“How so?” the king asked eagerly. “Victory for Scotara or defeat?”
Elara had not given that thought. She had assumed the best for Scotara, but what if… She shook her head. “I don’t know.”
His fist came down on the table again, and Adira cringed.
The king saw it too and quickly took hold of Adira’s chin to lift her head, then he patted his chest like Feena did to let Adira know all was well, and Adira calmed.
But all was not well for Elara, the king turning angry eyes on her.
“Tell me something you do know,” Dravic ordered.
Dar went to speak.
The king’s raised hand, stopping him. “Hold your tongue, Dar, I am speaking to your wife and she will answer me.”
Elara knew what she had to do, had to say though it would change everything.
For a heartbeat, she hesitated, not out of fear but thought, since once spoken, there would be no retreat. No quiet life. No return to being only an herb-scribe who listened to the forest and walked unnoticed among her people.
But she thought of the land she had felt pulse beneath her feet. Of the magic that had answered her breath. Of the truth that had finally claimed her.
Elara lifted her chin and spoke with strength. “I was born in Driochmor. Born of magic. Its life-blood runs through me. I am one of the bairns abducted from my home by order of your grandfather and raised in Scotara. I am of both worlds.”
“But which one do you owe allegiance to?” the king challenged, showing no hint of surprise at her remark.
Dar stepped closer to his wife and went to speak.
The king silenced him again. “Do not try to answer for your wife again.”
“I do not need him to answer for me. I can speak for myself and for my grandfather, an elder of the High Council of Driochmor,” Elara said with pride.
“Go on,” the king ordered, his brow tight with anger.
“There is good and bad here in Scotara just as there is in Driochmor. Dark forces begin to stir there just as they do here. A man sent by Warlord Tharne has already made contact with those dark forces. He has made them an offer if they join with Tharne against Scotara.”
Dravic’s jaw tightened. “An alliance with evil.”
“Aye,” Elara said, “and my grandfather wants you to know that the good people of Driochmor will fight with you, for Scotara, against the dark forces.”
Dravic scowled. “And you expect me to trust his word, the word of magic, sorcery, when it could be a ruse and all of Driochmor will stand against me? Will want revenge for my grandfather banishing them, abducting their bairns. I would be a fool to fall for such a ruse.”
“A fool or foolish not to?—”
“Watch your tongue with me, woman, or you will lose it easily,” the king threatened.
Elara felt her husband ready to shield her and she spoke quickly, “I meant no disrespect, my king, but the good people of Driochmor will fight for Scotara whether you trust them or not, for it is their homes they are fighting for.”
“You mean the creatures of Driochmor,” the king corrected.
“Creatures, as you call them, who know the land and its power far better than anyone else. And if Tharne has such creatures on his side, would it not be wise for you to have the same?”
The king looked to Dar. “You stand with your wife on this?”
“I stand with her always,” Dar said, leaving no doubt ever as to whose side he stood by.
The king looked about to slam his fist down again, then stopped, a calculating look suddenly forming in his eyes.
Tavish stepped forward. “My king, if I may speak?”