The man shakes his head. “He’ll never part with it.”
Galinor slides his hand into mine, offering comfort. “He won’t have a choice.” His voice is cold and deadly, and I would not want to be Dimitri for anything in the world.
The woman sizes Galinor up—a task she seems to be relishing. “He is going to Triblue.”
Dristan and Bran have been listening quietly, both whittling away at scrap tinder, but now they look up, intrigued.
Bran looks at Dristan. “He’s taking them to the End-of-Summer Festival in Saltwreath.”
Dristan nods.
“What is that?” I ask.
I never attended festivals while traveling with Father. There was always a schedule to keep, somewhere more important to be.
Bran turns his attention to me. “It’s a huge festival our family puts on before autumn. Many ships return for winter and won’t sail again until spring.
I wait to see if anyone has caught Bran’s slip that announced his lineage. If they have, they don’t call him on it.
“I thought Triblue was warm year-round,” Galinor says, hurrying past the mistake, hoping no one takes too long to think about it.
“It is, but the weather out at sea is turbulent and unpredictable in autumn and winter.”
Galinor turns to our guests. “How long will it take to travel from here to Triblue?”
The woman looks at a man sitting farther from her, waiting for his opinion.
“A fortnight,” the man answers as he squints with thought. “Give or take a few days.”
I groan silently and rest my head on my knees. I’m never going to find Dimitri.
“Anwen,” Bran says. “It’s fine. The festival won’t begin until the last week of summer. We still have a few weeks.”
Dristan nods in agreement.
I glance at Marigold. She won’t want to travel that far—not when we’ve come this far already and found nothing. What if this is another wild goose chase?
“There was a woman at the festival in Crayhope,” I say. “A fortune teller. She told me Dimitri came to Lenrook. Why would she lie to me?”
“Many are still loyal to the royal family.” The woman tosses her hair over her shoulder. “We may not have land, but we are a people. Dimitri is still our crown-prince.”
“Then why do you help us? How can I trust you?”
The woman sighs and stretches her sandaled feet toward the fire. “Are we still traveling with Dimitri?”
“No…”
She smiles. “Then there is your answer.”
Chapter 13
The fire has burned low, and only embers remain. They shift from red to black and then back again. The night is well into the wee hours of the morning, and our visitors have just left for their own tents and wagons. Our party is finally alone.
Rosie glances at me, looking hurt as she blows steam from a cup of tea. “LadyAnwen, is it?”
I shift on my bench. “Yes.”
Her eyes move to Bran and Dristan. “Yourfamily puts on the end of summer festival in Triblue?”
