Page 22 of The Arrow and the Alder

P rince Alder Marcus Tiridium Vetiver should have known his family was dead. When the enemy had taken him, when they had kept him and tortured him, he should have known then. In all honesty, he had known—what other reason could they have had for holding him except to threaten and destroy his family?—but he’d refused to give the idea any light, because that light would have exposed the darkness, and he couldn’t bear to see what lurked within. It would have consumed him. It kept trying to, even months and kingdoms away—it kept trying to drag him under.

And it was getting stronger.

Seeing his family there, nailed to the statue, he’d been unable to deny the truth. Daylight shone upon their fate whether he wanted to see it or not, and he’d almost succumbed to the darkness in that moment. In fact, he might’ve, had it not been for her.

For Josephine.

He didn’t know why that was, why she had this uncanny ability to hold his darkness at bay, but there was one thing he did know: he absolutely could not think any more about it. Being here, with Evora and Serinbor, and being reminded of his station had been the swift kick in the groin he’d needed.

This world was not safe for Josephine— he wasn’t safe for Josephine. She was furious with him, and it’d pained him to paint these last few days in this light, but he had no other choice. He knew Serinbor. Better than either man cared to admit. And if Serinbor didn’t believe Josephine necessary, he’d never permit her to come along. He’d never risk the safety of their people for a whim, especially not one of Alder’s—not anymore. And as strong and fiery as Josephine was, she would not survive the night, not alone. Alder would be damned before he let her blood coat his hands.

He was damned anyway.

He told himself he cared only for Rys. Because Rys would’ve wanted him to see Josephine to safety. While that was true, it wasn’t all of it. But if Serinbor suspected any preference or attachment, there was no telling how he might use her to get to Alder.

And that terrified Alder more than any other thing.

Alder fixed his gaze forward as they rode in silent procession out of the valley, past the burnt and broken remnants of his past and into a future only the Fates could see.

Thankfully, the rain did not resume, though the mist lingered like an ill portent. A visible shadow of what was to come. He didn’t recall the mist drifting so, but without his mother’s power to hold it back, it crept into these lands like the disease it was, and Alder knew it was only a matter of time before Weald succumbed as Light had done.

Serinbor had taken Alder’s and Josephine’s weapons and the satchel with the coat, and he led them on horseback deep into the ancient forest east of Asra Domm. He’d kept Alder at the center of their procession, with Evora riding immediately before Alder. Serinbor led the mounted charge, of course, and being that they were short on horses, Alder shared a saddle with Josephine.

Josephine swayed with the horse, her spine straight and head high. Her fury burned through her back into his chest. He could feel it in every ragged breath she took, in the rigid way she sat as if she were doing everything in her power not to touch him more than necessary.

Which irked him more than it should have.

The other irritating part was that he kept getting mouthfuls of her hair. It was everywhere, floating up in defiant clumps as it dried, despite the cloth sack over her head. Alder couldn’t seem to get away from it, and frankly, he wouldn’t be surprised if she was doing it on purpose. Strangling him with her hair when her hands had failed to do the job.

Alder shook his head. He was thinking backward again when he needed to be thinking forward, when there was nothing behind him but pain.

He urged his horse a little faster to catch pace beside his cousin Evora. Unfortunately, the abrupt shift in speed pushed more of Josephine’s hair into his mouth and he choked before managing to spit it free.

“Where are we going, exactly?” Alder whispered to Evora once they were riding side by side.

His cousin cast him a sideways glance before her eyes narrowed on Serinbor’s back. “Velentis.”

Alder frowned. Velentis was a sanctuary from the ancient world, hidden by enchantments of old. There were whispers that the city provided refuge to the remnant of the Court of Light. It was said that once the mist and darkness had taken over Light’s land, forcing her survivors into exile, her people had discovered the lost underground city and taken residence there.

Alder had searched for it once, out of sheer curiosity, because unlike Josephine, he’d had all the time and resources in the world to explore anything he’d ever wanted.

Entitled and arrogant bastard was right.

He’d never found the lost city, of course, and thus dismissed the rumors. “You found it?” Alder asked.

“They found us ,” Evora said quietly, swaying with her horse. “And then they led us to Velentis.”

By us , she meant those of Asra Domm who’d not sworn fealty to Massie and declared themselves an enemy.

“Tell me you do not believe what Massie is saying,” Alder said through his teeth.

“I don’t know what I believe anymore,” she snapped. “But I do know Massie has grown so powerful that it’s hard to stand against him, and with so many of us at the Rift, fighting the war…Asra Domm couldn’t put up much of a fight.”

But that was what bothered Alder the most: the idea that his mother’s closest advisor could have led so many against her. That the queen—the figurehead of Weald, who’d held the curse away from Weald’s borders for over a century with her power—could have succumbed to that groveling, deluded narcissist.

Alder remembered the veiled woman traveling with Massie. “Have you heard anything about a witch?”

Josephine flinched in his arms.

Interesting.

Evora’s gaze flickered to Josephine. Not because she’d noticed Josephine’s reaction, but because she was silently asking whether or not the mortal could be trusted.

Alder nodded. It pricked him to do so, because her trustworthiness highlighted his own deceitfulness.

Evora leaned nearer. “I have. None of us have seen her, so if Massie’s really working with one, he’s kept her well hidden.” A pause. “What have you heard?”

Alder nearly confessed his suspicions to his cousin, but held off. It would incite far more conversation than he wanted to have right now, especially with Serinbor present, so he decided to wait until he had a better idea of what he was walking into. “Nothing more than you.”

Which was true. What he’d seen , however, left him greatly disturbed.

Massie had always had a following—a damned nuisance for his mother, especially after she dismissed him from her private council all those years ago. And if that witch had accompanied him here…well, it explained why his mother hadn’t been able to defeat him, and why the rest of Asra Domm would have sworn allegiance to Massie: they were afraid. And fear was a very powerful motivator. The most powerful of all, in Alder’s opinion.

Men would do anything to save their own skin. Even betray those closest to them.

“She never stopped searching for you, Alder,” Evora said after a moment.

Her words were a knife to Alder’s blackened heart and he looked sharply away.

“Actually, we were on a mission for her to find you when Massie attacked. When we returned, it was too late, and Massie had appointed himself over Weald, which forced those still loyal to your family into exile.” And more quietly, she added, “It was Abecka who took us in.”

Alder went rigid. He knew that name; everyone did.

It was under her legacy that the Court of Light had fallen. She’d been the wife to King Issachar, and she had mothered his two sons, Edom and Jakobián—the two princes responsible for incurring Speech’s wrath and cursing them all. Issachar and Edom had perished long ago, but Jakobián and Abecka had vanished from sight and story, and most assumed them dead.

“The queen of Light yet lives?” Alder said.

Evora gave him a long glance and opened her mouth to say more but was promptly cut off by Serinbor’s grating voice.

“ Evora . A word, if you please.”

Evora shot Alder a commiserative glance, then turned her face forward and urged her horse to the front, where Serinbor waited, glaring at Alder. Alder was glad to see that Serinbor’s bottom lip was still bleeding. He whispered something to Evora, who nudged her horse into a gallop, riding on ahead with her long auburn hair streaming behind her.

Alder had not ventured this far into the ancient woods, not in a very long time. Dangerous spirits of old dwelled here—at least, that’s what everyone claimed, and Alder had no reason to disbelieve it. This wood had existed since the dawn of time, preserving the unwieldy power of the ancients, and that power had spooked him on more than one occasion. Many kith had wandered into this wood never to return, or if they did, they’d gone mad.

Oddly, no one in their group seemed distressed.

They rounded a dense copse of trees when Alder first spotted the crater. It was a natural bowl in the earth, rimmed by trees whose boughs arched over it, shielding it from the sky. Alder felt a prickling of eloit over his skin, and Josephine tensed in his arms.

She feels it too, he thought with some alarm.

Serinbor led them through the line of trees and down the crater’s steep slope. The eloit grew stronger and stronger, and though Alder scanned their surroundings, he could not find the source anywhere. Serinbor stopped at the base of the slope, and his shrewd gaze followed Alder until he’d joined him. The others fanned out behind.

“Try anything, and I will not wait for the elders,” Serinbor said before he spoke a series of enchantments that Alder did not know.

A gust of air ripped around them, and suddenly, at the crater’s center, a massive stone archway shimmered into view. Enchantments had been etched all over the stone—many of which Alder had never seen—now glowing with Serinbor’s evocation, transforming this arch into a window that led to another world.

An underground one.

A wide stone bridge sloped downward, like a tongue, leading into a magnificent cavern full of glittering waterfalls Alder could now hear, thrumming from those unsearchable depths. Silvery beams of light pierced the rocky dome above, illuminating the underground city beneath it. A world Alder could not see if he peered behind the enchanted arch. It was only visible looking through it, on this side, like a painting one could step into.

The lost city of Velentis.

No wonder he’d never been able to find it. It was hidden by the most powerful glamour he had ever witnessed. Of course, Abecka was the greatest enchantress of all time.

Serinbor looked at him sharply. “After you, my prince .”

The moment Alder passed through the door, the air turned cold and damp, and the powerful thunder of falling water echoed throughout. Josephine tilted her head, trying to hear what she could not see, and Alder didn’t ask for permission: he pulled the cloth sack from her head.

Josephine shook out her hair, which inadvertently pushed more into Alder’s mouth. He cursed, spitting it from his lips, and she whipped around in the saddle to glare at him. But her scorn swiftly faded as she took in their surroundings, and her eyes rounded in reverent wonder.

Alder understood.

Now that they were inside, he could adequately appreciate the scale of this place. The cavern opened wide and deep, tunneling in all directions, joined by a vast network of stone pathways and bridges of smooth granite, a world within a world. Sheets of falling water draped over high and natural rock ledges, illuminated softly by ribbons of daylight that pierced the earthen canopy above. Where the light touched, giant trees stood, their old limbs stretched to gather as much of that light as they could. Little lanterns flickered along bridges and landings—many even floated in midair—making it seem as though a piece of the heavens were trapped here within the earth, like a dome of night sky encased in rock, and waterfalls rumbled like a beating heart.

One of the men in Serinbor’s company—Rian—sidled his horse beside Alder’s as they descended. He’d lost his mask and kept stealing glances at Josephine, and Alder worried that bringing a human here had been a mistake. That his kin would see her only as an ornament to collect and observe, as they so often did with mortals.

“How many are here?” Alder asked, scanning the pathways and structures built within rock.

“About six hundred,” Rian replied after a moment, then added, “Most are remnants of the Light Court. The rest are fugitives from yours.”

Alder easily spotted a fair amount of his kin, since they wore the forest greens of Weald. Many were older—too old to be sent to the front lines. Still, the sight encouraged him, somewhat, especially when Rian added, “Your cousin suspects there are many more throughout Weald who remain loyal to your family but are persuaded to silence out of fear. Perhaps now that you’ve returned, we’ll be able to draw them out.”

Alder looked sideways at Rian, very aware of Josephine’s listening ears. “That was my mother’s strength, not mine.”

“And they no longer have that strength. They need yours now.”

Alder gave no response to this.

“Either way, we still need far more warriors if you are to take Weald back from Massie,” Rian added.

“ We ? Am I to presume Light will help us?”

Rian’s shoulders expanded with a breath as his gaze trailed the cave’s impressive heights. “While Velentis has long provided us sanctuary, we are very tired of hiding. I imagine you know something of that.” He glanced sidelong at Alder. “But we would help you reclaim Weald.”

Ah. “Your price?”

Rian did not answer immediately. “Refuge in Weald, though you will have to discuss the particulars with the enchantress herself.”

“I see.”

“With your return, I do believe we have a chance. Lord Hammerfell still resides above. He was the last to give Massie his loyalty from what I understand, and he only did so because Massie threatened to burn down the entire city with all the people in it. I do believe his loyalty could shift once he knows you are here, and that would be an extraordinary advantage.”

Yes, it would be an enormous advantage, because Lord Hammerfell—Alder’s uncle—possessed Weald’s largest army, most of which was employed at the Rift. Unfortunately, Rian was wrong about Lord Hammerfell’s loyalties being up for debate. His uncle might have adored his sister, Alder’s mother, but he held no such adoration for Alder, and certainly not enough to pull his forces from the front lines to help his disgraced nephew resume his rightful position as king.

They reached the end of their path, and Serinbor had them wait upon a wide landing that overlooked a chasm rimmed by an exquisite silver railing. Serinbor dismounted—still wearing Alder’s black bow and quiver—and a woman took his horse while he tucked Alder’s pack beneath his arm and strode on ahead.

Not too long after, Serinbor returned with a priestess dressed in white, pristine robes. She did not look pleased to see him. “Follow me,” she said.