Just as she is tightening the knot at her hip, footsteps sound from the edge of the forest. I shoo Pika back into the brush—and just in time.
A young man strides into our camp. He’s handsome in a white, billowy shirt; long, fitted vest; and several scarvestied around his waist. On his head, he wears a large captain’s hat with a huge, plumed feather.
He graces us with a cocky grin as he bows low.
“Welcome back, Irving,” I say. “I see you’ve found yourself new clothes.”
Irving winks. “I’ve done better than that, darling. I’ve bought us a caravan cart.”
Chapter 11
“What are we supposed to do with a caravan cart?” Galinor demands.
“We’ll follow the troupes,” Irving says, looking incredibly proud of his new purchase. “The girls can sleep in it, and we’ll blend in.”
As Galinor and Irving bicker about the cart, I walk through the dark woods back to Crayhope, needing time away from everyone to think. Fires in lit urns glow down the streets in the village, illuminating the large group of people who have gathered in the square. Intrigued, I make my way to them.
A man at the front of the crowd addresses us, but I can’t see him or quite make out his words. No one pays me any attention as I shoulder my way through the audience to get a better view.
But before I reach the front, applause breaks out, along with a great collection of joyful shouts and whistles. The reason for their exuberance quickly travels to where I stand near the back.
The festival will continue as usual.
A dark figure dressed in jester’s garb swings from atop one of the shops in the square with a lit torch in his hand. I stand on my tiptoes, hoping for a better view. The man drops the torch to a pyre in the center of the square, and it lights. The people around me cheer at the sight of the tall, hot flames, which apparently mark the beginning of the festivities.
Girls with tambourines dance and sing, others join with lutes and flutes, and everywhere people laugh and cheer.
I walk amongst them, soaking up the merriment surrounding me. But my heart aches when I think of Dimitri. I’m here, in his world, amongst his people.
A hand settles on my shoulder, and I spin around.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Galinor says. “I’m not sure it’s wise to wander alone in the evening.”
I glance around. Already, mead and wine flow freely. It won’t be long before the merriment becomes darker. Still, I don’t want to return to the others yet.
I hold out my hand. “Stay with me?”
All around us, people dance and sing, but we two are in our own tiny world, immune to the chaos. A girl with a flute travels past, trilling a melody that’s joyful yet haunting.
Finally, Galinor takes my hand. A thrill runs through me, but I try to act nonchalant as I tug him toward the crowd that has gathered nearby.
A trio of acrobats begins their act. They roll and jump onto each other’s shoulders, and then they vault to the ground with impressive twists and somersaults.Spectators toss coins into an overturned hat, which has already gathered quite the collection. The audience must be feeling generous on the first night of the festival.
Galinor stands close, his arm pressed against mine.
After a few moments, we walk farther down another street, following the fiery urns. A woman sits inside an open tent near us. Her black hair falls down her back, and she wears scarves over her face. A glass ball rests on the table in front of her, and a strange, unnatural mist swirls from within.
“Have your fortunes told, young lovers,” she says when she spots us, beckoning us forward.
I freeze, not only from the assumption she made, but also from the too-eager look in her dark eyes. Magic is forbidden, and yet, there is still that pull.
What could she tell us?
Galinor gently tugs me along. To the woman, he says, “No, thank you.”
I’m relieved to be away…but also disappointed.
Softly, so the words won’t travel back to her, I ask Galinor, “Do you think she could have told us where to find Dimitri?”
