Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Caerith Castle
Council Chambers
Three days of warmer sun had softened the heavy blanket of snow that had imprisoned Caerith Castle.
Water dripped steadily from the eaves, and patches of brown earth now broke through the white in the courtyard below.
The promise of spring remained distant, but winter had finally loosened its grip enough for travel.
The council chamber filled one member at a time.
No voices rose above quiet conversation.
Boots echoed against the stone floor, cloaks were shed to waiting servants, and the chill that clung to each man drifted briefly through the chamber before the warmth of the great hearth claimed it.
The scent of burning oak mingled with damp wool and melting snow, reminders that the kingdom still stood between winter and spring… and perhaps between peace and war.
Lord Marshal Broccan arrived first, broad-shouldered and solid as the fortress itself.
Lord Cormac followed close behind, greeting Edwin, who carried a leather ledger tucked beneath one arm.
Lord Garran entered next, his sea-blue cloak still damp from the ride from the merchant quarter.
Ronan, Cadmus’s chosen representative from Venngraith, nodded to the others but wasted no time on conversation.
Elder Mairi arrived last, her calm presence drawing respectful bows from every member before she quietly took her seat.
Only Tavish remained standing.
The chamber doors opened once more.
King Dravic entered, and the room fell silent.
His gaze moved slowly over the six members of the King’s Council before settling briefly on Tavish.
“Be seated,” Tavish said.
No one spoke as the scrape of wooden chairs broke the silence.
Dravic remained standing.
“Along with your monthly reports, I want an accounting of Scotara’s readiness for war.”
The request drew no surprise. If anything, it seemed expected.
Lord Marshal Broccan was the first to rise.
“Our warriors continue their training through the winter, my king. The armories remain well supplied, and the blacksmiths work steadily. We can answer a call to arms, though I would welcome more recruits before spring planting begins.”
Dravic nodded once. “You believe war inevitable?”
Broccan did not hesitate.
“I do. Rumors of Warlord Tharne’s spy reaching Scotara’s shores have spread far beyond Caerith. Men speak of little else.”
Lord Garran leaned forward. “The rumors grow with every merchant ship that docks. Whether true or not matters little.” He paused briefly.
“Trade from Drogath has all but ceased, though that surprises no one. More curious are the whispers coming from the east. Merchants speak of trouble brewing on the Isle of Morra Mist, though no one can tell me what troubles Queen Eudora’s kingdom.
I have heard no reliable word, only whispers. ”
Dravic gave a slight nod. “Then until whispers become truth, our concern remains Scotara.”
Lord Cormac rose next. “While Lord Garran hears whispers from beyond our shores, I hear them from within Scotara. The regional lords tell me the same fear spreads from village to village.”
“And what question is that?” Dravic asked.
“If magic joins Warlord Tharne…” Cormac paused briefly. “…how does Scotara hope to stand against it?”
A silence settled over the chamber.
It was Elder Mairi who finally broke it.
“The same question is asked throughout Leighfeld. Healers hear many worries while tending to the sick. Parents fear for their children. Farmers fear abandoning their fields. Some wonder if Driochmor itself will side with Tharne.”
Ronan’s chair scraped softly across the stone as he stood.
“Fear has always painted Driochmor darker than truth.”
Several eyes turned toward him.
“The Hunters have guarded its borders for generations,” Ronan continued. “Magic alone is not the enemy. It is the one who wields it that determines whether it serves darkness or light.”
Broccan folded his arms. “A comforting thought, if true.”
“It is true,” Ronan answered evenly. “Though whether those within Driochmor can keep Warlord Tharne from corrupting others… that I cannot say.”
Edwin, who had remained quietly listening until now, finally spoke. “Whatever the outcome, war will drain the treasury. Supplies, horses, weapons, provisions for villages should they fall… all must be accounted for. A kingdom does not survive on courage alone.”
Dravic let the discussion fade into silence.
His gaze traveled slowly around the chamber.
Every man and woman seated there had spoken honestly.
Yet each had spoken from reports, from messages, and from what others had seen. Very little had come from their own eyes.
He found himself wondering how much of Scotara he truly knew anymore. Not the kingdom spread across parchment, but the kingdom beyond these castle walls.
The people who would soon be asked to fight for their kin… and their king.
The meeting continued for some time after that. Reports were heard, questions answered, decisions made. Some matters were settled. Others were left pending until more information could be gathered. And a few remained unanswered, for they were questions only time itself could answer.
One by one, the members of the King’s Council took their leave until only Tavish remained.
Tavish waited, knowing the king had not lingered without reason.
Dravic remained silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on the great doors that had just closed behind the last council member.
“I once saw Scotara with my own eyes,” he said at last. “Not through reports or through messengers. It would be good to hear what my people say when they do not think their king is listening.”
Tavish looked alarmed. “You do not think to make such a journey now.”
Dravic glared at him. “Do you think me a fool?” He did not give Tavish a chance to answer.
“Winter has barely begun yet has made itself known with an early snowfall. More of Warlord Tharne’s spies could already be hidden among us.
What greater prize could they hope for than the King of Scotara making himself vulnerable?
That would leave Tharne to march on a kingdom left leaderless. ”
“When the time is right such a journey can be arranged,” Tavish said, sensing it was important to the king.
“Aye, it could very well prove a necessity,” Dravic said, looking past Tavish, his thoughts suddenly focused elsewhere.
Tavish understood the king’s thoughts. Following a victorious war, it would be necessary for the king to journey through Scotara and see what was left in its wake to the land and to the people.
“Adira is at Feena’s healing cottage. Send a warrior to return her to the castle,” Dravic ordered, and when Tavish looked ready to respond with something other than a simple ‘Aye,’ he warned, “Not another word about Adira. I will do as I please with her.”
“That is what worries me.”
“You worry needlessly and you will mention it no more to me,” Dravic cautioned.
“Aye, my king,” Tavish said with a slight bow of his head before he turned to leave.
“One more thing,” Dravic said, stopping him.
Tavish turned.
“Adira needs warm garments for the winter. See they are made ready for her and a fur-lined cloak as well.”
Silence stretched between them for a moment.
Tavish finally bowed his head. “As you command, my king.”
Tavish shook his head as soon as the door closed behind him. This was not good, not good at all. The sooner he got the king wed, the better.
He marched off, determined to keep an eye on the situation.
The warmth inside the cottage, provided for Feena’s healing work, wrapped itself around Adira the moment she entered.
A kettle simmered gently over the hearth, its fragrant steam carrying the familiar scent of rosemary, mint, and dried chamomile.
Bundles of herbs hung from the ceiling beams, gently swaying whenever a draft slipped beneath the door.
Wooden shelves lined the walls, crowded with clay jars, linen-wrapped bundles, and small bottles of scented oils.
Though smaller than the cottage they had once shared, it had quickly become a place of comfort. The king had seen that Feena lacked for nothing she needed to tend the sick, and Adira was grateful for that.
It felt like home.
Adira smiled as she settled onto the small stool beside the worktable.
The smooth stone mortar sat as if waiting for her. Beside it lay dried willow bark and feverfew leaves Feena had gathered before the last snowfall.
Adira reached for the pestle with practiced hands and the steady rhythm returned almost immediately.
Grind, turn, and grind again.
The familiar chore soothed her. She had spent countless hours beside Feena preparing herbs for teas, poultices, and healing salves. There had been comfort in the work then, just as there was now.
Only something felt different, not in the cottage… in her.
More and more lately, touch lingered, a hand resting on her arm, a gentle embrace, even the brush of another passing too close.
She found herself feeling more than simple contact. Emotions seemed to linger long after the touch itself had ended, leaving behind faint echoes she could not explain.
She frowned slightly, pausing only a moment before returning to her task.
Across the room Feena watched her, smiling when she saw how content she looked with the mortar and pestle in her hands. She had missed her there beside her, sharing in a healer’s chores.
When the last of the herbs had been ground, Adira brushed the powder into a waiting bowl and set it aside. She turned and smiled when Feena curled a finger, summoning her closer.
Adira came without hesitation and sat on the small bench beside Feena’s chair, just as she had done countless times.
Feena cupped Adira’s cheek. Such a simple touch had always been enough to ask for her full attention.
Adira kept focused on Feena, understanding she wished to talk… if only she actually could.
Feena’s smile slowly faded. She had worried that one day the time would come when she would have to have this conversation. The rumors recently circulating made it imperative that she did not wait. However, she never expected it to involve a king.
Feena gestured as if she were placing something on her head and puffed out her chest.
Adira chuckled soundlessly and nodded at the familiar gesture they had established when referring to the king.
Feena pointed to Adira, folded her hands together and rested them against the side of her face, closing her eyes for only a heartbeat. Then she pressed two fingers together and repeated the gesture for sleep. It was clear what she asked, Adira should have no trouble knowing what she meant.
Adira looked at her strangely and repeated the entire gesture as if confirming that Feena asked if she and the king slept together.
Feena nodded.
Adira shook her head, wondering why she would ask such a question.
Relief washed over Feena’s face, though only for a moment.
She had to ask, had to know Adira was safe with the king.
She believed she was, Adira sneaking to her bedchamber to sleep beside Feena after being escorted to the small bedchamber kept for her whenever the king had a woman visit for the night.
Adira saw the concern on Feena’s face and narrowed her brow and shrugged, asking what troubled her.
Feena made the gesture for the king, pointed to Adira, then gently touched Adira’s breast, and lightly touched between her legs, and shrugged, her brow narrowing in question.
Adira’s eyes popped wide that Feena asked if the king had touched her in improper places. Yet she did not deny it immediately, her thoughts drifted instead to the king tucking the wool blanket around her. To his hand resting accidently against her breast before he pulled it away so suddenly.
She had sensed surprise from him, concern as well, then something else she had not understood and had not, until now, questioned.
Adira felt Feena grow upset, her delay in answering causing her to think the worst, and Adira quickly shook her head.
Feena narrowed her brow once again and shrugged, hoping Adira would be truthful with her no matter what had passed between her and the king.
Adira nodded immediately.
Feena smiled and reached out to take Adira into her arms.
Adira melted into the embrace as she always had, breathing in the familiar scent of herbs and lavender that had comforted her since the woman had taken her in.
Feena closed her eyes, feeling the truth of Adira’s words. But beneath it she felt something else.
Change… and it had already begun.
For the first time in many years, she found herself wondering if there were some things a mother could no longer protect her daughter from.
They returned to working with the herbs.
Feena did what she had done to teach Adira, holding up an herb or blended herbs, asking what they treated. She smiled with pride when Adira gestured correctly and without hesitation to every one of them.
She saved one crock for last and Adira gestured quickly, letting her know the herbal blend prevented pregnancy. She smiled widely, showing how proud she was of Adira and placed the crock on the shelf, feeling better Adira knew where it was.
They were enjoying a cup of mint tea and a freshly baked scone when Adira turned her head toward the door.
A knock sounded.
Feena did not know how Adira knew someone approached the cottage before the knock was heard but it had been something she had begun to do since arriving at the castle. Feena assumed she had grown so aware of the village that she could detect sounds as unique as the animals in the forest.
Feena opened the door to one of the king’s warriors.
“She is to return to the castle now,” the large warrior said.
Feena turned to see Adira already slipping on her cloak.
When Adira reached Feena, she hugged her, then pointed to her own eyes, then at Feena, then gestured shoveling food into her mouth.
Feena nodded, understanding what she asked. “Aye, I will see you at supper.”
She closed the door against the cold as soon as Adira stepped outside and leaned against it, sighing heavily. She was worried. Worried what might happen if the king continued to keep Adira close.