The Dragon Kings' Forbidden Witch

Even as he asked the questions, he could see the answers in her face. She was not okay. She was clearly distressed. And there was something in her expression that suggested this visit was born of desperation rather than casual social interaction.

"Come inside," he said immediately, stepping back to allow her passage. "Quickly, before the neighbors see."

Elara hesitated at the threshold for just a moment, eighteen years of isolation making her reluctant to enter another person’s home....but then she stepped inside.

Thomas closed the door quickly behind her.

***

Thomas’s cottage was warm and filled with the ever-present smell of baking bread.

It was a baker’s home....organized, practical, clean, with the kind of comfortable ordinariness that spoke of a man who lived a simple, honest life.

Thomas was in his fifties, with grey threading through his dark hair, with the kind of lined face that came from years of early mornings and honest work. He was a widower, his wife had died years ago and he had raised Rowan alone, teaching her to be as practical and hardworking as he was.

He was not a man of many words, but he was a man of genuine kindness.

"Sit," he commanded gently, gesturing to a chair near his hearth. "You look like you might collapse."

Elara sank into the chair gratefully, her legs suddenly unable to support her weight any longer.

Thomas immediately moved to his kitchen area and began to prepare tea.

She could hear him moving about, the sound of a kettle being filled, the clink of cups, the scrape of a chair as he set water to heat over the fire.

Within minutes, he returned to her with a steaming cup of tea.

"Here," he said, pressing it into her hands. "Drink this. It will keep your body warm. You are wearing so little, what if you catch a cold?"

His concern was so genuine, so immediate, that Elara felt tears beginning to prick at her eyes.

She had been alone with her fear for so long that someone’s simple kindness was almost more than she could bear.

She took a sip of the tea. It was warm and soothing, and it seemed to settle some of the panic that had been building in her chest since she woke from the nightmare.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Thomas sat down across from her.

"Now," he said, his voice the kind tone that suggested he was accustomed to listening to people, to hearing their troubles, to offering what help he could. "Tell me what’s brought you to my door at this hour. Something is clearly very wrong."

Elara set down her tea cup carefully.

She gathered her courage, understanding that what she was about to ask might require explanations she wasn’t prepared to give.

"Have you heard from Rowan?" she asked quietly. "Since the children left for the palace?"

Thomas’s expression shifted slightly....a small frown, a subtle tightening around his eyes.

"No," he said. "I haven’t heard from her directly. But I believe that she and Morgana are doing okay. Rowan is capable and resourceful, she would send word if something was truly wrong."

He paused, studying Elara’s face.

"Everything is okay, isn’t it?" he asked, and there was a note of concern in his voice that suggested he already understood that the answer was no.

Elara shook her head.

"I had a bad dream," she said, and her voice was shaking slightly. "About Morgana. It was so vivid, so real. I need to know if my daughter is okay."

Thomas leaned back slightly, his expression becoming more thoughtful.

"Dreams often come from missing people we love," he said gently. "The mind creates fears when we’re separated from those we care about. I’m sure Morgana is fine."

But Elara was shaking her head before he had even finished speaking.

"No," she said with absolute certainty. "It wasn’t just a dream. Something has happened at the palace. Something terrible. I can feel it."

There was something in her voice, something so certain, so absolute, that made Thomas understand that this was not idle worry or anxiety. This was a mother’s intuition, and mothers’ intuitions had a way of being right.

"What kind of something?" he asked carefully.

"I don’t know," Elara admitted. "But I haven’t heard from Morgana in weeks. And I need to know what’s happening. I need to find out if she’s safe."

She leaned forward, and her desperation was written across every line of her face.

"Is there a way," she asked, her voice urgent, "to get words from the palace or take words into the palace? Is there any connection to the palace that we have here in the village?"

Thomas was quiet for a long moment, thinking.

Then he said: "Tomorrow, merchants will come to Ashford. Among them are buyers who come for flour from my shop. They work in the palace kitchens."

He paused, his mind clearly working through the logistics.

"I can ask one of them," he continued slowly, "if he could help smuggle a letter in. If anyone would know what’s happening with the servants and the palace staff, it would be the kitchen workers. They see and hear everything. And if something happened to Morgana, they would likely know about it."

Elara felt something loosen in her chest....not hope exactly, but the possibility of hope.

"Would you?" she asked urgently. "Would you ask them?"

"Of course," Thomas said without hesitation. "I’ll ask tomorrow when they arrive. And if they can help, I’ll make sure your letter gets through. But you’ll need to write it tonight, they leave quickly, and there’s no guarantee they’ll stay long."

Elara nodded, already thinking about what she would write, already planning how to phrase her desperate questions.

"Thank you," she said, and the gratitude in her voice was absolute. "Thank you so much."

She stood to leave, though her body protested the movement.

"I will be expecting news by tomorrow," she said.

Thomas stood as well and walked her to the door.

"Elara," he said as she prepared to leave, "try not to worry too much. Morgana is strong, and Rowan will look after her."

Elara nodded, though she knew that neither Morgana’s strength nor Rowan’s care could protect against what she had seen in her nightmare.

But she kept that thought to herself.