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)
The room was larger than Elara expected, stone walls softened by woven tapestries, two tall windows, heavy gold damask drapes not yet drawn against the night, graced one wall, and a large bed was draped with dark green wool blankets, soft furs, and a mountain of pillows. A small hearth burned low, casting warm shadows across the floor, and a narrow table beneath one window held a variety of foods and drinks while tall, iron candelabras cast sufficient light around the room.
Dar went to the table and filled two goblets with wine, handing one to Elara. “Do you think Adira’s wound will heal?”
Elara recalled the ethereal woman she’d watched tend Muir’s arm, darker than night, a shimmering presence that felt neither wholly mortal nor wholly other. The memory shivered through her.
She could tell him. Confide in him. Share the truth and let him bear some of its weight. But she knew what confiding had already cost her. His loyalty belonged to the king and the same was expected of her. And some truths, once spoken, could not be taken back.
Feena’s words came back to her. Trust what is in your heart.
She wasn’t sure what was in her heart at the moment, though fear of him losing his life for her foolish tongue did tell her something. But the truth of who Dar really was needed exploring before she could fully trust him.
Elara shook her head slowly. “I don’t know.”
It wasn’t a lie, she told herself, since she wasn’t sure what would happen with Adira’s wound. But she knew differently in her heart. The wound would not be healed by morning.
Dar studied her for a long moment, his eyes lingering on the tension in her jaw, the guarded set of her shoulders, the way she would not quite meet his gaze.
He stepped closer, his voice a low murmur. “I know today was not what either of us expected.”
“Truly?” she asked with a tilt of her head. “You did not have to claim we were wed, but you did.”
“To protect you,” he said.
“At what cost?” She shook her head. “We are bound together for life.”
“Aye, we are one now and we will remain that way.”
“A Hunter and an herb-scribe. How can that be?” she asked, the weight of their union finally bearing down on her.
He moved a step closer, standing just near enough for her to feel the warmth of his presence.
“I will be a good husband to you.”
Her breath faltered, recalling the times she had heard such a prediction from the healers she had spoken with.
He continued, his voice steady and confident. “You will grow used to my home in Venngraith. The people there are loyal to my father and to me. There we can build a future together.”
She stepped back abruptly. “Nay, I cannot live in Venngraith. I will not live in Venngraith.”
His brow furrowed, a spark of confusion narrowing his brow. “Why not?”
“I am an herb-scribe. My place is in Leighfeld among healers, in the forest where I can gain more knowledge and share it with the healers. I will not leave who I am, all I am, behind.”
He shook his head, confused. “Elara… Venngraith is my home.”
“And Leighfeld is mine.”
For a moment, they both turned silent.
Then Dar spoke with annoyance, edging his words. “You are my wife and, therefore, obliged to live with me wherever I call home. Are you refusing to live in your husband’s home?”
“I refuse to abandon my purpose,” she said.
“You can be an herb-scribe in Venngraith.”
“But I cannot gain more knowledge there.” She took a breath. “I will not leave Leighfeld.”
Dar stepped back, his expression guarded. “We will speak of this another time.”
“I’ve spoken all I need to,” she said with a stubborn lift of her chin. “I will not live at Venngraith.”
He took an abrupt step forward and grabbed hold of her chin. “And tell me, wife, will you honor our marriage and join with me like a dutiful wife?”
She brushed his hand away and he didn’t stop her. “Not until I come to know my husband and trust him.”
“Aye, that works both ways, wife. Until I can trust you, I will not lie with you.”
“And what if we never trust each other?” she asked, a strange unease creeping over her.
“Then you will live in Leighfeld, and I will live in Venngraith stuck in a useless union.”
Rain and wind suddenly pounded at the window as if the storm wished to join the brewing one inside.
Such fate was not to her liking, but neither was living at Venngraith.
“I will sleep beside you in bed, but we will not join, or perhaps never join, until this matter is settled between us,” he said and raised his goblet as if toasting to it.
Elara felt relieved. There was time for this but not now, not with the king’s maddening treatment of the healers and war looming from across the sea. This had to wait, it must, since she simply had no idea how to handle it.