I thrust the tunic at her. “Do you have a knife?”
With pink cheeks, she yanks her attention back to me. “Why would I have a knife?”
Purposely avoiding Galinor, I turn to the brothers. “Dristan? Bran?”
Though they shake their heads, I refuse to look at Galinor again. I’ll just make a fool of myself.
Galinor steps forward, handing me his dagger. “Here.”
I accept it, my eyes on the steel. Apparently that amuses him. He chuckles low and walks away, and I onlytake a tiny peek at him before I take his dagger to the tunic.
Once the sleeves are removed and the raw edges bound, I slice the tunic down the middle. After I hem it and add the gold trim, I hold up the vest to inspect my work.
“It will do.” I hand it back to Galinor. “Tie one of the long scarves around your waist before you put it on.”
He selects a scarf that is far too short. “What do you mean?”
I push myself off the ground, exasperated. “No, not that one.” I find one that is longer and striped. “This one.”
“How do you want me to…?”
I snatch it from him. “Honestly, Galinor, it’s not that difficult.” Keeping my eyes on the fabric, I wrap the scarf around his middle and tie it at his side.
“I suppose it wasn’t,” he says when I’m finished, his voice a touch deeper than usual.
A witty retort is on my lips, but I forget what I was going to say when I look up at him. His mouth quirks in a half smile, and my stomach flutters.
We study each other for a heartbeat too long, and then I quickly step away and snatch the shells from the ground.
Trying to ignore the sudden heat in my chest, I toss the strand to Dristan. “Find a way to put these—”
I’m interrupted by an ear-piercing shriek. I swivel around, already knowing what I’m going to find. Pika is in front of Marigold, staring at her with curious eyes and a twitching tail.
“Marigold, it’s all right—”
And just like that, Marigold passes out.
Bran has already unsheathed his sword, ready to slay the glasseln, and Dristan is searching for his bow.
Galinor steps in front of them. “No!”
The brothers pause, surprised.
“It’s Anwen’s,” Galinor explains, obviously irritated with the situation.
“She’s friendly,” I assure them, and I go to her.
Pika lets out a loud yowl. She then sits back on her haunches, watching us. I stroke her head and wings, and she purrs with pleasure.
“Impossible,” Bran whispers.
Dristan stares at the cat with a slack jaw and disbelieving eyes.
Bran rips his attention from the glasseln to me. “She’s a pet?”
I shake my head. “No, but she befriended us in Lauramore, and now she’s followed us here.”
“That’s the thing that was stalking us!” Bran exclaims.
