“What do we do?” she asks me under her breath.
“Don’t ask me to dance,” I say. “The last time didn’t go so well.”
Rosie smiles wide when she sees the children. She opens her arms in a flourish and bends in a deep bow. “Come to hear Rosalina play, have you?”
The boys stare at her, their eyes wide. The little girl watches her with awe.
Rosie climbs into the cart and retrieves her lute. “I usually only play for kings and queens,” she says. “But I can see you are very special.” She winks at them, and then her fingers strum against the instrument.
Of course, she has a beautiful voice as well. I turn away, letting Rosie entertain the children and the few adults who have gathered. Once in the cart, I’m tempted to throw myself on the bed and take a nap. I’m not sure if I’m exhausted from the ride or from the prospect of seeing Dimitri again. Danver has no such reservations. He already sleeps on the bed, looking as cozy as a fox can be.
Smiling, I scratch behind his ears, and he stretches with a lazy yawn. Danver loves the caravan cart.
Marigold enters and shuts the door behind her. “Do you think anyone would be entertained by a lecture about the migratory pattern of southern kingdom birds?” she asks.
“I don’t think so.” I laugh. “Many of the troupe members are artisans, aren’t they? Perhaps you could sit outside and stitch something?”
“What will the men do?”
“I have no idea.”
“Well.” She gives me her stern look and sets her handson her hips. “Then you should get out there and find Dimitri so we can go home.”
Point taken—no naps for me.
I step outside the cart. To my surprise, Irving has joined Rosie. He twirls her as she plays, and somehow the two manage to make an impromptu dance that looks rehearsed. Not to be left out, Bran and Dristan sing along with Rosie, picking up the song quickly.
Galinor leans against a tree. With crossed arms, he watches them all, and a scowl plays over his features. I grab his wrist as I pass, pulling him with me. Perhaps I’m a coward, but I don’t want to find Dimitri alone.
“What does he look like?” Galinor asks as we prowl through the crowds, looking for my target.
“Dark hair, dark eyes, average height,” I answer. “Acrobatic build.”
Galinor frowns. “So, like every man here?”
“That’s right.”
I loop my arm through his as we continue. The festival is in full swing, and I can’t believe the number of entertainers and merchants who have flocked here for the event. We weave through all the shops and cottages, and walk the squares several times.
Dimitri and his troupe are nowhere to be seen.
“They must be here,” I say, losing hope. “The fortune teller said…”
I watch the festivities, not feeling festive at all.
Gently, Galinor says, “Do you think she might have lied to you?”
My throat closes and tears prick my eyes. “Why would she?”
Instead of answering, Galinor wraps his arm around my shoulders, guiding me back to our caravan cart.
Evening is falling, and there’s a chill in the air. People have started pine wood fires in cooking pits, and the rich smell of smoke welcomes us. The flames’ glow is pleasant in the twilight, and I pick up our pace, hoping our party has started one as well.
When we’re near our camp, we find there is not only a fire, but visitors as well. Five performers sit with our friends, talking and laughing. After exchanging a curious look, Galinor and I hurry to them.
We arrive just in time to hear a woman with a thick accent say, “Dimitri was never here.”
The woman’s hair is glossy and full, and it falls down her back in perfect black waves. “We parted ways in Primewood.”
