“I know for certain that the fae folk roam free,” she said. “Not hidden nor banished.”
He tensed, the muscles in his arms growing taut. “How do you know this?”
Her voice did not waver. “One has made herself known to me.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Ancrum
The Cottage
* * *
Dar stepped away from her.
The sudden loss of his warmth struck sharper than any rebuke. He turned his back briefly, dragging a hand through his hair.
“How long?” he demanded.
She did not flinch. “Since before we reached Wedderlie.”
His head snapped around. “You let me question villagers. You let me order Hunts. You let me stand before men and speak of banishment and broken accords—while knowing the truth.”
“I did not lie,” she said quickly. “I held my tongue.”
“That is deceit enough when a king’s wrath waits at the end of it,” he shot back. “You know what Dravic would do if he learned the fae walk free.”
“They are not his to punish,” Elara said, heat rising in her chest. “The forest is their home. Older than Scotara. Older than Caerith. Older than any crown your kings wear.”
Dar’s voice hardened. “And yet crowns make law.”
“Not truth,” she countered. “Not justice. The fae did not turn on Scotara. They were blamed because grief demanded something to strike.”
“You speak as though you know the fae folk well,” he said sharply.
Her gaze held his. “I know the forest, why then wouldn’t I be familiar with the fae folk?”
He stared at her then, not as her husband, not even as a Hunter, but as a man suddenly unsure of the ground beneath his feet.
“You have placed yourself in terrible danger,” he said low. “If the king learns you hid this from me—from him?—”
“He will see betrayal,” she finished.
Silence fell between them, thick and brittle.
“And yet,” she went on softly, “if I betray the fae, I betray the forest itself. And I cannot do that.”
Dar spoke slowly, as though restraining something fierce and instinctive. “You force me into an impossible position.”
“Nay,” she replied, just as quietly. “I am asking you to see beyond the hunt.”
“You think I do not see the danger?” he snapped. “You think I do not know what you risk by sheltering this truth?”
“I am not sheltering it,” Elara said. “I am weighing it. There is a difference.”
“A difference the king will not care to hear,” he shot back. “Dravic does not weigh. He commands. And if he learns that you hid this—hid them—he will not pause to consider your reasons.”
Her chin lifted. “Perhaps he should.”