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)
One of them looked up sharply, then broke into a knowing smile.
“Well,” the older woman said, setting aside a bundle. “If it isn’t the herb-scribe who listens more than she speaks.”
Elara felt warmth bloom in her chest, and she smiled at the old healer. “Vanessa, it is good to see you again.”
The work at the table continued, hands moving as they spoke, the rhythm familiar and grounding. Elara welcomed it—the sorting, the quiet decisions of leaf and stem, the shared understanding that came without explanation.
“It eases the heart, knowing the healers are being returned,” the younger woman said at last, tying a bundle with practiced ease. “We feared the worst when they were taken.”
“Aye,” another agreed. “Old wounds were reopened. Too many still remember what it cost us the last time fear ruled the king’s hand.”
“The road has felt lighter since the word spread,” Vanessa added. “As if the land itself breathed easier.”
Elara nodded. “It has been much the same elsewhere.”
They worked a while longer, the sun climbing higher, shadows shifting across the stones. Time passed easily—long enough that Elara felt the gentle pull of it, the sense that she should soon move on.
“Talk of war still lingers,” one of the women said quietly. “Drogath does not sharpen blades to leave them to rust.”
“Nay,” Elara said. “Nor do kings search for what they believe will save them without cause.”
“You’ve heard more than most,” Vanessa said.
Elara hesitated, then said carefully, “On the road, a wanderer spoke of something… strange. He claimed to have seen fae folk in the woods.”
Silence fell so suddenly it felt heavy. Hands stilled. Faces paled.
“That is not a tale you should repeat,” Vanessa cautioned, her voice low but firm.
“Not here,” another added quickly. “Nor anywhere.”
“But you’ve heard nothing of it?” Elara asked.
The women exchanged looks.
“Nay,” Vanessa said. “And if such talk spreads, it will bring nothing but trouble. Best let old stories sleep.”
Elara inclined her head, understanding more than they said. “Then I’ll keep it to myself.”
A moment later, she rose. “I should stretch my legs before I leave. It’s been good to see you all.”
“And you,” Vanessa replied. “May your travels be safe, Elara.”
She walked on through the village, letting the hum of life surround her. She passed gardens she remembered tending, doorways she’d once paused beneath, places that felt unchanged and yet something beneath it all felt… unsettled.
Then it happened.
A soft flutter brushed her cheek, light as a moth’s wing.
Her breath caught.
Leave now.
The whisper threaded through her mind, urgent and unmistakable.
Hurry.
Elara did not hesitate.
She gathered her skirt and turned at once, heart pounding as she moved quickly toward the road. She could already feel it, the tightening air, the forest’s warning reaching out to her.
She was nearly there when hoofbeats sounded.
A mounted figure entered the village square, followed by six men. They rode with authority, armor catching the light, eyes sharp and searching.
The man at their head reined in abruptly.
His gaze locked on her. Not with recognition but with interest.
Elara felt it instantly, the way his dark eyes lingered too long, the way his attention sharpened as though he had found something unexpected and worth claiming. His mount slowed beneath him, then stopped altogether.
“Well,” he said, dismounting with an ease born of command. “You are a sight I did not expect to find, yet pleased that I did.”
His men spread out behind him without a word, their presence threatening. Elara’s skin prickled. This was not curiosity alone, it was assessment. Ownership weighed in his stare.
She had been seen. Not as someone known… but as someone noticed. And that, she knew, could be far worse.
He approached at an unhurried pace, his eyes never leaving her face, tracing her as if committing her to memory. He was of good size with a sharp chin and even sharper nose and long dark hair braided at the sides.
Elara held her ground, though every instinct urged her to move, to flee, to vanish back into the trees.
Hurry, Amelia had warned.
She understood now why.
The man stopped a few paces away, his gaze flicking briefly over her garments, her posture, the confidence with which she stood alone. A faint smile touched his mouth, not kind, not cruel, but aggressive.
“You walk this village as though it is known to you,” he said. “Yet I do not recall seeing you here.”
Her heart pounded. The village women had warned her about Regional Chieftain Pratus upon her first visit here, but he had not shown himself in the village in the short time she had spent there. Now, seeing his predatory nature, she was glad she hadn’t met him.
“I have stopped here before,” she said.
Where was Dar? Surely, he’d arrive soon. She lifted her chin, steadying herself, buying time, and sent a silent message to the trees to hurry Dar along.
People began to drift away.
Not all at once, but subtly, one woman stepping back into a doorway, a man turning as if he’d forgotten an errand, a pair of lads slipping behind a cart. The space around Elara widened, leaving her suddenly, unmistakably alone.