Page 33 of The Arrow and the Alder

“W ould you join me for a walk?” Abecka asked once she and Seph reached the base of the winding stairs.

Alder had gone on ahead of them, but his pace had been hurried, and Seph did not see him anywhere now.

“Of course,” Seph replied. Truthfully, she’d hoped for seclusion so that she could think. She’d been with Abecka’s entourage nearly every moment since leaving Velentis, and Seph yearned for solitude now. That said, she hadn’t really spoken with her great-grandmother since Abecka had asked Seph to stay. There was also the fact that Alder was right: Seph needed fresh air, but she didn’t know her way around this sprawling compound.

Abecka gave Seph a small smile and led her through the palatial halls as cool air breezed through the open colonnades. It was quite peaceful, really, this encapsulated paradise, and only a few gray-robed archivists passed them as they walked.

“How are you feeling?” Abecka asked quietly.

“All right, I think,” Seph replied, and she was all right, except there was still this hollow just beneath her breastbone where the fire had been. She rubbed it instinctively and flinched. Rys’s ring still hung about her neck, and the skin beneath it was very tender. Not even the enchantments in the ring had been enough to protect her from the power in that coat.

Abecka stopped in the hall—Seph did too—and pressed her palm to Seph’s chest, just over the place where the fire had lodged. Abecka’s lips twitched downward as she searched Seph.

“You…feel it,” Seph said.

Abecka dropped her hand. “You are connected to the power in that coat, somehow.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know.” Abecka’s gaze moved over Seph’s face, and then she looked ahead. “Alder was right. I shouldn’t have put you in that position, and I am sorry for that.”

Seph felt a prick of guilt. “You didn’t put that coat over my shoulders.” Seph had done that all on her own.

“But I should have…” Abecka ceased talking, smiled tightly, and continued walking.

Seph followed. She was about to inquire further when Abecka pushed through a pair of gorgeously engraved wooden doors and into the courtyard she’d spied from the window of her bedchamber.

It was like stepping into spring. It was so much warmer than those drafty halls of marble, and little lights floated about them like stars. The air smelled sweetly of flowers, and Seph understood why mortals might have bargained for a vial of Weald’s air.

It was intoxicating.

And it smelled a little bit like Alder.

Abecka ushered her over to a small bench nestled just beneath the sweeping branches of the willow, and they both sat. Abecka stared ahead, quiet. Her hands were clasped within her lap when she asked, “Tell me about my son.”

It wasn’t the subject Seph expected, but she folded her own hands together and stared out at the glittering pool. “What more do you want to know?”

“ Everything .” Abecka’s tone broke in half.

And so Seph told her everything she knew, starting at the first memory she had of him. Abecka sat quietly, staring at the pool as Seph spoke. She asked a few questions here and there, but for the most part, she seemed content to simply listen, absorbing every word. Afterward, Abecka was quiet for a very long time, her eyes glistening like the pool before them, her knuckles blanched from clenching.

“I missed him,” Abecka said at last. “Every day of my life, my heart ached for my son, but…knowing that his life was so rich, that he was so happy…” Abecka smiled at Seph, albeit sadly. “There is nothing more I could have wanted for him.”

Seph glanced down.

Abecka reached across the bench and gripped Seph’s hands with one of hers. It was a strong grip. “It’s hard to live in two worlds, my Josephine. It will tear you apart.”

Seph met her gaze, wondering what Abecka was getting at.

“There will come a day, and very soon, when you will have to choose,” Abecka continued, holding firmly to Seph’s hand. “Kith or mortal kind.”

Seph frowned. “Why can’t I fight for both?”

“I do not speak of fighting.”

Seph held Abecka’s gaze, and in that moment, Seph knew Abecka was talking about Alder.

Seph’s pulse quickened.

“Things are not always what they seem, my Josephine,” Abecka said, giving her hand a good squeeze. “Trust me. I mothered the master of disguises. One must always look deeper than what is visible.”

Seph looked away, unable to hold Abecka’s gaze any longer. Unable to face the truth of something Seph felt deep down for the Weald Prince, despite herself. “But he confessed it himself. He used my brother and left him to die. I will never forgive him for that.”

“And you were raised to trust the words of a kith…?” Abecka’s words lingered in the space between them.

Seph drew back with confusion. “But why would he have me believe otherwise?”

“Why, indeed?” Abecka’s eyes traced Seph’s features, as if committing them to memory. Then she patted her hand. “It is late, and I think that you have sacrificed enough of your time indulging your old great-grandmother. Perhaps tomorrow we might search through some of Basrain’s old texts, but whatever we find, you will not be wearing that coat ever again.” She bent over Seph and kissed the top of her head. “Thank you for this. I shall cherish our conversation until the end of my days.” Her gaze lingered on Seph a moment more before she turned and left.

Leaving Seph all alone in this glorious slice of Weald—all that remained of Prince Alder’s kingdom.

Abecka’s words remained long after she left. Seph sat on the bench beneath the willow, gazing upon the glittering pool. She’d wanted solitude, but it made a mockery of her now.

Things are not always what they seem, my Josephine .

Why would Alder mislead her?

The why haunted her as she strolled back through Callant’s halls toward her bedchamber. That little word would not let her go, yelling louder with every step. She remembered how he’d tried hiding his hand, because he’d put himself at risk to tear the coat off her body, and it was this thought that persuaded her to turn from the direction of her chambers and head straight to his .

Nothing about Alder added up, his past and his accounting of his time with Rys versus the man who had, more than once, sacrificed his own comfort for hers. Seph lifted her blue-scarred hand and rubbed at the place where that unbearable fire had taken residence within her chest, and her fingers grazed Rys’s ring.

If Alder had truly come all the way to Harran for the coat, why bother with the ring at all? He could have just taken the coat; he could have easily done it while they were in the square that day. And if he’d realized Massie had already made off with it, why bother with the ring at all? Why not just chase after the kith high lord and toss the ring aside?

Seph meant to get to the bottom of it, and also thank him for his help tonight, and when she found the door she suspected belonged to Alder, she took a deep breath and knocked softly. Rustling sounded on the other side, and the door opened a moment later.

It was Serinbor.

His shirt hung open, his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and he looked tired, though he perked up at the sight of her. “Princess Josephine.” A pause. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Well, this was awkward. “Actually, I was looking for Prince Alder.”

Shadows settled over Serinbor’s features, but he did not otherwise give space for the animosity Seph knew he felt. “His chamber is two doors down.” He nodded stiffly in that direction.

“Thank you. Goodnight,” Seph said.

He inclined his head and attempted a smile, though it failed. “Goodnight.”

Seph walked on. Serinbor’s door clicked shut a second later, and her heart beat faster with every step. She reached the door Serinbor indicated, gathered her courage, and knocked lightly.

Only silence answered.

Seph might’ve thought Alder wasn’t there, but she could feel him, just like she had in the training yard. His life was like a flickering candle on the other side of that door—a point of warmth and light burning amidst the cold. Seph didn’t understand this ability to sense him, and maybe she would talk to him about that too.

She knocked again, harder this time, but there was still no answer.

That should have been her cue to leave. To let it lie. She could thank him in the morning. Instead Seph pressed her ear to the door. There was no movement beyond, no sound whatsoever. It was entirely possible that he was asleep, and yet…

Something was wrong. She felt it as surely as she felt that impossible tie between them. Perhaps the burn upon his palm was even worse than she’d thought. She put her hand on the door and pushed.

Locked.

A minor inconvenience, really, which left her with the question: how badly did she want to have this conversation right now? Was it worth his potential fury at her unexpected intrusion?

Seph decided it was. Truth was always worth fighting for.

She slid the metal lock picks from between her breasts and had the door open in less than a minute.

The room was dark and not much larger than hers. A lantern glowed dimly upon a nightstand beside a bed that didn’t look large enough for Alder. But there was no prince in the bed to verify that. In fact, the bed was still made, and Alder’s bow lay upon it.

Seph frowned, slipped inside, and closed the door. “Prince Alder?” she asked softly.

Her sensation of him drew her attention to a far corner, where lantern light faintly dusted the space. There, she saw the silhouette of a large figure hunched upon the floor.

Alder.

Something was definitely wrong. “Alder, it’s me…Josephine. Are you all right?”

In answer, he let out a low and agonized groan.

What in Ava’s name…?

Seph crossed the room, grabbed the lantern, and approached Alder, but the moment its glow washed over him, she stopped in her tracks.

He sat on the floor with his arms curled around his knees, and he was naked. This alone should have startled Seph, but any sense of propriety vanished when she noticed his back. The thick and tangled network of rope-like scars and the shapes sliding beneath his bare skin, like hands and fingers pushing out against his flesh as if something within were trying to break free.

Seph’s blood turned to ice, and she stood paralyzed in horror while Alder groaned and trembled.

Things are not always what they seem, my Josephine .

Abecka had known something was amiss, but had she known this ? And then so many other things made sense. Why he looked so haggard and exhausted each morning, and why he’d tried so hard to be rid of her at the start. He hadn’t wanted her to see this. He hadn’t wanted anyone to see this.

But what was this ?

Seph wanted to run—to fetch Abecka or someone who might know what to do—and she probably should have, but for some reason, she could not bring her feet to move. It seemed cruel to leave him like this, all alone and subject to the torment currently afflicting him. To betray a secret he’d clearly fought so hard to protect. So, against her better judgment, Seph set down the lantern and crept closer until she was standing beside him, watching him clench and gasp and moan upon the floor as he struggled against whatever warred within. Sweat glistened upon his back, and his muscles flexed and pulled in restraint against the thing writhing and clawing inside.

“Alder, can you hear me?” she asked, her heart pounding.

He didn’t react—it was as if he couldn’t hear her through his fight—and she reached out and lightly rested her palm upon his shoulder.

She might have touched him with a branding iron.

Rys’s ring burned hot, a warning as Alder bolted to a stand, whirling toward her. His teeth bared in a hiss, his eyes glowed bloodred, and Seph was momentarily struck by the mass of pure muscle standing before her. She’d known he was strong—his clothes had never been able to hide that, no matter their bulk—but saints . She’d never seen such power in the form of a body, all that impressive might shaped into corded muscle. Despite her dire circumstances, her mouth went dry, her pulse roared, and in that momentary distraction, all that beautiful muscle lunged right for her.

Seph was thrown back, landing on the floor with a wince and a gasp, and then Alder’s enormous body was over hers, pinning her down. His powerful legs trapped hers, and his hands were at her throat, squeezing.

“ Ald —” Seph tried to get the word out, but his hands were a vise, slowly crushing her windpipe as his red eyes burned into hers. Seph squirmed and bucked and tried to throw him off, but he was a slab of granite, seething and snarling like some feral beast. Veins popped out of his skin, and something dragged across his chest from the inside.

Seph flailed, pleading with her eyes, but to no avail. Alder could not hear her; he’d been possessed by a monster.

Some enchantments are woven to deceive. They could be permitting you to touch the coat only so that this power can claim you. Possess you.

He’d said it, Seph realized now, because he knew from experience.

And Seph needed to do something before he strangled the last breath from her lungs.

She stopped clawing at the shackles of his hands, instead reaching up her bodice to slide her fingers to where Rys’s ring pulsed like an alarm. She didn’t know if this would work, but she had to try.

With a last burst of strength, Seph ripped the cord from her neck and pressed Rys’s ring to Alder’s chest.

Light flashed, flesh seared. Alder roared and reared back, but it was enough. Seph scrambled out from underneath him and to the bed, where she slipped Rys’s ring onto her finger, snatched up Alder’s bow, nocked an arrow, and whirled around right as Alder drew to full height and turned on her.

But he did not take a single step in her direction. The moment was frozen, with her holding that arrow aimed decidedly at his chest—the ring had branded a circle into his skin—while he stood there, panting as fast as a dog, his hands flexed at his sides with unspent violence.

But still, he didn’t move toward her.

Lantern light gilded his tall and naked body, but Seph fixed her attention only on his eyes, the crimson glow within them, as if she might pull the real Alder out of them by sheer will. The moonstone enchantments upon his bow flared with power, though Seph kept that arrowhead stubbornly pointed at his chest. She didn’t want to fire it at him, but she would, and she stared straight at him, into the burning crimson, holding his gaze. “I don’t want to shoot you, but I will. Fight this, Alder. Come back to me!”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, that crimson light began to dim.

Alder shook his head like a beast trying to dispel flies. “ Get out of here ,” he growled.

“I am not leaving you.” She took a step toward him, bow still raised.

He panted, his body twitched and flinched, and his face turned sharply away, as if he could not bear to look at her.

Seph took another step, and another.

“ Leave ,” he snarled with a mark of desperation.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do, Prince of Weald.” Seph stopped before him. She pressed the arrowhead to his chest, just as she’d done in the training yard—against his new branding, firmly enough that the burn dimpled—but she wanted him to feel the prick of it; she wanted him to remember. She wanted to bring him back.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he managed in a broken voice.

And Seph knew then that this was the driving force behind his behavior toward her since the very first day she’d met him. This was the reason for every clipped word and action, and for the story he’d given her and Abecka’s elders. “Then don’t.”

He squeezed his eyes tight.

Seph couldn’t say what propelled her to do it, but she lowered the bow, inch by inch. She watched him closely with every move she made as she carefully removed the arrow, set both arrow and bow upon the floor before pressing her palm to his chest instead, over the place the ring had burned him.

Alder sucked air through his teeth. His body coiled like a drawn bowstring, his hands clenched and unclenched, and Seph was ready to dodge if she must. His skin was slick with sweat and as hot as flame, and Seph was very aware of all that power—all that masculine strength—roiling just beneath her fingertips. It was terrifying, really, but despite her gnawing fear, she wanted him to feel her touch, her humanity .

They stood there like that, with her palm to his chest, until his breathing slowed and evened, until those shapes stopped slithering beneath his skin. Until his features relaxed and his posture uncoiled. Until his eyes opened and the gray was calm again.

Alder’s shoulders expanded with a long breath, and he slumped to his knees with defeat, head in his hands.

Seph’s heart squeezed as she tiptoed to the bed and snatched the blanket. She brought it back to him and draped it over his bare shoulders.

Over his nakedness.

Seph didn’t know what else to do or what to say, and so she did the only thing she could think of: she sat down beside him. It was what she used to do with Nora when her strength had depleted and she’d slipped into that dark pit of despair. Seph would sit with her, lending Nora whatever strength she could give, usually through story.

Seph decided to tell Alder a story now, since one suddenly—perfectly—came to mind. “My grandfather once told me the story of a child only half born.” Alder didn’t respond, so she took this as permission to continue. “Morat, the god of the underworld, had not wished for this child to be born, for it was said that the child would be Morat’s undoing. And so as Demas set this particular spirit in the kith realm, Morat tried to pull her back. Of course, Morat cannot reverse Demas’s will, but his attempt ripped the child’s soul in two. Half went to the underworld; half remained in the kith realm.”

Here, Seph paused. Still, Alder didn’t move, didn’t speak, but his breathing evened more. Seph resisted the urge to comb her fingers through his glossy hair, as she would’ve done to Nora, but, oh, how she wanted to, and her fingers twitched with unspent desire.

“The child grew up with two contrasting spirits. One touched by Demas, one touched by Morat. Her parents didn’t realize this, of course. Not in the beginning. They saw only a physical variation: one of the child’s eyes was a clear and brilliant blue, the other black as a moonless sky. But as the child grew older, the nursemaids brought startling reports. Some days, when the child saw the world through her blue eye, she exhibited wisdom beyond her years. But other days, when the child gazed through her black eye, she committed such atrocities that her parents didn’t believe them, until the day they watched their daughter ripping apart a rabbit with her teeth.”

Still, Alder kept quiet, but Seph knew she had his attention.

“As the child grew, the devilry became more dangerous, more deadly, and the parents feared they’d need to end the child’s life. The father had just made the decision to kill the child in her sleep when a Fate visited him in his dreams. ‘Do not take her life,’ said the Fate, ‘but instead remove the part that causes evil.’”

This time, Seph couldn’t help herself. She reached out and ran her fingers through Alder’s hair. It was damp with sweat, and thick. So thick and velvety soft.

Alder inhaled one deep and steady breath, but still, he didn’t speak, and he did not push her away.

“And so, while the child slept, the father cast a spell of unconsciousness over her. He cut out the eye that was black as midnight and tossed it into the fire, where it wailed and hissed and lashed out in a serpent of flame. Their home caught fire, but the father grabbed his wife and carried the child outside, and they watched that fiery serpent consume their home. When the flames subsided, the night fell quiet and dark, and the child opened her one blue eye, and said, ‘Thank you, Father, for you have done for me what I could not do for myself.’ Morat never had a hold on her again, though she could still see into his underworld. And that is the story of the great scryer of Talmut.”

Alder sat quiet for a long time, and Seph realized she still had her hand in his hair. She drew it back, and the Weald Prince lifted his head just enough to look at her. The lantern light bronzed his skin and turned his gray eyes silver, but his features tightened as his gaze settled on her neck. “I could have killed you.” His voice was ragged and raw.

“But you didn’t.”

A crease formed between his brows. He looked like he might touch her, like he wanted—and feared—to see what damage he had done.

Seph pulled her neckline to the side so that he could see. “I’m still alive, see? As it turns out, I am more powerful than you.” She held up the little ring with a smile, trying to ease his mood.

“Fates, Josephine, I…” He dragged his hands over his face. “I am so sorry.”

Seph didn’t tell him that it was all right; clearly, it was not. But he hadn’t done it consciously, so she would not fault him for it.

She handed him a chalice of water.

He looked at the chalice—not her––closing his eyes and draining it with one long gulp before setting it down upon the floor.

“That night in the tower,” Seph said. “When I went upstairs and you were gone…you weren’t actually checking our perimeter. You were in that cellar, battling this, weren’t you?”

He didn’t deny it.

“Will you tell them?” he asked quietly.

Well, that answered her other question. No one knew about his struggle, and more than anything else, he feared what they would do if they found out. Considering the terms in which he’d left Weald, exile would be a mercy.

Seph shook her head. “No, but…does Abecka know?”

“She suspects something, but I doubt she realizes…the extent.”

His tone implied that if Abecka did realize, she wouldn’t be nearly so amenable as she had been, and for the briefest moment, Seph felt this overwhelming urge to touch him again, to wrap her arms around him, to lend him her strength so that he didn’t have to carry this burden alone.

Whatever this burden was.

“What happened to you?” Seph asked quietly.

Alder’s next breath shuddered, and she wondered if he was going to tell her, but he shook his head. She suspected it wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell her, but more that he was too weary and laden with guilt.

Seph could wait. When he wasn’t so exhausted, and when he was dressed . For now…

“How can I help you?” Seph asked. “More water? Are you hungry? I could see if?—”

He grabbed her arm gently but firmly, stopping her words. “I’m all right, Josephine. You have already done more than I deserve.”

He said her name so softly, so intimately, it stirred something within her soul.

“Is it like this every night?” she asked after a moment.

His eyes cracked open a sliver, though he stared ahead. “Not every night, and I can’t—” His features strained, and he released her arm to drag his hand through his hair. “I don’t know what provokes it. I’m still able to wrestle it down, though it had been getting worse until…” He paused and swallowed whatever he’d been about to say, and his gaze met hers.

The lantern light softened his features and deepened his gaze, and Seph’s entire being pulsed with warmth. Saints, he was so beautiful, and the way he was looking at her…no one had ever looked at her like that before. Not even Elias. It was the same way she’d seen her grandfather look at Nani sometimes when he thought no one was watching, and though Alder hadn’t finished his thought, Seph knew she was involved with whatever he’d been about to say. Something about her had made his suffering less severe. Was it related to this connection she felt to him?

Perhaps he felt it too.

She opened her mouth to ask, but her heart started pounding, and all the words stuck on her tongue. Now, with danger vanquished, Seph was acutely aware of how close they were seated, in the dark, on the floor of his bedchamber, with a blanket covering his nakedness.

Alder must have noticed too, because his jaw ticked and he glanced away.

The quiet stretched and pulled.

“How did you get in?” he asked.

Seph opened her palm, revealing the slender pieces of metal, and she smiled sheepishly. “I…hope you’re not angry.”

He studied those little pieces of evidence, and the smallest smile touched his lips as he whispered, “Furious.”

Their gazes met—held.

“But why did you come?” he asked after a moment.

He sounded sincerely curious, but they were so close, the setting so intimate, with all his heat wrapped around her like the blanket he now wore, that it made it difficult for her to remember why she’d come in the first place.

Seph’s cheeks warmed as she said, “I wanted to thank you. For earlier. With the coat, and…I suppose I wanted to apologize too. For ignoring your caution.”

His gaze moved over her features, and there was an expression on his face that Seph couldn’t read. Still, it made her feel flush all over. “You know, you’re doing such an excellent job at not hating me these past few days, I might almost believe you don’t.”

“I am a woman of my word.”

“So you are.” His gaze held hers again, that invisible string between them tightened, and Seph had the strangest sensation that she was falling.

Alder turned his face away. “You should go,” he said roughly.

It was as if the string snapped and whipped back to slap her in the face. She knew he was right, and she sensed he didn’t want to risk hurting her again, but the words still felt like rejection. Which was ridiculous, considering she was determined to not want him.

Seph stood with a little more vigor than intended, which caught Alder’s attention. He looked up as she turned and walked away from him, toward the door.

“Josephine.”

Seph stopped. Her legs were trembling, as if physically straining from the tension she’d created by walking away. She swallowed hard, but she didn’t turn.

A breath passed. Seph’s pulse pounded.

“Thank you. I…” He hesitated, then seemed to make up his mind about something. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She let herself through his door, feeling his eyes on her back every step of the way.