Elara found her remark more a declaration as if it was fact that the forest was actually her home, as if she was born here among the trees, the foliage, the forest creatures themselves. But that was nonsense, and yet she could not shake the feeling.
“Well, I am an herb-scribe,” Elara said, thinking that might explain it.
Amelia’s wings fluttered once, amused. “That is only a small part of you.” Her expression sobered. “We don’t have much time. Things are stirring.” She glanced deeper into the forest, where shadows layered thickly between trunks. “The old paths are waking and you and others wake with them.”
Elara shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“You will,” Amelia assured her. “You will come to understand it all and I will be there to help you and warn as well. So, pay heed to my words.”
“I am pleased to hear that,” Elara said, Amelia’s words reassuring though she didn’t understand why. Shouldn’t she be skeptical of the fairy? How was it, she trusted her so easily when the fae had been condemned and banished?
Amelia reached out and brushed Elara’s cheek with the lightest touch, cool as morning dew.
Elara gasped, something inside her responding to the touch. Not pain. Not magic as she understood it. Something deeper. Buried. Freed.
Amelia tilted her head slightly, her delicate features sharpening with alertness. “Someone approaches.”
Elara stiffened. “Who?”
The fairy’s gaze slid past her, toward the deeper trees, as though she could see beyond bark and shadow. A knowing smile curved her lips. “The Hunter. Your husband.”
A strange warmth settled in Elara’s chest at the certainty in Amelia’s voice. “You know him?”
“I know his tread,” Amelia replied. “The forest knows him. He walks with purpose.” Her wings fluttered once, catching the light. “He is close now.”
Elara turned, searching the woods, though she heard nothing yet.
Amelia’s expression softened, something almost wistful passing through her bright eyes. “You walk between paths, Elara, and they soon will collide.” She flitted back, already beginning to fade. “I will see you again.”
Before Elara could speak, Amelia shot upward, dissolving into a shimmer of light that vanished among the leaves.
A moment later, footsteps crunched against fallen leaves and branches.
Dar emerged from between the trees, his gaze sharp, already fixed on her. Relief crossed his face so quickly it was gone almost before she caught it.
“There you are,” he said. “Plans have changed.” His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked around. “You should not have gone alone into the woods.”
She frowned. “Why not? This is the home of the Hunters. Surely your woods are the safest place of all.”
He crossed the distance between them and drew her close, his arm settling around her with instinctive ease. “Not today.”
Her heart gave a small jolt. “Why?”
“Word has reached my da. Hunters have heard that a foreigner has entered Driochmor, near Wedderlie. There is good reason to believe the man is an emissary from Drogath, sent by Warlord Tharne. If true, it would be safe to assume that Tharne intends to offer the creatures of Driochmor whatever it takes to fight alongside him and help him conquer Scotara. My da doesn’t trust anyone but me to find out if this is true or nothing more than a whispered tale before he reports it to the king. We leave immediately for Wedderlie.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Return to…
Wedderlie
* * *
They reached Wedderlie well after midday and they were anything but welcomed, but then it was a Hunter with his troop that now arrived.
Six Hunters rode in formation behind them. The sound of hooves echoed too loudly in the heavily silent village, iron striking stone, leather creaking, weapons shifting as Dar led them to the inn.
Doors were quickly closed. Villagers, brave enough to watch, whispered among themselves. A man hastily turned down a side lane, rushing off, and a woman, eyes wide with fright, pulled her child close and hurried into a cottage.