“This is getting us nowhere,” Galinor says, tired of walking aimlessly. “Let’s ask someone.”
An older Bandolian man stands near us. There’s a large gold hoop through one ear and a chain around his neck. Silver streaks his once-black hair. Despite his age,he still wears it long, and the length of it falls just above his waist.
With sharp eyes, he studies Galinor as the prince strides toward him.
“Do you know a man named Dimitri?” Galinor asks, not bothering with small talk.
“I might.” The peddler’s focus lands on Galinor’s money pouch, and he gives the prince a pointed look.
Undaunted, Galinor tosses the man a copper coin.
“There are a lot of Dimitris,” the man says, running the coin through his fingers.
I step forward. “He’s a Bandolian prince.”
Galinor gives me a look as if to say,don’t get too close. I ignore him.
“Ah, that Dimitri.” A smirk lifts the man’s age-worn face. “I might knowthatDimitri.”
He raises his eyebrows at Galinor expectantly. The prince scoffs, but this time, he flips the man a piece of gold. The peddler’s face lights with greed, and he eagerly bites the coin. Satisfied it’s real, he tucks it into his pouch.
“Is his troupe here?” Galinor asks.
“No.”
“Do you know where he is?”
The man chuckles, sounding truly amused. “I’m not his keeper. I have no idea where he might be.”
Apparently finished with the conversation, the man tilts his head as if instructing us to move along. Galinor hesitates, and it looks as though it’s taking a great deal of self-control for him not to throttle the man. After several tense seconds, he shakes his head and turns away.
We continue our search, but every answer is the same.Recognition flashes in the nomads’ eyes, but their responses are cryptic at best. We’re not one of their own, and they won’t help us.
Irving shrugs when we are once again sent on our way. “Silence is a good creed amongst thieves, liars, and cheats.”
I’m never going to find Dimitri.
“What do we do?” Galinor asks.
We’ve arrived back at the copse of trees where I’ve left Danver. I whistle for him as the men discuss our plan. When he doesn’t come, I push my way through the bushes.
“Where are you going?” Marigold asks.
I glance over my shoulder. “To find Danver.”
Galinor works his jaw. I think he might argue, but instead, he says, “Don’t go too far.”
I walk through the trees, looking for the fox. I hear the great, rumbling purr before I see Pika, but even with the warning, I almost shriek when she barrels through the brush at me.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper as I try to catch my breath from the surprise.
Danver trots up behind the glasseln. Apparently, the two have bonded. Pika falls at my feet, rubbing her back on the grass and begging to be scratched.
I crouch down to stroke her ears. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Anwen?” Galinor calls. Judging from the distance of his voice, he is close. “I thought I…” Galinor’s eyes go wide when he sees the glasseln stretched out at my feet. Once the initial shock wears off, he narrows his eyes at the large cat. “What are you going to do with her?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug, helpless. “I can’t believe she followed us all this way.”
