Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
“Commander Dar has no fear.”
“Nay, he’s Hunter-born.”
“Aye, his chieftain father’s blood runs strong in him.”
Elara swallowed hard.
Chieftain father.
Dar’s father was the chieftain of the Hunters clan, meaning one day he would lead the Hunters. That was why he was so feared, so awed and respected.
Her breath hitched before she could stop it.
Dar felt it. She knew he did, his hand, once again, giving her waist a light squeeze.
They continued toward the castle. Feena and Adira’s cart rattled behind them, the older woman clutching the fearful lass’s hand tightly as the villagers stared and whispered.
As they approached the broad stairway that rose to the castle entrance, the noise of the village faded. A lone figure stood at the top of the steps, waiting with the unhurried confidence of a man used to command. His long auburn hair stirred gently in the breeze, and the dark green leather garments he wore marked him unmistakably as someone of importance.
“Tavish,” Dar said low as if introducing him. “King Dravic’s trusted advisor.”
Elara watched as the man’s gaze swept over all of them with a practiced eye, sharp yet controlled, and when his sight settled on her, something sparked—curiosity, perhaps, or question—but no warmth. Only assessment.
Dar dismounted first, his movements fluid and precise, then he reached up to lift Elara down from the saddle. His hands did not leave her waist when her feet touched the ground, they lingered as if reluctant to let her go. Then his hands suddenly fell off her but just as quickly one hand captured hers and locked around it firmly.
Elara saw that Tavish took note of it and she stepped closer to Dar, thinking it would not hurt him to see that a Hunter protected her.
Tavish’s attention then turned to Feena and Adira as they climbed down from the cart. Feena held Adira’s hand in a firm, comforting grip, though her aging eyes betrayed worry and fear. Tavish observed them both in silence, lingering only a heartbeat longer on Adira.
At last, he descended the stairs to meet them.
“Dar,” he said with a measured nod, the tone suggesting respect tempered with expectation. “The king was informed of your return. He wishes to see you all at once.”
Dar returned the nod, though his jaw tightened, whether in anticipation or restraint, Elara could not tell.
Tavish’s gaze once again slid to her, more slowly this time, as if he were weighing her presence.
“You must be Elara from the village of Cramond,” he said, though the words held neither welcome nor distrust, merely acknowledgment of what had already reached the king’s ears.
A breeze brushed the strands of her silver hair as she kept her head high. “I am Elara.”
A faint shadow of thought passed across Tavish’s features, quickly hidden. “Come. The king does not like to be kept waiting. He is not a patient man.”
He turned and climbed the stairs to the towering doors, tall enough to swallow three men standing on each other’s shoulders and carved with ancient patterns and symbols worn smooth by years of hands and weather. The weight of what lay beyond pressed against Elara’s chest as she got closer, but she held her chin steady.
The doors opened as if by a magic hand, though it was two servants who had drawn them open and bowed their heads as Tavish led them inside.
The Great Hall opened before them like the heart of another world.
Elara had expected grandeur, any hall belonging to the king of Scotara would hold such, but nothing prepared her for the sheer immensity of the chamber. Stone columns rose like carved giants to the high arched ceiling, their surfaces etched with old symbols, some she recognized from healer lore, others older still—remnants of Scotara before the schism, before the land had been torn apart and divided.
Braziers lined the walls, their flames casting warm light across banners of deep green and black, the crests woven in gold thread glinting with the flicker of fire. The air carried the faint scents of pine resin, iron, and the strong scent of crushed herbs, rosemary and thyme, unexpected, but familiar and comforting.
Feena paused beside her, her breath catching softly. “I have never seen anything like it.”
Adira clutched Feena’s sleeve, her eyes wide, darting from the towering columns to the long tables lining the walls, to the great dais at the far end where the king’s seat awaited. Her fear was palpable, the way her small hand trembled, the way her chest heaved with heavy breaths. She pressed closer to Feena, her gaze jumping like a bird startled from branch to branch.
Tavish motioned for them to stand near the center of the hall, then he summoned a young servant lad. “Take word to the king they have arrived.”
The lad bowed quickly and hurried off toward the inner chambers. His footsteps echoed, swallowed by the vastness of the room.