Page 21 of The Arrow and the Alder

A lder .

The prodigal prince of Weald, whom Lord Massie had accused of treachery against his own kith and kin, charged with aiding the depraved and their leader. And this kith woman had just called Marks Alder , and Marks had not corrected her.

Seph sifted through everything he’d shared with her, but it was very little, and if Evora’s claims were true, his apprehension to share anything about his life made complete and perfect sense. When she’d asked, he’d denied working for the Weald Prince, but she never asked him if he was the Weald Prince. The idea had seemed impossible. He didn’t look like any kith prince––though he had the bearing of one, despite his unkempt appearance. But why would the infamous prince of Weald, the debauched profligate who’d been lately accused by Lord Massie of leading the depraved, have condescended to return Rys’s ring to little Harran, to a family who wasn’t of any import or status?

Whatever his reasons, he certainly wasn’t working with the depraved.

Seph stared at him, mind reeling, but he was carefully avoiding her gaze.

“ Alder ? That’s not possible,” snarled the man with the vambrace, who now strode toward them. He waved his hand. His green-and-gold mask disappeared, and a severe face waited beneath. One with cold eyes and hard lines and a mouth set with arrogance. Kith ears parted a veil of long midnight-black hair.

“Serinbor,” Marks said stiffly.

At the sound of Marks’s voice, the kith—Serinbor—stopped in his tracks, and every figure surrounding them went stone-still. Revelation filled the quiet and charged it with unease. Serinbor’s black eyes swept over Marks, like he was having some silent argument with himself. As if Marks could not be the one Evora had said he was, as if Serinbor could will the truth away, even though it was standing right before him.

Seph saw the moment Serinbor’s conclusion shifted, when he could no longer deny the truth. The kith cursed. Loudly. At himself or at Marks, Seph couldn’t tell, but either way, Serinbor did not appear to share in Evora’s relief at seeing the prodigal prince of Weald returned. “Alder.”

Seph looked at Marks—no, Alder —who looked only at Evora as he asked, “What happened here?”

Seph heard the pain in his voice. That much was real, at least.

Evora opened her mouth to answer, but Serinbor beat her to it. “Do you truly not know?”

When the Weald Prince remained silent, Serinbor continued, as if he were honored to bring the gauntlet of judgment upon Alder’s head. “Your mother was found guilty of tampering in the forbidden arts, aided by your father and sister, in an attempt to set Weald above the other courts.”

Alder’s expression darkened. “That is a lie, and you know it.”

“Do I?” Serinbor cut back. He stepped nearer to the prince, his expression ruthless. “You’ve been gone for two years, my prince , and the last any of us saw of you, you were drowning in a barrel of ambrosia with two sirens in your bed.” He stopped before Alder, and though the Weald Prince was the picture of fury, he did not deny the accusations cast before him.

Seph’s gut twisted, sharp and painful.

Serinbor continued with a sneer, “Since you seem ignorant of the facts, allow me to illuminate them for you. The mist crept in first, and then the depraved came. At first, we thought it a simple oversight, and when Lord Massie accused your mother of giving herself over to forbidden powers, thereby weakening Weald’s natural protections, we dismissed him. But the mist did not leave, the depraved did not cease, and so the next time Massie brought Queen Navarra to trial, the good people of Asra Domm were too afraid to defend her. Especially when his zealots burned your family and your legacy to the ground as an example to the rest of us.”

Serinbor’s words fell upon them like ice-cold rain while Alder stood like a statue of himself. The figure nailed to the actual statue—the one wearing the crown. That had been Queen Navarra of the Weald Court.

Marks’s—Prince Alder’s— mother .

The other two must have been Alder’s father and sister.

“You knew my mother.” The Weald Prince’s voice was low, but it trembled. “Despite your sentiments toward me, you know she would never touch the forbidden arts.”

Serinbor regarded his prince. “No, but I do believe she would cover for a son who did.”

Without warning, and with a motion too quick for Seph to register, he punched Alder in the gut.

Alder bent forward with a gasp while everyone watched in uneasy silence.

“ That is for Genava,” Serinbor hissed, and he grabbed a fistful of Alder’s hair, which was easily done since the Weald Prince had so much of it. Oddly, Alder did not fight back. “She did not swear her allegiance to Massie, and so Massie burned her to the ground too. I wasn’t there, of course. I was on an errand for your devoted mother.” Serinbor released Alder’s hair with a shove, and the Weald Prince took a step to catch his balance. “She was still looking for you , the pride of her life.” He said those last words bitterly as he whirled to elbow Alder in the back.

But this time, Alder caught his bearings, and Serinbor’s elbow met Alder’s open palm instead.

Fear flickered across Serinbor’s face before Alder threw him to the cobblestones.

Serinbor landed on his back with a grunt and a snarl, but Alder did not exploit his advantage. He stood over the kith and glared down. “I am sorry for Genava—truly, I am—but your blame is misplaced. Seems to be a common failing of yours these days.”

Serinbor chuckled lowly, darkly. “Good to see you’re still the same entitled, arrogant bastard.”

And then Serinbor stuck out a leg, knocking Alder from both of his. Marks––Alder had barely jumped back to his feet before Serinbor was up and charging him again, this time with a sword.

Alder did not have a sword, nor did anyone offer one, and Seph found herself holding her breath as Serinbor whirled and stabbed, taking out his pain and fury while Alder ducked and leaned and dodged. But soon enough, Alder caught Serinbor’s wrist, knocked the sword from his hand, and kicked it away.

It scraped as it spun along the cobblestones, out of reach.

Alder looked hard at Serinbor, as though silently asking if they were finished. If he could let it go. In answer, Serinbor slammed his forehead to Alder’s nose.

Seph fleetingly wondered if this was how Alder had broken it the first time.

Alder released Serinbor’s wrist and reeled back, unbalanced, while his opponent seized the opportunity, yelling and barreling headfirst into Alder.

A few of the other kith jumped aside as Serinbor and Alder tumbled right through them and fell to the ground in a tangle.

Which was when—finally—Evora intervened. “Rian. Banon.” Two figures stepped forward and pulled the men apart. Mostly, they pulled Serinbor away from Alder and held him back to make sure he didn’t try to attack the Weald Prince again.

Blood trickled from Alder’s nose, which he dabbed lightly upon his sleeve as though it were nothing more than an inconvenience. Meanwhile, Serinbor’s bottom lip was cracked open and bleeding down his unforgiving chin.

“And to think there was a time when you both would have died for the other.” Evora glared at them, though favoring Serinbor with the sternest look. “You can sort this out before the elders.”

Serinbor grabbed a fistful of his coat and held it against his lip to staunch the blood flow. “Oh, he is not coming with us.”

“He is your prince.”

“He forfeited that claim a long time ago.”

Evora moved to stand before Serinbor. “And yet it is still his claim by blood, whether you wish to honor it or not. You are not in a position to take that from our people.”

Serinbor’s eyes narrowed. “Your fidelity to him clouds your judgment.”

“And bitterness sours yours,” Evora shot back, and Serinbor’s expression darkened. “It is for the elders to test his motives, and regardless of guilt or innocence, you know very well that she will want to hear what he has to say.”

Serinbor held her gaze one long and furious moment, then relented. “Fine,” he snapped. “But the mortal stays.”

His words rang through the courtyard like a death sentence, and Seph wondered if this would be the end for her. Alder had vowed to bring her here, to his home, and he’d fulfilled that vow. He owed her nothing more. Seph had saved his life—yes—but he’d also saved hers, many times over. Plus, she had nothing left to bargain.

Alder looked at her for the first time since the other kith had arrived, his expression haughty, indifferent, as though she were nothing more than an insignificant mortal.

Seph felt equal parts fury and hurt. She did not give trust easily, and she’d begun to trust Marks––Alder, despite herself. This kith . She should have known better.

Never trust a kith.

Seph was a fool, and she’d learned nothing.

The gray in Alder’s eyes shifted, the creases pulled, and then he glanced away. Not to anyone or anything—just away, as if he couldn’t bear the sight of her another second.

So it surprised Seph when Alder said, “The mortal comes with me.”

It surprised Evora too, and she frowned as she glanced between them.

“I don’t think you understand,” Serinbor hissed. “Mortals are not permitted to come where?—”

Alder opened the satchel and tossed it before them all. It landed upon the cobblestones with the coat spilling out of it, reflecting a prism of color, as if he’d unleashed a rainbow in this colorless world.

Rys’s ring tingled upon her chest.

“Where did you get that?” asked either Rian or Banon. Seph didn’t know who was whom, but everyone gazed upon that coat with astonishment.

“It belonged to her grandfather,” Alder answered evenly, not looking at Seph. “I was bringing the coat here to find answers, along with the mortal who kept it hidden. Why else do you think it took me so long to return?”

Seph’s gaze shot from the coat to Alder. Was it true? Was that really why he’d finally allowed her to come? But then why had he kept trying to be rid of her?

Unless that part had been an act to gain her trust. A way to appear less eager.

Her grandfather had warned her about the kith and their slippery schemes. And this betrayal of her trust was the last straw. Seph found her voice. “You told me your name was Marks.”

Seph’s words were met with silence, and the others fixed their gazes upon her, including Alder, whose eyes turned shrewd and sharp and full of warning.

“You mean to say that the mortal did not know who you are?” Serinbor asked, looking between the two of them. “This whole time?”

“Considering what is presently circulating about my person, I didn’t think it wise to tell her the truth. A willing prisoner is a far easier traveling companion—I trust you know this—and we will need the mortal if we are to learn anything about the coat.”

Seph’s temper flared white-hot. “You selfish ass—” She lunged for him with the idea of strangling him, not that she thought she had any chance of murdering the Weald Prince with her bare hands. No, she was driven by an instinctive sort of reflex, but without her weapon, her hands were all she had left.

Of course, she only made it two steps before one of the kith grabbed her arms and held her firmly back.

“How dare you!” Seph shouted, just as Serinbor’s command rang out with a sharp, “Bind her.”

Alder’s steely grays were the last thing Seph saw before a cloth sack was swiftly pulled over her head.