The fairy’s eyes are warm with compassion. “I can’t read him if he is not here, but I think it would be safe to assume he does not.”
I waketo birds singing their morning songs. I know before I open my eyes that I’m in the forest. I am plagued with a horrible sense of déjà vu. I peek an eye open and find myself lying on my side, Danver cuddled next to me. There’s something warm behind me. It’s Pika. She shifts and begins to purr.
I blink several times, trying to clear the sleep from my vision. My arm lies stretched out in front of me, and my hand is clasped with Galinor’s. Galinor lies perpendicular to me, with his arm extended over his shoulder. He will ache when he wakes.
I try to remember falling asleep, but the last thing I recall is the fairy banquet. I gently pull my hand free, not wanting to disturb Galinor. I’ll be embarrassed should he wake now. What would he think?
What doIthink?
I forget what rabbit trail my mind is bounding down when I sit up and spot Irving. Certain I’m seeing things, I blink several times.
He’s dressed in a garment of woven grass and leaves, and there is a crown of wildflowers upon his head. He’s stretched out, and in sleep, he looks like he hasn’t a care in the world. That will likely change when I wake him.
“Irving.” I shake him gently. “Irving, wake up.”
He mumbles, and a smile tips his lips.
“Irving, wake up,” I say again, a little louder this time.
One eye cracks open. “Anwen?”
Unable to keep the laughter out of my voice, I say, “Good morning, Irving. Did you have a nice night?”
He opens both eyes and looks around. Along with the fairy crown, an assortment of twigs sticks out of his ruffled, blond hair.
“Where are we?” he asks. “Are we alone?” His eyes narrow as if he’s trying to retrieve his memory of the night before. He sits up and rubs his neck. Still groggy, he looks around. His finger catches his foliage tunic. He glances down, looks at me, and then scowls at himself again. “What am I wearing?”
“I have no idea.” I try to clamp my lips shut, but I can’t keep from laughing. “But you look lovely.”
Galinor groans from his forest bed and scowls at Irving. “What in the kingdoms do you have on?”
Irving narrows his eyes. “Where are my clothes?”
I look around the glen. It appears to be fairy-free this morning. I don’t see Irving’s clothing anywhere, but I do spy his bow and quiver. I stride to them and pluck a note from one of the arrows.
“To my most beloved Irving,” I read, and then I waggle my eyebrows in his direction.
Irving groans and rubs his temples.
“I will wait with bated breath for your next visit. Fondest wishes and much love, Kiralia.”
Irving stands and attempts to pull the tunic to an acceptable length. “How am I supposed to ride in this?”
Galinor doesn’t bother to hide his amusement. “I don’t know, but I’m fairly sure you’re going to chafe.”
Irving clutches his head in his hands. “Let me die.”
Galinor slaps him on the back. “Not yet, but you might want to when we ride to Palace Lauramore. I’d take the flowers out of my hair if I were you.”
“That thing can’t followus any farther,” Galinor says. I turn around, ready to scold him, but he cuts me off. “Pikacan’t follow us any farther,” he amends.
I nod. We’re nearing the second terrace. Galinor helps me down from the horse, and I walk to the glasseln. She rubs against me, butting me with her head. I scratch the soft fur between her feathered wings. “Pika, you need to stay here now.”
Her ears twitch, and then she yawns.
“You can’t come with us. It’s dangerous.”
I give her one last scratch and then walk back to Galinor’s horse. As we ride away, I peek over Galinor’s shoulder. Pika is strutting after us. I dismount again.
