Page 29 of The Arrow and the Alder

S eph didn’t speak to Alder after that morning in the training yard. He was preoccupied as a revolutionary, from what Abecka told her, and he was using the intelligence brought to him by the kith child, Rasia. Apparently the girl was a scryer—someone who could see into the plane of the present, across the span of current events as they unfolded—which was how the fugitives of Asra Domm had been found in the first place.

And how the residents of Velentis had slowly been acquiring more knowledge, right beneath Massie’s treacherous nose.

While Rasia could not specifically scry Massie or his witch, she was able to see Massie’s orders through his guards and their movements. She then directed the Weald Prince to where Massie would next strike. The intelligence allowed Alder, Evora, and a handful of his kin to sneak about the surface, lying in wait for Massie’s guarded transports. From there, they rescued captives and brought them to Velentis, where, out of the high lord’s reach, they could enjoy some semblance of freedom.

Seph wanted to go—so badly—she wanted to join them on their ventures, but she wasn’t ready. No one said so, but Seph knew. It was obvious when other kith joined her in the training yard. While she might be a fantastic shot, her infantile connection to her eloit made her weak compared to her counterparts, and so she trained.

Relentlessly.

She was the first one there in the morning and the last to leave, breaking only to eat, or when Abecka wanted her to try something related to the coat (none of which worked). Rian visited her often, offering bits of advice or encouraging words, and sometimes, when he looked at her, she imagined he was remembering another time––one when he’d stood beside her grandfather instead.

Rasia joined her nearly every afternoon, just to watch, and Seph felt a nostalgic sort of comfort in her presence. It was almost like having one of her sisters around, before the war complicated everything, and she appreciated that Rasia always shared news of Seph’s actual sisters. Rasia had a sweet disposition, if not a little odd, but Seph didn’t know how one could see all the world at once, and all the horrible schemes of man, and not be adversely affected by it. It was a wonder Rasia wasn’t affected more.

“Who is that man with golden hair and pretty clothes who is following your sister like a pup?” Rasia asked one such afternoon.

“Ah. That would be Lord Bracey.” And as Seph thought about it, he probably wasn’t just “lord” anymore. He might be Harran’s new baron, since the former’s head had been ripped off by a depraved. Seph felt a swell of guilt again that she’d left Linnea with such a mess.

“Hmm,” Rasia said, and her expression turned reflective. “He appears to have a possessive fondness for your sister, but I do not think your sister cares very much for him.”

“Why do you say that?”

“She cries into her pillow every night. That is not the mark of a woman in love.” Rasia observed Seph as she loaded her next arrow and furiously fired through her next round. “You feel responsible for this?”

There was no hiding from Rasia. “I am responsible for it.” Because while Linnea’s entertainment of Lord Bracey’s affections had been a choice before, Seph’s treason had stolen that choice.

Rasia watched as Seph gathered her arrows. “Do you honestly believe your decisions nullify the Fates’ will?”

Seph stood, arrows in hand, and frowned.

“Josephine, the Fates have allowed this,” Rasia continued. “ All of this . And if Demas and Ava intended to let it persist, they never would have sent us the coat. They never would have sent us you . But they have, and it is in their time and in their way that you must trust. Each of us have a role to play, and you cannot take everyone else’s roles upon your shoulders. That is the work of gods, and it will kill you if you try to carry their load.”

Seph did not have an answer for that, but she suspected Rasia was right.

Still, as the days blurred, as Seph trained with her eloit and her bow, Alder haunted her thoughts, though she tried so hard to forget him. She kept replaying each interchange, every conversation, every fleeting glance, and the more she thought on him, the angrier she became. Not just at him, but at herself. That she hadn’t seen through his deception. That she’d let down her guard.

That she couldn’t shake his tenderness with her hand, or the security and comfort she’d felt sleeping beside him.

Seph would catch glimpses of Alder when he’d return from his exploits, though he never came near. In fact, he seemed to be avoiding her, which hurt more than she wanted it to. She didn’t want to care. She shouldn’t care.

She should hate him.

But hate, Seph began to realize, was such a complicated emotion, because it sprouted from something quite opposite. And finally, after Alder’s third trip to the surface—three weeks later—Seph had the opportunity to deal with it directly.

She’d been chatting with Abecka, explaining that she felt ready to join the others upon the surface, when she spotted Alder through a cheering crowd. Whatever reserve Alder’s kin had held for him these past few years was quickly dissolving in the vast waters of his present righteousness. The people loved their prince—nay, their prospective king, for he was next in line should they accept him, and they did . He was hope and he was light in this dark and dismal world.

It was how they were gazing at him now—even Celia de’Lana—as Alder escorted five kith that Massie had captured, bringing them into the heart of Velentis, to freedom. Celia de’Lana pushed through the crowd for the Weald Prince with a rare smile upon her face.

Seph couldn’t fault her. She couldn’t fault any of them. Alder made a captivating figure, embellished further by the swell of honor and victory surrounding him, as if it seeped into his very being and glory shone out of his pores.

He looked out across the expanse, past Celia and all his admirers, and caught Seph’s gaze, and in that moment, it was as though time stopped and the crowd parted. That it was just the two of them, trapped at the center of a world spinning out of control, with their brief past knotted like a fraying thread between them. She felt that all-too-familiar draw toward him, like everyone else felt, she was certain, but for her, it was a tie she should not feel—did not want to feel, not after how he’d used Rys.

“I’ll find him later,” Seph said to Abecka, and though Abecka gave her a curious look, she didn’t stop Seph as she left the cheering crowds for the training yard. Better to keep busy than let her warring emotions make her lose sight of her purpose.

They had a world to save, and she was going to join Alder on his next trip to the surface no matter how hard it was for her to be around him.

Of course, she’d only taken one shot when she spotted Rasia seated upon the observation deck above. Thankfully, the training yard was otherwise empty.

“Why did you leave the bridge?” Rasia asked as Seph readied her next shot.

Seph didn’t like this line of questioning, especially from someone who saw so much. “I need to practice,” Seph said simply.

Thwick — thwick — thwick .

She struck three targets in quick succession.

“And you have been practicing.”

“One can never practice enough.”

“One should also celebrate victories to know why one practices.”

Thwick —spin— thwick .

“Do you not like Prince Alder?” Rasia asked.

“My opinion of Prince Alder is inconsequential.”

“Mm.”

Seph didn’t like the sound of that Mm , but she focused on her eloit —that spark of warmth within her which became easier and easier to recognize—while she anticipated the next orb.

“Do you dislike him because he is a prince or because he is Alder?”

Seph frowned. “They are the same.”

“One is a title and one is a person, and I wondered which one it is that you dislike so.”

Seph looked at the child, who possessed an understanding that went far beyond any mortal lifespan. It was disconcerting at times, being seen so clearly and not having anywhere to hide.

Rasia’s legs dangled over the edge of the deck. Her elbows rested upon her knees, and she set her chin in her hands. The effect was incongruously youthful when compared to her age-old words.

“That is difficult to answer, Rasia,” Seph replied at last, “because I didn’t get to know the person of Alder. The one I knew called himself Marks.”

Rasia looked confused for a moment, and then her mouth opened. “Oh, right! Marks . I almost forgot!” She tipped her head to the side and absently kicked her heels together like any child with restless energy. “Did he ever tell you how he earned the nickname?”

“No…?” Seph assumed he’d made it up.

Rasia dropped her hands and sat up straight. “His full name is Alder Marcus Tiridium Vetiver, you know, but when he was very young and it became quite apparent that he was uniquely gifted with archery, they started calling him Marks for short because?—”

“Because I don’t miss a mark.”

Alder stood at the top of the stairs, gazing down at Seph. The sight of him there, with his piercing grays, imposing build, and all that natural authority was like a physical blow to Seph’s person.

“Your Highness!” Rasia said lightly, and Seph envied her for not being so distressed by the sight of the Weald Prince. Rasia climbed to her feet. “We were just talking about you.”

Alder arched one of his brows, his eyes fixed on Seph in a way that made her heart pound. “So I heard.”

Heat crept up Seph’s neck. “Why, Prince Alder, I’m surprised you could hear anything over the cheers of your victories.” She said his title on purpose, to separate them both from their brief and friendlier past.

Alder’s answering expression was impossible to read.

“I’ll just be going, then,” Rasia said, skipping away, taking all that whimsy and joy and distraction along with her.

Alder was still studying Seph from the top of the stairs, but she turned away from him to focus on her task.

“I notice you’re not cheering over my victories.” His voice was low and smooth and slid over Seph like velvet.

“I have things to do.” She pulled another arrow from her quiver and closed her eyes, but she didn’t feel the orb. Instead, Alder’s heat and warmth pulsed like a sun in her periphery. Then it drew steadily nearer.

She tried to ignore him, tried to focus on the little orb that’d just sprung into existence. She failed. This was impossible with his bearing bleeding its heat into every inch of her space.

Damn him!

“Abecka tells me you’re ready to come to the surface,” he said at last. His voice was low and far too close for Seph’s comfort.

Thankfully, she felt that little pulse of eloit move, and she fired her arrow. Two more sprang to life, and she darted left, whirling around as she shot those too. “I am. I imagine you’ve come to dissuade me.”

“Not at all.”

She’d reached for another arrow but opened her eyes instead. Alder was leaning back against a post, just a few paces from her, his arms folded over his broad chest. He watched her with those keen grays, though his expression was shuttered. “I just came to see if you’ve been practicing as relentlessly as everyone claims.”

“You mean you wanted to make sure my ignorance wasn’t going to get anyone killed.”

“I don’t regret what I said, and look how productive you’ve been.”

“That has nothing to do with you,” she snapped.

He dragged his teeth over his bottom lip, and she hated that her gaze followed. “How is your hand?”

She didn’t like being reminded of his former tenderness. It felt like a debt, and she didn’t want to owe him anything else ever again. “Still a little numb, but it doesn’t hurt, and it isn’t proving to be any sort of impediment, so despite whatever else I feel toward you, I am grateful to you for that.”

His eyes were daggers, and they carved like a paring knife, peeling away all her layers. “And what else is it that you feel toward me?”

Heat spread from her neck into her cheeks. She crossed the yard to retrieve her arrows. “I don’t think it is in either of our best interests for me to expand on that, Prince of Weald.”

“ Best interest has never stopped you before.”

“That was before I realized you’re the ruler of a kingdom my great-grandmother intends to make peace with.”

“Look at you. Three weeks as a princess, and you’ve already learned the lamentable art of diplomacy, where no one says anything of any import and everyone pretends to get along, all to preserve their own self-interest.”

Seph picked up an arrow and glared at him. “Abecka intends to fight alongside your people; therefore, I did not think it wise to stand here and tell you what a manipulative and self-serving ass you are.”

To her fury and to the detriment of her heart, Alder smiled. Broadly. It completely transformed him, and Seph’s belly did an unexpected and wholly unwelcome flop. “There you are, my little arrow. I have missed your sharp edges. No one speaks to me as candidly as you do.”

Seph had the sudden urge to strangle him. Or kiss him. It was the oddest, most infuriating dichotomy. “You appreciate my candor, do you?”

“You know I do.”

“Excellent, then perhaps you’ll forgive me when I tell you to piss off.”

He laughed at her—actually laughed!

Seph shoved her arrows back into her quiver—all but one, which she set as she turned her attention back to the training yard. Another orb appeared, and it moved in an arc until it settled right in front of Alder. His heart, specifically. If he’d ever had one.

Seph’s fingers flexed over her drawn bowstring, her arrowhead aimed at Alder’s chest. “Would you stop it? I’m trying to practice.”

“And I am trying to get your attention.”

“What, you didn’t get enough back there?”

Alder cocked his head. “You sound jealous.”

Seph fumed. “Move, before I shoot that smug look off of your face.”

“Go right ahead.” There was challenge in his voice. “However, I feel it is incumbent upon me to remind you of a certain bargain that you made regarding the bow currently in your hands.”

Seph flexed her hands. “Then move .”

His eyes danced, and he unfolded his arms, pushed himself off the post, and approached. All the while, that little orb floated two inches in front of his chest, moving as he moved, as if he were carrying it like insurance so that she didn’t turn her attention away from him. It wasn’t until he stopped directly before the point of Seph’s arrowhead that he waved a hand. The orb vanished, and then he was standing against the arrowhead. His chest pressed to the chiseled stone, forcing Seph to deal with the towering and magnificent kith that was the Weald Prince.

Seph was struck by the notion that even though his mass of hair had made him larger, he felt larger without it. His unkempt appearance had made him wild, but refined Alder was dangerous—dangerous because every sharp angle and strong plane lured her in. Tempting her with the desire to be nearer, to trace those angles and planes, to taste those full and seductive lips with her own, to drag her fingers through the rich depths of his velvety black hair.

Depths she knew she could easily fall into if she didn’t hold on to her convictions with an iron grip.

This was the Alder who’d lured so many, but she could not stop her heart from pounding, traitor that it was. Apparently, she couldn’t trust it either.

“I’m leaving again tomorrow. This is not a rescue mission. It’s far more delicate than that, and I would like you to come with me,” he said lowly, his gaze never leaving hers as that arrow remained fixed between them.

These were not the words she’d expected, and it took them a moment to slip through the haze of his bearing and root inside of her.

“Tell me more,” she said, tone clipped so he didn’t hear her eagerness.

His gray eyes gleamed. “Abecka has an old friend who lives on Weald’s outer rim. His name is Basrain. He’s a brilliant, eccentric man, but more importantly, he’s an expert on the history of our people. He’s spent much of his life studying the past, the prophecies, and the significance of the artifacts that belong to both. Abecka is hopeful he might be able to provide insight concerning the coat. If anything, perhaps he can translate some of the enchantments that she can’t decipher.”

Ah, so this next mission was not so much about absconding with Massie’s prisoners as it was finding a solution to the coat—something Abecka and her elders had still failed to do. “Hopeful or desperate?” Seph asked.

“I find the two are closely related,” the Weald prince answered.

Seph was distractedly aware of how the pair of them might appear to any passersby, with the Light Princess’s arrow digging into the Weald Prince’s chest, but she held her bow like a barrier of protection. From her body or her heart, she couldn’t say.

“You’re certain we can trust him?” she asked.

“Abecka is, but what I need to know is if these… feelings you have toward me are going to interfere with your ability to fight at my side.” He wrapped a large hand around the shaft of her arrow, eyes never leaving her face as he pushed the arrow aside and took a single step closer.

His blazing heat filled all her spaces, and she was overcome with the scent of him.

“I need to know,” he continued, his words a breath between them, “if I can trust you.”

Seph stared at him. The bow trembled in her hands, and she wondered if he could feel it. He was still gripping her arrow, holding her bow askew, pushing past her boundaries to invade that space she guarded so diligently.

It took every ounce of willpower to hold his penetrating gaze as she asked, “How long is the journey?”

“Two days from here.”

“I can set my feelings aside for two days.”

He raised a skeptical brow.

“I’m not one to be governed by feelings,” Seph said through her teeth. “I will never forgive you for how you used my brother, but for my family, I vow to do whatever needs to be done to save this world, even if it means setting aside my hatred toward you for a few days.”

Her words were met with silence, and Alder stood perfectly still. Emotion churned in his eyes, and though Seph couldn’t determine his feelings, the intensity made her feel flush all over.

“We leave at dawn.” He turned away from her and strode out of the training yard, and he didn’t glance back. Not once.