Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 105132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 350(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 350(@300wpm)
Dravic looked from the snow on his cloak to Adira. No one had dared strike their king. Yet here she stood waiting, another snowball already taking shape in her hands. A reluctant smile teased the corners of her mouth.
Fiora darted excitedly between them and cheered. “Again. Get him again, Adira!”
Before either of them could move, a familiar voice called from beyond the trees.
“My king.”
Tavish approached at a brisk pace, his expression stern until he stepped into the small clearing and came to an abrupt halt. His gaze settled first on the snow clinging to Dravic’s cloak, then on Adira, another snowball cupped in her hands. Finally, he looked at Fiora, who hovered nearby looking altogether too pleased with herself.
For perhaps the first time in years, Tavish found himself at a loss for words.
Dravic’s patience wore thin fast. “You interrupt.”
“Out of necessity, my king.”
That got his full attention. “What is it?”
“A messenger has arrived from Driochmor.”
Dravic’s expression hardened. “And?”
“The messenger refuses to speak to anyone but you… and Wynn.”
For a moment, no one spoke. Even Fiora’s smile faded.
Dravic looked once to Adira before turning to Tavish. “We return to the castle.”
Adira did not know what was being said, but the expressions on their faces and the sudden stiffness in their movements told her the time in the forest had come to an end. Without thinking, she let the snowball fall from her hand.
Dravic crossed to Adira and took her hand.
He took one step, then stopped and shouted, “Gloves.”
One of his guardsmen hurried to retrieve them from the snow and hand them to him.
Dravic handed them to Adira, and she did not hesitate to slip them on. As soon as she did, he took hold of her hand and set a brisk pace.
Though after only a few paces, he shouted. “Someone capture that blasted fairy.”
Chapter Three
Caerith Castle
The Council Chamber
“What is this message from Lord Oaken that cannot wait?”
King Dravic shrugged out of his damp cloak and tossed it to a waiting servant without taking his eyes off the travel-worn messenger.
Snow melted from the man’s boots onto the stone floor of the council chamber. His cloak bore the marks of many days’ hard riding, pine needles still clinging to the heavy wool. He did not bother to look for Adira. She knew enough that she was to remain in the room with him.
And she did. She settled onto the cushioned bench near the hearth after a servant had hastily taken her cloak and gloves from her. Her gaze moved from the messenger to Tavish, then to the elderly woman standing silently at the far end of the council table, whom she had seen before now, though she truly did not know who she was.
She was tall and slender, her long white braid resting on her chest. Though time marked her face, it did so gently. She stood with easy confidence that ignored both king and council. She neither fidgeted nor sought anyone’s approval, waiting with the quiet patience of someone who had lived long enough to know there was little to be gained by rushing.
The messenger, however, was the opposite, switching from foot to foot, wringing his hands without realizing. He was definitely nervous. But she could hardly blame him standing in front of such an intimidating king.
Adira kept watch of the woman, the messenger, and the king. She studied each face carefully, trying to make sense of what had interrupted her time in the forest.
The messenger bowed. “Lord Oaken sends his respect, my king, and bids me to deliver an urgent message.”
“Then out with it,” Dravic ordered.
The messenger bowed respectfully. “Lord Oaken asks that Wynn travel to Driochmor without delay. Morvane symbols have been found carved into trees beyond the lands where the clan was last known to dwell.”
Dravic’s brow furrowed. “Morvane?”
“Aye, my king. Lord Oaken recognized the markings at once. He believes they are no longer keeping to the deepest part of the forest. The symbols have begun to appear farther out, each one more distant than the last. He fears the clan is on the move.”
“I know nothing of this Morvane Clan,” Dravic said, turning to Wynn. “Who are they?”
Wynn was silent for a long moment before answering.
“Long before your grandfather’s reign, the Morvane were among the most gifted clans in Driochmor. Their magic was respected… until they hungered for more.” She paused briefly. “They embraced dark magic.”
Even Tavish shifted uneasily.
Wynn continued. “No one knows exactly what power they sought or what price they paid for it. Only that those who survived withdrew to the deepest reaches of Driochmor where few, if any, dared follow. They have not been seen in at least twenty years. Many believed they had died off, their bloodline finally ended.”
“But Lord Oaken does not believe so?” Tavish asked.
“Nay,” the messenger answered. “He believes these markings prove otherwise.”