Gwennore waved back, then settled on a grassy spot to watch the little girl. A shadow moved across the ground, and she glanced up at the cloudless sky. A large bird was flying high overhead.
Her eyes narrowed. An extremely large bird. Was it Brody in eagle form, watching over them? She looked down at the camp and spotted Brody as a dog, following the two nasty earls and nipping at their heels.
She glanced back at the bird, but it was too far away and the sun was too bright for her to see clearly. Surely it couldn’t be the Chameleon. No one knew the mysterious shifter’s real name or what he even looked like, but since he apparently had the ability to change into any animal or human, Brody had dubbed him the Chameleon.
After causing so much trouble three years ago, the villainous Chameleon had disappeared. Brody had searched high and low for him to no avail.
“Look, Gwennie!” Eviana ran toward her with a big bunch of flowers in her hands. “Awen’t they pwetty?”
“Oh, they’re lovely!” Gwennore pulled the blue ribbon from the end of her braided ponytail and used it to tie the bouquet together. “There. Perfect. I think ye should pick some flowers for Aunt Sorcha. ’Tis her birthday, too.”
“All wight!” Eviana bounced away.
Gwennore lifted her face to the warm sun, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. Life was good, she reminded herself. Two of her sisters had become queens, and now the countries of Eberon and Tourin were at peace. The Seer had predicted even more peace, so Mother Ginessa had finally relented and allowed Gwennore and her younger sisters to leave the Isle of Moon and live on the mainland. The other two countries, Norveshka and Woodwyn, still caused trouble every now and then, but they seemed far away now.
A screech echoed in the distance, and she opened her eyes. That hadn’t sounded like an eagle. Whatever it was, way up high in the sky, it seemed to be circling. An ominous feeling crept under her skin, and suddenly she recalled the way Luciana had looked last night when Maeve had suggested they play the Game of Stones.
“We’re all together again,” Maeve had said when Brigitta had joined them. “We should bring out the Telling Stones, so ye can predict our futures.”
Luciana had grown pale. “I’m too weary from travel. Perhaps another time.”
Gwennore hadn’t missed the worried glance Luciana had exchanged with Brigitta. They’d looked the same way almost three years ago when Luciana had selected a handful of Telling Stones to predict Gwennore’s future. Luciana had completely avoided playing the game since then, and Gwennore couldn’t help but feel that her oldest sister had seen something that had frightened her.
Green, brown, and the number three. Those were the pebbles Luciana had picked for Gwennore. To Maeve and Sorcha, the interpretation had been obvious. The colors signified the country of Woodwyn, since the elfin flag pictured a tall green tree growing from brown earth.
But Luciana was the one with the gift of foresight, and she had declined to agree with them. She’d also failed to explain the number three, even though Sorcha had claimed it meant Gwennore would meet a tall and handsome stranger in three months.
That hadn’t happened, of course. Not that Gwennore had expected it. With her rational mind, she preferred to believe that people were responsible for making their own future. Still, she had to wonder what the three meant.
Three. Today Eric and Eviana were turning three. Gwennore glanced at the camp as the feeling of foreboding grew more intense. Was whatever Luciana feared going to happen today?
“Gwennie!” Eviana wrenched her out of her thoughts by shoving a plant in her face. “Look at the funny fwower.”
“Oh, I know this.” Gwennore set aside Luciana’s bouquet of flowers to take the new plant. Instead of flower petals, it was topped with a sphere of white fluff. “’Tis called a puffball. We grow them at the convent, because we can use the leaves to make medicine.”
Eviana wrinkled her nose as she studied it. “I’ve never seen one before.”
“That’s because the gardeners at Ebton Palace consider it a weed and pull it out.”
“Why?” Eviana pushed out her bottom lip. “Why is it bad? I think it’s pwetty.”
Gwennore sighed, feeling a sudden kinship to the plant that wasn’t welcome in most gardens. “There’s a saying that if ye make a wish afore blowing on the puffball, then yer wish will come true.”
“Weally?” Eviana’s eyes lit up.
Gwennore nodded. As she gazed at the ball of white fluff, she thought about wishing for that magical world where the tall and handsome stranger was waiting for her. But what were the chances of that actually happening? It made more sense to wish for something that could possibly come true. A long and happy life for Eviana and Eric.
“I’m weady!” the little girl announced.
“Me, too!” Gwennore took a big breath and started to gently blow.
Eviana huffed and puffed, spitting more than blowing, then giggled as white florets detached from the flower head and floated away on a breeze. “We did it!” She danced about. “Guess what I wished for!”
“Ye shouldn’t say, or it won’t come—”
“I wished you not be sad.”
Gwennore stiffened. Good goddesses, was she so obvious that even a three-year-old could tell? “Ye think I’m sad?”
Eviana nodded. “’Cause we get pwesents, and you don’t. But I’ll give you some fwowers, too.”
Gwennore smiled. “That’s very sweet of you, but ye needn’t worry. My birthday will happen in the fall at the Autumn Embrace. I have the same birthday as yer papa. And Brigitta, Maeve, and Brody.”
“Weally?”
“Yes. Really.”
Eviana clapped her hands together. “Then we can have another party?”
Gwennore nodded. “Now let’s get some flowers for Sorcha, so we can head back to camp.”
“All wight!” Eviana skipped away, stopping every now and then to pluck a flower.
A large shadow swept over them, and Gwennore
