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If his uncle did flog Alder to death, he had every right. But even with the ominous backdrop of the past, Lord Hammerfell was Alder’s best chance, and Alder had his mother’s impeccable character to thank for that.

Lord Hammerfell stood at a window, hands clasped behind him, his back to Alder. His black hair fell like a sheet to his waist, just as Alder remembered, and his clothes fit to a militant trim, shaded with Weald’s verdant greens and embellished in silver. He was a man who’d lived his life militantly too, and he was loyal to a fault. Unshakable and resolved, he didn’t care for the opinions of others, but acted only out of his sense of morality and duty to Demas.

Which, consequently, was why he and Alder had not got on in the past.

He was well-read and well studied, and Alder’s mother—Lord Hammerfell’s older sister—had often consulted him when she’d needed advice on a difficult matter.

Her own son, for example.

And while Lord Hammerfell had never liked Alder very much, he’d adored his older sister, Navarra, and it was that adoration, coupled with his unfailing loyalty to her, that Alder put his faith in now.

“I almost didn’t believe it.” His uncle didn’t turn. “I thought for certain you were dead, and even when I considered the small margin that you were not, I could not imagine what might compel my dear sister’s prodigal son to show himself here.”

Alder was not offended by his uncle’s words. He knew he deserved this, and more. “Perhaps I found it curious that my mother was burned alive, and yet the brother she loved so dearly managed to keep both his lifeandhis sprawling estate…? It’s quite an enterprise you’ve got going on here, Uncle. Tell me, what sort of bargain did you make with Massie that made you so prosperous?”

Lord Hammerfell turned around, his expression as dark as night. “You dare…” He finally took in Alder’s appearance, and his expression turned from deific wrath into something more akin to astonishment. Which was saying a lot, considering nothing ever seemed to rattle the steady countenance of his uncle. “What in the Fates happened to you?”

Alder smiled. He imagined the effect looked somewhat macabre, given his appearance. “What do you think happened? Weald is now crawling with depraved…or do you never leave your high walls anymore?”

His uncle’s eyes flashed. “Not all of us spend our time gallivanting about the land, forsaking our duties in order to debauch ourselves.”

“Is that what you think I’ve been doing while I’ve been away these past three years?” Alder struggled to keep his tone even. He took a step into the lantern light, letting his uncle have a better look at him. “Debauching myself?”

Lord Hammerfell’s dark eyes slid over Alder, and Alder considered how for once, not bathing and tidying up probably worked in his favor. His uncle stood silent for a long time before saying, “Why are you here, Alder? I confess that I’m glad to see you alive, even if you’ve been nothing but a stain upon our family, but I know Navarra loved you, and for her sake, I’m relieved. However, if it’s protection you seek, I cannot give it. Not even for Navarra. If Massie knows you’ve returned?—”

“Oh, he’s well aware. And before you start pontificating on the danger I’ve exposed you and your people to, know that I wouldn’t have dared to show my face here if I thought there were any other way to save Canna.”

Lord Hammerfell regarded Alder with…somewhat less distaste than he had a moment ago. He seemed more skeptical now, but Alder would happily take skepticism over outright condemnation. “If you’re trying to appeal to my sympathies, boy, I warn you?—”

“No need, Uncle. I know the only appeals you’ll hear are those grounded in fact, and the fact is that we are losing Canna to the mist.”

“That is nothing new. We’ve been losing Canna to the mist since?—”

“We have a little over one month left. And that’s only if Lord Massie and his witch don’t make themselves invincible first.”

His uncle regarded him sharply. “Who told you this?”

Alder knew his answer might push his uncle from skepticism and into kicking Alder right out his door, but he said, “You might consider sitting down and pouring yourself a drink first.”

Lord Hammerfell was three drinks deep by the time Alder finished his tale. When it came to his escape from prison, he gave his uncle the same story he’d given Abecka’s council. He didn’t need his uncle knowing there was a demon inside of him trying to get out every night. That would hardly foster the trust that Alder had shattered all those years ago.

When Alder finished, his uncle eyed him over his glass, and Alder could practically picture a Fate in the heavens, holding her scythe over the string of his life, just waiting for permission to cut him free.

“Tell me about this Josephine,” Lord Hammerfell said suddenly.

Not the first question Alder expected, but his uncle gazed steadily back with those timeless eyes that saw everything. “What is it you wish to know?” Alder asked carefully.

Lord Hammerfell sat back in his chair, and leather creaked. “What is the daughter of Light to you?” When Alder didn’t respond, Lord Hammerfell added, “There is a reverence when you speak of her, and though she is part kith, she’s also mortal.”

“I know that.”

His uncle raised a brow. “Do you? She may live longer than average for a mortal, but she will still age and she will perish, and you will live on.”

Alder would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about this—he had.Exhaustively. He’d even warned Josephine that this didn’t have a happy ending, but it didn’t stop his feelings from growing and rooting deep, past a point of no return, and that kiss had sealed his fate forever. He’d wondered if leaving her in Velentis would help him come to terms with what would inevitably prove to be a hopeless situation, but it had, in fact, had the opposite effect.

He’d thought of her more than ever, and he felt the distance between them like a tether on his person.

No, there was no being apart from her now, but he didn’t share any of this with his uncle.