Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 50898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 204(@250wpm)___ 170(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 204(@250wpm)___ 170(@300wpm)
The word softened something in her, though her eyes still held fire.
Before she could press further, he called across the room.
“Boyce. With me.” The words left no room for delay, and together the two men departed toward the solar.
Fawn lingered a moment by the hearth, Sprig purring in his pouch. Then, not able to remain confined inside, she slipped quietly away.
Snow blanketed the village in dazzling white, the sun still hidden behind pale clouds. Men worked with shovels, clearing the main paths between cottages, their voices carrying as they called to one another. Children tumbled and shrieked in play, rolling snow and tossing it until their laughter rang through the cold air.
Fawn slowed her steps, her lips curving despite herself. For all of Rhodes’s stern command, his people lived with a kind of ease, smiles ready even in the winter chill.
“Fawn!”
Sara waved from where she stood outside her cottage, cheeks rosy from the cold, her hand resting protectively on the curve of her belly. Fawn went to her at once, Sprig poking his head from her cloak as though eager to greet Sara too.
“You look well,” Sara said, her eyes bright with curiosity. “And after your wedding night, I would expect nothing less. Tell me, did he surprise you?”
Heat rushed to Fawn’s cheeks. “Sara!”
Her friend laughed softly, lowering her voice. “Aye, but you blush enough to give me my answer.”
Fawn shook her head, though a reluctant smile tugged at her lips. “Some things are not meant for sharing.”
Sara leaned closer, her tone turning more serious. “Fawn… people speak in hushed tones this morning. The sheep, the wolfhounds. Folk ask who would dare such a strike, and why now. They fear what it means.”
Fawn’s smile faded. The truth of it had haunted her since the pen. “Aye. Whoever set those hounds sought to weaken Rhodes, not the flock.”
Sara’s hand smoothed over her belly, worry flickering in her eyes. “Then we must pray he finds the one behind it quickly. For all our sakes.”
Fawn touched her arm gently. “He will. Rhodes does not bend easily.”
They spoke a while longer of lighter things, of Sara’s bairn, of Boyce’s constant fretting over her, but Fawn’s thoughts wandered. At last, she excused herself, her steps carrying her beyond the cottages. The laughter of children and the sound of shovels faded behind her as she turned toward the slope where the sheep pen lay quiet beneath its shroud of snow.
She needed to see it again. Needed to know if the truth still lingered in the silence the hounds had left behind, she pushed out into the pale morning.
The snow was deeper near the sheep pen, piled high against the rough wooden posts, the silence broken only by the creak of branches heavy with frost. Fawn drew her cloak tighter, her breath misting in the cold as she climbed the last slope.
She stopped short when she saw a figure already there.
“Elune?”
The old woman turned, her dark cloak a stark comparison with the snow-streaked fence. “I thought I’d take a look for myself,” she said, her voice quiet, carrying easily in the still air. “But there’s little left to see. Too much snow since the attack.”
Fawn’s gaze swept the ground. Where blood had stained the earth and tufts of wolfhound hair had clung, there was now only a blanket of white, freshly fallen snow. Still, her chest tightened at the memory.
“Curiosity brought you here?” Fawn asked, stepping closer.
“Aye.” Elune’s eyes were steady, but there was a shadow in them. “Curiosity… and concern. The talk in the village grows heavier by the hour. When folk don’t understand what they face, they look for dark causes.”
Fawn tilted her head. “You think this is more than men with hounds?”
Elune’s lips pressed thin before she answered. “I’ve lived long enough to know when malice walks in the open. But sometimes it hides behind things unseen. Dark forces move in ways that leave no trace.”
Fawn studied her, unsettled. “You speak as though you’ve known such things.”
Elune gave a small nod. “Where I come from, witches were hunted. Mostly old women, those who kept to themselves, those who lived with animals instead of people. It mattered little whether they had power or not. Fear is quick to turn to accusation.”
A chill that had nothing to do with the snow slipped down Fawn’s spine. “And that’s why you left?”
Elune turned her head as if needing a moment, then turned back. “It is why I have wandered. A woman alone with her knowledge, her herbs, her creatures—it is enough to draw suspicion. Enough to bring a pyre to her door.”
As though he sensed the tension, Sprig peeked his small head from Fawn’s cloak, letting out a soft mewl.
Fawn stroked him absently, her eyes never leaving Elune’s face. “Do you believe such dark forces are here? In this place?”