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)
“Scotara is on the verge of war. The king will do whatever he must to keep the kingdom and its people safe.”
“Even if some people suffer for it?”
“It is the price of war,” Dar said. “And the king pays the highest price of all, since fatalities are inevitable. The reason he so desperately searches for a healer that can prevent him from losing anyone in the kingdom.”
Elara kept silent, her thoughts wandering, thinking the cost might be higher than the king would want to pay in the end.
She spent the rest of the journey in thoughtful silence, tucked close against Dar. The rhythm of the horse’s gait, the solid strength of the man at her back, the occasional brush of his breath near her ear, none of it should have felt as comforting as it did.
Yet comfort didn’t stop the worry that whispered through her upon their arrival at Venngraith, the village of Falkrith, home to the Hunters’ chieftain the next day.
A message from King Dravic, intended only for his father, Chieftain Cadmus, had brought them here. Elara had not been allowed to hear the substance of it, only told that it was for “Hunter ears alone.”
She wondered about the message. It had to be important since it delayed their start in finding the healer. She also was not ready to see the place that was to be her new home. She may have told Dar that she would not reside in Venngraith, but she knew in the end there would be little she could do to stop it. Unless she wanted to live separately from Dar as he suggested and, for some reason, that idea did not set well with her.
As they rode, she kept her hand lightly against Dar’s chest, not because she needed steadiness, but because she couldn’t seem to help it. And each time her fingers brushed the leather, he shifted as if acutely aware of her touch, though he said nothing.
Still, she felt his thoughts, tight and restless.
They crested a hill and suddenly the land of Venngraith, the village of Falkrith, stretched beneath them.
Elara drew a sharp breath.
She had braced herself for harsh mountains, stony ridges, wind-carved slopes—but autumn in Falkrith lay draped in copper and gold. Lush trees, their leaves burnished by the season, rolled across the valley. A slow river glinted like polished steel between stands of yellowing birch. Small woodland creatures scattered through the underbrush, their white tails flickering.
“It’s… beautiful,” she whispered before she thought better of it.
Dar turned his head slightly, enough that she caught the faint curl of a proud smile at the corner of his mouth.
“Aye,” he murmured. “Venngraith has some stark regions, but the whole of the land is not as fearsome as rumors say.”
“It is far lovelier than I imagined,” she confessed.
“I knew you would see what others overlook,” he said quietly.
Something in his tone made her chest tighten, not quite longing, but something near to it.
When they reached the valley floor, Falkrith came into view—a sturdy village of stone cottages, each warmed by curling threads of hearth smoke. The setting autumn sun was making a slow descent behind thatched roofs. Stacks of neatly piled firewood were placed throughout the village for all to use. The air carried the scent of drying herbs, wood smoke, and freshly turned soil.
Muir rode ahead without comment. A few of the younger Hunters broke off toward their own dwellings.
But as the villagers took notice of Dar… the atmosphere changed and the chatter faded.
Men paused their work.
Women leaned toward each other with whispered words.
Children darted behind skirts and peered out.
Elara felt it instantly.
They feared him.
Even the air felt charged, as if the trees themselves bowed away from him.
Without thinking, she slid her hand down to his forearm—a soft, anchoring touch. His muscles tightened beneath her palm, but he didn’t pull away. In fact, he leaned into it, just slightly.
She felt that small gesture all the way to her heart.
“Dar,” she murmured, “why do they look at you with fear?”
His gaze passed over the villagers. “They fear the Hunter in me. Not the man.”
“But you are one of them. Their own.”
“I am also my father’s heir,” he said softly, “and the blade Venngraith sends when something must be done… that others do not wish to witness.”
A chill brushed her spine, though not out of fear of him, and she held tighter to his arm.
A tall man with broad shoulders, silver threaded through his dark hair, emerged from between two cottages. His leather vest was worn but clean, his posture proud, and his eyes—pale gray like his son’s but softer—locked onto Dar with equal parts relief and shock.
“Dar.” His voice carried across the open space. “By the gods… I did not expect you home yet.”
Dar dismounted in one fluid motion, the kind that made villagers whisper and step farther back, and he crossed the remaining distance with long strides.