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)
She blinked into the darkness.
Was she awake?
Was she dreaming?
Or was this… something else?
She pushed herself slowly upright, careful not to disturb Feena or Adira. The fires had burned down to a faint glow, throwing long, distorted shadows across the clearing.
Then she saw it.
A figure, shimmering faintly as though woven from moonlight, hovered over Muir.
Elara’s breath stilled.
A dark shape bent over the wounded Hunter, its hands moving with graceful, deliberate care, though Elara could not make out fingers or flesh. Only a strange darkness. Only a presence.
Her heart thudded painfully.
Was this a vision… or truth?
She dared not move.
The figure straightened slowly, darkness clinging to it, and turned toward her.
Elara’s breath caught hard in her throat.
A face shimmered beneath the dark hood, but she couldn’t make it out.
The figure lifted a single, slim finger and waved it back and forth at Elara.
Was it a warning to keep her silence? To dare not speak. Or was it a warning to stay away, not search for her?
Elara’s pulse thundered. She opened her mouth. She didn’t know whether to call out, to question, to cry, but in an instant the world seemed to fold, darkness sweeping through her vision like a wave.
Everything vanished.
She woke with a gasp.
Sunlight speared through the branches overhead. Birds called from the high boughs, fires drew their last breaths, and Hunters were up and about. Adira stirred awake, sitting up quickly, looking about for Feena, who was not beside her.
Elara pressed her hand to her racing heart.
Dream? Vision? Or something else?
Before she could rise, she heard Muir’s laugh, gruff, smug, full of self-importance.
“You fret too much, woman,” he said to Feena, bent beside him, checking his arm. “Look at it! Almost healed clean through.”
Elara helped Adira to her feet, and they both hurried to look.
The angry, festering wound from the night before was pale now, the swelling gone, the skin knit together as though many days had passed.
Feena’s brows lifted high. “By the gods…” she whispered. “I did not expect so quick a turn.”
Muir puffed out his chest. “You’re a better healer than you know, old woman. The king will be pleased to speak with you. Perhaps you’ll tell him your secrets.”
Feena looked unsettled, her hand lingering over the wound far longer than necessary.
Elara could hardly breathe. It wasn’t a dream or a vision. Had she seen the remarkable healer herself? Was she an ethereal being? But she was of darkness not light. What did that mean? And why had she awakened at that precise moment? Had the healer wanted to make herself known to her?
Dar approached with long, purposeful strides, his cloak brushing the ground behind him and his expression as dark as the leather he wore. His eyes swept over the small group, lingering on Feena’s unsettled face, then on Muir’s self-satisfied grin.
“What is going on here?” he demanded, his tone sharp enough to cut the morning air.
Muir lifted his arm proudly. “The old woman’s healing worked faster than I thought. Look at it. Near whole already.”
Dar’s eyes narrowed as he examined the wound. His jaw tightened, a sign Elara had come to recognize when something disturbed him. “You said it was festering last night.”
“Aye,” Feena said, her voice steady but edged with confusion. “It was. I did what I could, but such a wound does not mend overnight.”
Dar stared at her, his expression stoic, though something lingered deep in his eyes, unease, or suspicion, or perhaps a thought he did not want to voice.
He straightened abruptly. “When we reach our destination, Muir, you keep Feena apart from the others. King Dravic will want to see her immediately.”
Muir nodded sharply. “Aye, sir.”
Feena’s lips thinned, but she said nothing. She simply gathered her things with quiet dignity, her gaze drifting briefly to Elara with a reassurance she did not feel.
Dar turned away. “Break camp. We ride within minutes.”
At once the Hunters moved, extinguishing the already dying fires, tightening saddle straps, gathering their packs with practiced efficiency. Their discipline was as sharp as their blades.
Elara helped Feena and Adira climb into the cart once more, then stepped back as the Hunters prepared the line. She kept her distance, refusing to seek Dar’s gaze. But it didn’t matter, he sought hers.
“Elara,” he said, his voice firm as he approached, his horse following behind him.
She looked only because she had no choice.
“You ride with me.”
Her breath caught. “I prefer to ride in the cart.”
“It was not a request,” he said, brooking no argument. “King Dravic will expect you unharmed, unshaken, and accounted for. I will see it done.”
She stiffened. “I am not a parcel to be delivered.”
Something sparked in his eyes, anger, regret, the ghost of something softer, but his tone remained iron. “Nay, you’re my wife, whom I mean to protect.”
“There is no need to pretend any longer,” she said, a strange regret filling her.