Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Outside the Village of Ancrum
The Road to Pratus Castle
Dar swung down from his horse and turned toward her.
“You are not going with me.”
The words came without warning.
Elara straightened. “You mean to leave me here?”
Elara glanced around. The road had already fallen away behind the trees, the narrow track they had taken swallowed by brush and shadow.
Moss softened the ground beneath her boots, and ferns crowded close, their fronds brushing her skirts.
The forest pressed in, dense and quiet, the kind of place meant to be passed unseen rather than traveled.
No markers. No clear path. Only the low murmur of wind in the branches and the faint scent of damp earth and pine.
“Aye,” Dar said, then looked to one of the Hunters. “Brice.”
The man stepped forward at once.
“You stay with her. You do not leave her side.”
Brice inclined his head. “Understood.”
Elara’s gaze returned to Dar. “You did not say you intended to leave me in the forest.”
“I also did not say I would take you with me.”
“I could go with you. Listen. Watch.” She lowered her voice. “Perhaps have a vision.”
Dar shook his head once. “Nay. Pratus already showed his interest in you. He will not be given the chance to do so again. And if he did… I would have no choice but to kill him.”
Elara’s brows shot up and her eyes turned wide.
“Need I say it again?” He did anyway. “Hunters protect what is theirs.”
Elara thought it was best to switch subjects. “What if you find this wanderer there?”
“I doubt I will,” Dar said. “My goal is to find out how Pratus addresses the matter so I can determine his intention toward the king. It will also give my men time to pick up the wanderer’s trail.”
She realized then that Dar was on a hunt, Pratus his prey, and that meant there was no changing his mind.
The forest pressed close around them, leaves whispering overhead as if confirming her thoughts.
She nodded once. “Then go. I will wait here.”
Dar stepped closer. His hand took firm hold of her arm. “You will be safe here. Brice will see to it.”
“I am not worried, though I will be impatient for your return. You will be careful and make sure you return to me.”
His eyes held hers for a brief moment, his thumb pressing against her sleeve, more than a simple touch, or the words he could not find to say.
He turned away, mounted his horse, and rode off with the others, the sound of hooves fading into the trees.
She stared after him until she could see him no more, then she went and stood at the base of an ash tree, leaning against it.
She closed her eyes briefly, letting its strength seep into her, but it couldn’t relieve her of the unease she felt since waking this morning.
It was one of the reasons she wanted to go with him. She worried what danger he might face.
Elara finally bent down near the base of the tree, her fingers brushing aside damp leaves to study what grew beneath it in hopes it would ease her mind.
She was soon lost in scouting the surrounding area to see what she might find.
The forest was generous here. Mugwort threaded through the undergrowth, its silvery leaves unmistakable.
Nearby, nettle rose in stubborn clusters, thriving where others withered.
She catalogued them instinctively—what could be harvested later, what should be left to grow, what might prove useful if need pressed hard.
It steadied her, this quiet work.
Brice stood a short distance away, alert but unobtrusive, his presence more felt than seen. Elara was grateful for the space. For the moment to breathe. To think.
Her fingers paused.
The air shifted.
Not with sound—but with awareness. The sense of being watched slid over her skin, cold and deliberate. She straightened slowly, breath caught somewhere between her chest and throat, as a vision took hold.
Trees parted in her mind’s eye. A man moved through them with practiced care.
She recognized him… Roth. His gait was rushed, impatient, and anxious as he was late getting somewhere.
He kept to the shadow, eyes sharp, his attention fixed, and then it was as if they fell on her, and he bolted forward.
The vision ended as abruptly as it began.
Elara drew a sudden breath and pressed her palm to a nearby oak tree. Dar had warned her the king would not let them move unobserved. That a banished man would prove a useful tool and be desperate to regain the king’s favor.
So, of course, Roth followed.
Dar would have taken precautions. He never left such things to chance. His men were probably already watching the watcher.
Still… the unease lingered.
She brushed soil from her hands, already forming the words she would say when Dar returned. He needed to know she had seen Roth, not merely suspected, but had seen him in a vision, rushing and anxious.
The sharpness of the voice cut cleanly through the forest hush and her thoughts.
Elara turned.
Brice stood several paces away, his hand resting near his dagger, eyes narrowed past her shoulder.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded.
Dar didn’t like leaving her. It was his duty to protect his wife and while Brice was a seasoned hunter and skilled warrior, when necessary, he wondered if Hunters had the skills to defend themselves against what was stirring awake in the forest.
He did not want to be gone long. It was the reason he did not slow his horse as the castle came into view.
Calling it a castle was generous. Stone walls, in need of repair, enclosed the compound, and the squat towers were not maintained as well as they should be.
While this was no seat of power, it was a regional stronghold for the appointed regional chieftain, built to remind nearby villages of the king’s rule.
Pratus ruled this region for the king and even with a brief glance Dar could see Pratus was not seeing to his duties.
Dar reined his horse in before the closed gate, his men fanning out behind him in disciplined silence. The guards stiffened at the sight of Hunters—hands drifting toward weapons they would not dare draw.
“I am Dar of Venngraith,” he said, his voice carrying without effort. “Open the gate.”
There was a pause—long enough to be deliberate.
Then iron scraped stone.
Pratus awaited him in the courtyard, dressed in fine wool and leather trimmed with unnecessary ornament, looking much finer than the castle itself. His expression was practiced confidence, the kind worn by men who ruled small lands and mistook it for real authority.
“You arrive without summons,” Pratus said. “This is my holding.”
Dar dismounted in one smooth motion and walked with firm strides to stop in front of Pratus, a glare in his eyes. “Wrong. All of Scotara belongs to the king and you answer to him.”
Pratus’s mouth tightened, his chin went up.
“And you are subjected to King Dravic’s law,” Dar reminded sternly.
Silence followed. Pratus waved his guards back with a sharp flick of his hand, unwilling to look weak before them.
“What do you want, Hunter?” he asked.
Dar wasted no time. “A wanderer came through Ancrum. Short. Thick of build. He did not linger. Did not speak as wanderers do. Instead, he came here.”
Pratus’s eyes flickered—briefly, but enough. “A great many pass through my lands. I do not keep account of every ragged traveler.”
“You do,” Dar said, stepping closer, Pratus taking two steps back, “when they ask about old paths.”
Pratus scoffed. “Old paths interest many.”
“Not those leading toward Driochmor,” Dar countered.
Pratus straightened, drawing himself up as though height might grant him leverage. “You accuse me of harboring suspicion without proof.”
“I ask questions,” Dar replied. “Your answers determine whether suspicion grows.”
Pratus answered, reluctantly. “Aye. A man who fits your description stopped here. He stayed one night and was not seen after morning light. He asked about roads recovered by the forest by now. I thought him a fool for chasing tall tales.”
“Yet you let him remain,” Dar said, not believing his words.
“He caused no trouble.”
“Men seeking forbidden lands rarely do,” Dar said. “Until they do.”
Pratus bristled. “You overstep, Hunter.”
Dar leaned in just enough for the threat to land without spectacle. “You overestimate yourself, Chieftain Pratus. You govern fields and villages… I answer to the king. If this wanderer threatens Scotara, your silence makes you complicit.”
Pratus held his ground but sweat had begun to bead at his temple.
“As I said, he was gone before dawn,” he said tightly.
“And none saw where he headed?”
“None cared to know,” Pratus said, annoyed.
“If he returns, you will send word to Venngraith at once,” Dar said, turning to his horse, then back again at Pratus. “Not to Caerith. Not to the king—to me.”
“And if I refuse?” Pratus asked, regaining his courage.
Dar’s gaze hardened. “Then the king will hear of your refusal to obey me. Along with why you fail to maintain the king’s holdings and why a man of your standing thinks himself above concern.”
Pratus swallowed hard.
Dar turned away, already done with him. “You will find your importance lies in how useful you are—not how loudly you claim authority.”
He mounted and rode off without another word.
Behind him, Pratus stood very still, the illusion of power cracking quietly at his feet.
Brice stepped forward, placing himself squarely between Elara and the figure that had emerged from the trees.
“I asked,” he said again, his voice hard, unyielding, “what are you doing here?”
The man went to answer when a dagger suddenly struck him in the chest with a brutal sound. He gasped, shock widening his eyes, as he staggered backward and fell to the ground.
“Elara—” Brice said, turning as he drew his sword.
Too late.