy together. Truly happy. I think Galinor realizes it as well because he seems content when we leave.
The doorto the gimly’s house swings open as if Ergmin knew exactly when we would return.
“Have any trouble finding the iktar?” He gives us a full, old-man grin.
I bite my tongue and enter the cottage. The gremlin must be off hiding somewhere because he’s not peering from under the table or bounding around the kitchen.
“Here.” I thrust the bag of ingredients at Ergmin. Galinor sets the cloth wrapped loin on the table.
Ergmin eyes the bag and scrunches his brow. “I was hoping you’d put it all together for me.”
Unbelievable.
I take a slow, calming breath. “After we make you this stew, you’ll do the counter-curse?”
Something flickers in Ergmin’s eyes, but he nods. “Yes. After you make the stew, the curse will be finished.”
I haven’t even been home yet. I can’t stand to see Father looking sick and frail again. I ache for this to be over.
Galinor rubs my shoulder as if sensing my patience has reached its limit. “We’ll make it.”
Ergmin’s cat watches with hungry eyes as Galinor prepares the meat. The prince sets me to slicing the potatoes and carrots, a simple task I’m finding surprisingly difficult. My knife slips, narrowly missing my finger. I glare at the blade, bite my lip, and continue slicing.
If the kitchen windows were fitted with glass so the sun could shine in, and if I wasn’t worried about the gremlin appearing at any moment, the task might be a pleasant one. As it is, however, I just want to be done with it. I have little trouble with the pansley, though I do nick myself as I slice the water root.
Finally, the stew is bubbling on the stove.
I turn to Ergmin and hold up my hands. “There, it’s done. Will you please—please—do the counter curse now?”
Ergmin sits at the table. “As soon as we’ve enjoyed the stew together.”
I turn to Galinor. “How long until it’s finished?”
“A good stew needs to simmer most of the day,” Ergmin answers for Galinor. He strokes his chin, continuing to think about it. “Yes, it should be ready by this evening.”
Absolutely not.
I take a step forward. “Listen here—”
