Page 31 of The Arrow and the Alder
T hey reached Basrain’s by the eve of the third day. The mist and tree cover broke, and Alder stopped his horse at a cliff’s edge. His steely grays scoured the valley below, and a frigid wind tossed his hair and tore at his coat. Seph thought he looked like a god of war come to exact his vengeance.
She sidled her gelding up to the ridge, alongside the others, and they all gazed down upon a structure that reminded her…well, of a priory. It was a large and sprawling monument of white marble buildings nestled into the rolling hills, hemmed in by a magnificent colonnade that wrapped like arms around its entirety.
Perhaps the saints would claim her lifelong servitude after all.
“I don’t like this,” Alder was saying. “It feels like a trap.”
“He’d have to know we’re coming for it to be a trap,” Tyrin countered.
Tyrin, one of Abecka’s elders, was a stable force in their company. A man of few words and steady countenance, he was a well of calm waters, rising only with the storms.
“Rasia didn’t scry anything amiss,” Evora encouraged as Rian drew up his horse behind hers.
“Nor did she scry the danger to my family, yet here we are,” Alder said, and the others fell quiet.
Seph halted her gelding beside the Weald Prince as she scanned Callant’s highest perches. “I don’t see anything unusual.”
“That’s easily hidden with glamour,” Alder replied. “Enchantress, do you detect anything?”
Abecka inhaled and closed her eyes. The wind combed through her silken white hair. “No,” she said, opening her eyes. “I sense only the usual protective enchantments.”
Alder looked unconvinced.
“You don’t trust Basrain?” Seph asked him.
“I never trust a man who doesn’t take sides, because it means he only ever takes his own.”
Seph couldn’t disagree with that.
“Except that Basrain is not just any man,” Serinbor argued. “He is a trusted friend of Abecka.”
“I’ve never put much stock in friends.”
“So you’ve made quite clear,” Seph said, thinking of Rys, and when Alder looked sideways at her, she knew he was thinking of Rys too.
“You should hide your ears.” He urged his horse down the narrow slope that hugged the face of the cliff they stood upon.
The wind became greedier now that they were out of the forest. The mist thinned here in the valley, though it didn’t dissipate completely. It hovered like a spirit, as if waiting for the Fates’ permission to consume the world completely.
They tore across the rolling hills for the colonnade, where a handful of gray-robed kith gathered beneath the open gate, waiting for their unexpected visitors. Seph spotted a few archers atop the wall, and she was adjusting her grip on the reins, ready to draw an arrow, when she caught Alder’s eye.
He was watching them too.
Abecka slowed her horse to a stop before the gathered kith, and the rest of her party fanned out behind her. Seph kept a close eye on those archers.
“I seek an audience with Basrain.” Abecka’s voice cut through the silence, but the angry wind snatched its power away.
“Master Basrain is otherwise engaged,” said the man at the front. He had a reedy voice, severe features, and small, haughty eyes that were currently appraising their group. Seph didn’t think he smiled very much. “I will deliver whatever message it is that you wish to give.”
Abecka regarded the man coolly. Wind clawed at her hair and coat. “I never imagined a world where the archives of our people were made available only to a select few.”
The man’s lips pursed just a little. “It is a very different world, madam.”
“It is. However, my message is for Basrain, and Basrain alone.”
“And I will be sure to inform him. Who shall I say is calling…?”
Seph stole a glance at Alder, who watched that man with unnerving scrutiny, and she wondered if they all should have given more weight to his caution.
“An old friend from Delyre,” Abecka answered carefully.
The man waited, expecting more.
Abecka did not give it. “We will take shelter upon the ridge.”
Abecka nodded stiffly to Alder, then turned her horse around, and the rest of them followed suit. The robed kith watched them a moment before filing into procession after their leader, back into the hidden—and apparently selective—depths of Callant.
Seph didn’t like having her back to the archers.
“I hate to say it…” There was an inexplicable note of amusement woven in Alder’s words.
“Then please refrain, Prince Alder,” Abecka cut back. “There’s still time yet, and I would hate to see you eat your words.”
“Oh, he doesn’t mind that,” Serinbor interjected. “I daresay the Weald Prince has acquired a taste for them.”
If Serinbor’s comment affected the Weald Prince, he didn’t show it. He glanced behind him to the museum, but his eyes caught hold of Seph before he gazed ahead at the ridge. “And how long do you intend to wait upon that ridge, Enchantress?”
“I don’t know. Basrain has always been protective of his artifacts, but this is?—”
“ Wait !” yelled a voice from behind them.
They all stopped their horses and looked back.
A figure strode briskly after them, dressed in a robe that looked positively outlandish against this landscape of gray. It was a swirl of different shades of green, as if its designer had been unable to choose a particular hue so the person had been consigned to use all of them. Silvery blue thread accented the trim, and Seph wondered how this man had managed to find an object of such color when there was no color anymore. His hair was either pale or gray—Seph couldn’t quite tell—and it fell to his shoulders.
“Ah, there he is,” Abecka said. Her countenance visibly lightened as the man—undoubtedly Basrain—approached.
Alder, however, was immediately alert, his features drawn to singular focus as he stared the man down.
Basrain’s expression was much friendlier than those who’d greeted them at the gate, though there was still a bit of reserve as he took in their company. His gaze finally settled on Abecka, and he smiled. “I thought that was you. I was translating an old Pithian text in the scriptorium, and I glanced out my window and thought the Fates were playing tricks on my eyes.”
Abecka gave him a small smile. “It seems you have an entirely new retinue of archivists.”
Basrain’s expression turned plaintive. “I have lost many to the war.”
The weight of his words settled upon them all, but then his gaze warmed over Abecka as he said, softly, “It’s been a long time, old friend.”
“That it has,” Abecka said with equal sincerity. The tension lifted at once, and she dismounted. “I hope my coming here has not placed you in any danger.”
“Not at all,” Basrain replied. “I find that…surrounding oneself with stacks of old books tends to keep the vultures away. They always prefer the shinier things, you know.”
“Yes. It is the failing of the simpleminded,” Abecka mused.
“Indeed.” Basrain smiled with greeting. “And what brings the Light Court’s great enchantress to Callant?” He appraised the rest of their group, but when his gaze touched the Weald Prince, he gasped and dropped to his knees. “Your Highness! I didn’t recognize you! Forgive me…had I known you were?—”
“To your feet, man,” Alder said through his teeth.
Basrain stood slowly, awkwardly, though his eyes were set upon the Weald Prince with wonder and disbelief. “Demas be praised, I had heard…that is, rumors have not been kind to your fate.”
“Rumors are rarely kind, Basrain,” Alder replied lowly. “I trust you of all people would know that.”
Basrain’s expression turned wistful.
“Basrain,” Abecka said, drawing his attention. “We’ve come because we need your opinion on a matter, though I would prefer to share those details in private…?”
“Of course.” Basrain clasped his hands in understanding. “Let’s get you comfortable.”
Callant was a monument of white marble—an indubitable museum with its sprawling promenade of halls and arched ceilings so tall they seemed to defy the inherent limitations of any architecture Seph had ever seen.
It was a far cry from little Harran.
And as Basrain led them from one impressive chamber to the next, Seph noted the air of reverence pervading this place. The silence of awe, the posture of humility one innately assumed when seeing one’s life compared to the ages.
Everywhere she looked were artifacts from another time, another place, stored here in this priory for preservation. It was a constant and sobering reminder of the ever-moving current of time, that one life was as small as a pebble along this infinite shore, soon to be swept away like everyone who had come before, even the kith with their extended lifespans. Portraits and statues and books, collectibles and baubles and many things she couldn’t identify, sprawled over tables and shelves, all here to observe and admire and cherish.
Basrain was a collector.
Seph paused before a table full of such baubles—including a pair of slender metal files that were remarkably similar to the lock picks her nani used to keep. Beside the table stood a large ringed representation of a star and all its orbiting planets. Seph rotated one of the rings and watched a little planet move along its arc. Her time in this world was nothing compared to the scope of the ages, her life an infinitesimal speck against the breadth of the heavens, and yet it was her time that faced total annihilation.
A throat cleared, and Seph glanced over to see one of Basrain’s archivists glaring at her. She pulled her hand from the whirling planets and hurried after the others.
She was eventually given her own room. It was a smaller space with a bed just large enough for one person—thank the saints. There was a simple desk, and a nightstand, where another robed kith left a plate of bread and something unidentifiable, a pitcher of water, and a cloth for her to wash her face—which she did. The water smelled sweet, like blooms in spring, and when she peered inside, she realized there were blooms in it. Tiny white flowers that opened like stars, though Seph had no idea where they could’ve come from—until she walked to her window.
It overlooked a courtyard nestled at the heart of this structure, completely hidden from the outside world, but where the rest of Weald was dim and gray and dying, this courtyard exploded with color. Giant willows swayed in a light breeze over a burbling pond that gleamed like liquid sapphire. Bright bolts of blazing oranges and flaming reds darted around in the water—fish, Seph realized. Flowering vines draped from oaks like curtains, brushing the carpet of green grasses and dusting it with petals. Something like a hummingbird zipped past and hovered before a bloodred bloom, where it drank long and deeply. Only as Seph watched, she realized it wasn’t a hummingbird at all but a tiny person with wings. What she’d mistaken for a stripe of yellow was, in fact, long yellow hair.
What in all the saints …?
A knock sounded upon her door.
Seph jumped on reflex, then gathered herself. “One moment.” She crossed the room and opened her door to find the Weald Prince standing on the other side of it.
Seph felt so tiny next to him. He dwarfed her in every regard, and as if that weren’t enough to challenge her composure, their ride to Callant had left him in a state of gorgeous disarray. His black hair had been elegantly tousled, the blush of hot blood colored his cheeks, and his steel-gray eyes burned with vigor, searing straight through her flesh to her heart. The heat of him filled the small space between them, spiced with forest and earth and that masculine wildness he carried always. Suddenly it was as though that little winged creature in the courtyard had taken residence in Seph’s chest.
“They are waiting for you in the tower.” His voice rumbled like thunder.
“Who are they ?” Seph asked.
“Basrain, Abecka, and Tyrin.”
His expression communicated what his words did not: they wanted to discuss the coat.
“Give me a moment,” she said, then added, “I just need to grab my boots.” She retreated into her room but left her door open.
To her surprise, Alder followed her inside.
Seph grabbed her boots and sat down on the end of her bed to put them on. All the while, she tried not to pay attention to how he moved through her room with the grace of a wildcat or how his fingertips lightly danced upon every surface, as though he needed to channel the overabundance of his power in this physical way. She tried not to let her gaze linger on the broad set of his shoulders as he stopped before her window and gazed out of it, and she definitely did not let her gaze follow the slope of his broad shoulders as it narrowed down his backside.
Alder whistled through his teeth, and for one split, mortifying second, Seph thought her own mouth had betrayed her.
“Someone wants to make a good impression,” Alder murmured, eyeing the courtyard beyond her window.
Seph cleared her throat. “Did you not get a view of the courtyard, Prince Alder?”
“I didn’t get a window.”
Seph laughed.
He set his eyes upon her, and one edge of his lips curled.
That winged creature took to wreaking havoc in her chest again, so she turned her attention back to her boot while he continued stalking about her room.
“Aren’t these the lock picks that were lying on the table with those rings you couldn’t keep your hands off of…?” Alder held up the lock picks like collateral.
“Perhaps,” Seph said noncommittally, and she resumed tying her boot.
The Weald Prince chuckled. “Why did you take them?” He sounded genuinely intrigued.
“Habit.”
“You are in the habit of breaking into other people’s rooms?”
“I am in the habit of not trusting other people, and I didn’t want to get locked in mine .”
“Fair enough.” He set down the lock picks with a decided and satisfying click . “Though I doubt these will do much against enchantments.”
“Yes, and I suppose you didn’t think a ladle would do very much against a prison.”
Her words were a slap to his face, but she did not apologize for them. Just because she’d agreed to set her feelings aside for a few days, it didn’t mean she also had to pretend he hadn’t used Rys abominably.
“Also fair,” Alder said after a moment, his voice quiet, then, “Was it Rys who taught you?”
Seph finished lacing up her first boot and moved to the second. “My nani,” she answered at last.
“I’m beginning to wonder if there’s anything your nani couldn’t do.”
Seph thought of her nani and she couldn’t stop the small grin that touched her lips. “She used to say that one should always have a way out, even if it included a locked door. She also said that while we mortals don’t have eloit like you kith, being underestimated is its own sort of eloit . She might’ve been a little unconventional, but then I imagine you’d have to be in order to fall in love with a kith prince…”
Seph stood abruptly and caught Alder studying her with an expression she couldn’t read.
He promptly looked to the door. “Ready?”