Page 30 of The Arrow and the Alder

A lder was playing with fire, and he bloody well knew it. He’d thought being away from Josephine would help him forget. That between the ambushes and raids and attacks from depraved, his mind would finally be free from her. He’d almost believed it’d worked.

Until today.

Until he’d gazed across the expanse and locked eyes with those soulful blues. She was like a creature from the stars, a bolt of color in the dark and fathomless depths of Velentis. Ambient light brushed her hair, making her look as though she were positively glowing, like some veritable goddess of war with her pearlescent bow strapped across her back and her thick silvery locks tamed into braids. And though he’d intended to introduce his rescued prisoners to the rest of Velentis’s citizens, he’d gone after the little goddess instead.

Damned fool.

And he’d known he was being a damned fool with every step he’d taken, but he’d ignored the voice that warned him to go the other way. To leave her alone. That he was a terrible danger to her. That watering this soil would not end in flowers but in brambles and star thistle, and yet he went to her anyway.

Great-granddaughter of the enchantress, indeed. She might not have inherited Abecka’s particular gifting, but she had unequivocally succeeded in enchanting him . There was a light in her soul, and he could not keep away from it.

Which was why Josephine was here with him now, riding with the coat to Callant to see if the batty old collector had any idea what to do with it. Alder led their small company along an old road that no one used anymore, which meant that large pieces were missing and sometimes the road vanished altogether. It took their combined efforts to keep track of it—Evora was indispensable here—but the benefit was that they hadn’t passed another soul. They did meet depraved along the way, but only a few—thanks to Abecka’s powerful concealing enchantments—and those they dispatched quickly.

Josephine had shot down the last two on her own, before anyone else had even noticed them—including him.

He could still see her face, the determination in her eyes and the blush in her cheeks as she lowered the bow, her bosom heaving beneath that glorious, fitted bodice. She’d met his gaze, and her unspoken words had risen between them, as if to say, See ? I told you I could set aside my hatred for a few days.

“This seems like a waste,” Evora said, yanking Alder from the thoughts he shouldn’t be having. His cousin murmured low so Abecka could not overhear. “We should be rescuing more of our kin instead of visiting that old kook.”

Alder didn’t disagree. “It won’t matter how many we rescue if Massie gets ahold of the power within this coat.”

Evora was quiet, then: “Do you really think Basrain will have any ideas?”

“I don’t know,” Alder said after a moment, “but I do know that we’re quickly running out of options.”

“We could just burn the coat. See if the light comes out of it.”

“Abecka tried that.”

“Maybe she should try again.”

“They’ve used every form of kithflame imaginable.”

Evora’s expression dimmed. “Slice it through with a sword?”

“Tried that too.”

Evora sighed, looking both frustrated and slightly defeated. “Are you certain she has something to do with it?”

Evora didn’t need to specify.

Alder’s gaze settled upon the head of thick white hair that never quite left his periphery. It was like a beacon, always lighting the way forward, always luring him near. “I’m sure,” he said, and he was. He couldn’t explain it other than this bone-deep feeling that her brilliant thread of life was woven into the fibers of the coat. Abecka believed it too.

“I must say,” Evora continued, “I’m impressed with how she’s taken to her eloit . She may even be a better shot than Kestrel. Last night, while you were…wherever you went off to…” She glanced sideways at him. “Where did you go after we returned?”

Alder kept his expression carefully neutral. “I retired early.”

Evora raised her brows. “The Alder I remember never missed an opportunity to celebrate.”

“And I intend to, once all of this is over, but anyway, what about last night?”

Her gaze lingered on him. “Well, I overheard some of Tavi’s lot placing bets on your little mortal friend. They were planning a small tourney to see…where are you going?” she asked, but Alder didn’t answer.

He urged his gelding up ahead, past Rian and Tyrin, until he was keeping pace beside Josephine.

Because Serinbor was on Josephine’s other side.

Alder had yet to bring Serinbor with him on his raids, but Serinbor hadn’t begged to come along either. Both had been perfectly content to keep their distance from the other until today. Tyrin had argued for Serinbor’s case, purely from a point of strategy. Serinbor was one of Weald’s best warriors—even Alder couldn’t deny that—and since Callant was much farther than any mission thus far, Tyrin had advised Alder bring the crowing idiot along.

Alder still regretted that moment of weakness, and he blamed his interchange with Josephine in the training yard for it.

“—air smelled so sweet. There was nothing like it,” Serinbor was saying. “In fact, many a mortal bargained with our kind just to bottle it up and use it as perfume…” His voice trailed off as he noticed Alder, and then he stiffened. “Prince Alder.” Every time Serinbor spoke Alder’s title, it was as if he were swallowing bitter poison. Alder would be lying if he said that it didn’t give him an inordinate amount of pleasure.

Josephine turned her face toward him, and Alder’s pleasure spiked for an entirely different reason. Never mind that she was looking at him with open hostility.

“Please do not cease this riveting monologue on my account,” Alder said. “I daresay I’ve never heard you so poetic. What has come over you, Serinbor?”

Serinbor’s expression darkened.

Alder shouldn’t have goaded him, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.

“Serinbor was just telling me what your land used to look like,” Josephine said tightly.

Alder didn’t like her coming to his defense.

“Perhaps you might enlighten her further?” Serinbor said with an edge that Alder also didn’t like. “After all, you are the expert on our land, being that you spent so much of your time indulging in all it had to offer.”

Alder had the overwhelming urge to knock Serinbor from his horse. He didn’t, of course. He had better control than that, and he didn’t dare give Serinbor the pleasure of seeing how his words needled under his skin. Alder smiled instead. “How right you are, Serinbor. In fact, I’ll take it from here.”

Serinbor glared while Alder smiled right back. Alder could see the mounting fury, but he knew Serinbor would not spend it. Alder was now officially his prince again, maybe one day his king––if they recovered Weald––and while Serinbor had his many, many grievances, he would not air them like he had at their reunion.

Instead, he tipped his head and fell back in the procession, taking a place behind Rian.

“What happened between the two of you?” Josephine asked sharply but not loudly.

Alder swayed with his horse. This was not a conversation he wanted to have right now. “It’s complicated.”

“That’s usually the answer of someone who does not wish to own their faults.”

“I’ve owned plenty, but Serinbor is uniquely uncharitable when it comes to…our history.”

“I see.”

Alder figured the picture Josephine was now seeing didn’t paint him in a favorable light. He should have let it rest; he’d already shared more than he should have. Unfortunately, he cared too much about her opinion of him. “You cannot possibly,” he said instead.

Those blue eyes shot to him with challenge. “Then perhaps you might enlighten me.”

Alder would never know what compelled him to say, “Perhaps I will someday, my little arrow.”

Josephine’s cheeks colored boldly before she sat up straight and set her attention on the path ahead. For a moment, they rode in silence, and Alder couldn’t help admiring the way she sat upon that chestnut-brown gelding with her strong legs and tight little body, totally at ease. She was no stranger to horses, that much was evident, but how she’d come to learn, he couldn’t fathom. He’d seen her home. Her lack.

“Where did you learn?” he asked.

She glanced at him, and he nodded at the horse. Still, she hesitated, as if reluctant to make conversation with him.

Alder waited, keeping pace beside her, and he was considering reminding her of her vow not to hate him for a few days when she said, “My nani’s father used to board and breed horses.”

Rys had never mentioned this. “Ah, so it’s a family trade…?”

“No.” Josephine shook her head and pushed back a few strands of stray ivory hair. “My papa was a blacksmith. He didn’t have time for horses, unless they moved the pulleys, but I’ve always loved them. Papa always said I inherited that from my nani,” as well as my prophetic dreams , she did not say, but Alder heard it anyway.

Josephine said no more, like she’d caught herself sharing more than she’d intended. Her bottom lip puckered with thought, and Alder had the sudden notion to take it between his teeth.

This woman was going to be the end of him.

“So your nani taught you to ride?” Alder pressed. He was trying to understand. He wanted to understand everything about her.

“Yes,” she answered after a moment. “My grandfather was the one who bought me the horse, and he built the stable for her. A spotted white mare.” Josephine swayed with her horse, smiling at the memory, and Alder wanted to see that smile more––he wanted to be the one who drew it out of her.

Unfortunately, her smile was short-lived. “Of course, we had to give Maven to the war, because they deemed her necessary for the front lines.”

This fact pained her even now; he could see it on her face, hear it in her voice. Maven had been very dear to her.

“And what about you?” Josephine asked, looking at him with the brilliance of the sun, burning right through every dark cloud in his soul.

“What about me?” he asked, surprised she’d asked him anything.

“Where did you learn to fight like that, especially if you spent so much time indulging in all your land had to offer?”

Alder sighed. “Ah, Serinbor. Always clinging to past grievances so that he can excuse his present failings.”

“And you haven’t answered my question.”

Alder glanced at her. “You are relentless.”

“So you’ve said.”

He smiled, and a beautiful color rose to her cheeks again. It gave him hope he shouldn’t want. “I’ve had a long time to learn and the privilege of many different tutors,” he said at last.

A little crease formed between her brows. “How long?”

He realized she was remembering their extended lifespans.

“Long enough,” was all he said, though he’d almost said too long , and he couldn’t help but think of her grandfather. Of the kith who’d given up his immortality for love. Alder had never understood it before, but he thought he was beginning to understand it now. Time was its own sort of curse, for it numbered the days as surely as it numbered all his sins, and Alder was growing quite weary of carrying them all.