Page 45 of The Arrow and the Alder
P rince Alder rode abreast of Rian and his uncle, leading their charge of five hundred kith. It was a sizable force, and Alder hoped it would be enough. Still, Alder knew his uncle’s support was nothing short of the Fates’ blessing over his wretched life. His hopes had been slim, and yet his uncle was all the hope they had left. Once Alder shared the whole story of what’d happened from the day he’d left Asra Domm till now—confirmed by Rian, an emissary his uncle actually respected—Lord Hammerfell had wasted little time in assembling his warriors, withdrawing those he could from the Rift, and contacting those he trusted most. All in all, preparation had taken nearly three weeks, and they’d returned to Velentis in haste, but the second they stepped through the glamoured gate, Alder knew something was wrong.
Trepidation hovered in the air like some ill portent, and as the people spotted him on the ramp, they started running toward him. Oddly, it was Serinbor who’d cut through the din, and the grim look on his face drew Alder up short. He didn’t see Josephine anywhere.
Alder leaped down from his horse before he’d even fully come to a halt, and Serinbor was there, standing before him.
“Where is she?” Alder asked.
Serinbor glanced askance at the gathering crowd, before he said, tightly, “Massie has her.”
Alder took two steps and gripped Serinbor’s tunic and jerked him close, holding him at eye level. “ You ?—”
“It wasn’t me, Alder!” Serinbor pleaded, gripping Alder’s arms. “I swear on my life!”
“Then who in the hell?—”
“It was Evora .”
Alder froze, his fingers still gripping tight. Serinbor did not even attempt to throw him off. His uncle and Rian watched, while the small crowd stood silent. Waiting .
No one corrected Serinbor, and though Alder searched, he did not see his cousin anywhere.
A pit formed in his stomach.
“Check my vest pocket,” Serinbor managed.
Alder stared hard into Serinbor’s black eyes, and then he loosened one hand to reach into the vest, where he withdrew a paper thin but solid object.
A sheet of polished moonstone, the size of Alder’s palm.
Alder felt simultaneously cold and hot, his skin too tight.
He knew what this was—he’d seen it before, when he’d been imprisoned in the mines: two-way glass. He’d spotted one of the depraved using such a device to communicate with its master.
“I found it in Evora’s room,” Serinbor continued, still trapped in Alder’s vise-like grip. “We searched it after they disappeared?—”
“She could have taken it from Basrain’s?—”
“ I saw them, Alder !” Serinbor hissed, his spittle landing on Alder’s nose and chin. “I saw her in the glass with Massie, talking about some coat she used to glamour herself to look like you, which is how she tricked Josephine into following her outside where Massie was waiting…”
Alder released Serinbor’s tunic and stepped away, unbalanced. His world spun. “No…no—no—no—” He pressed his wrists to his brow before dragging them down his face.
The worst of it was, he couldn’t even ask why. He knew why. Evora had been in love with Massie once, long ago when he still worked for his mother. Evora had been distraught when Massie left the court, but Alder had believed—as all of them believed—she’d gotten over it and moved on.
Apparently not.
He might almost commend her for her patience and deceit if it didn’t affect him so directly.
“Where is he taking her?” Lord Hammerfell asked, breaking through Alder’s spiraling despair.
Serinbor adjusted his collar. “Süldar.”
Alder drew upright and looked hard at Serinbor.
“I don’t know why,” Serinbor continued, “and I wish I could tell you more, but that witch joined them and caught me listening, and she broke the connection.”
Alder’s eyes slid shut as he inhaled deeply. He was going to rip Massie into a hundred tiny pieces.
“There’s…something else,” Serinbor added, and Alder opened his eyes. “Rasia is gone too.”
“The best we can guess,” Sienne said—he hadn’t even realized she’d joined them, “is that she scried something amiss and followed Josephine outside to give her warning, but was caught.”
Alder wanted to run. He wanted to change form and sprint straight for Süldar, and as if sensing the direction of Alder’s thoughts, Serinbor looked straight at him, his expression saying every bit of: Don’t even think about it . You can’t face this alone.
Alder hated that Serinbor was right. Even if he did catch up to them before they reached Süldar, then what? He might be able to overcome Massie, but not the witch. He would need his uncle’s army, no matter how damned slow they walked.
Alder pulled his gaze from Serinbor and looked to his uncle. “Tell your men to get whatever sleep they can. We leave at first light.”
He expected Lord Hammerfell to argue—or even Serinbor. To push back against this quick turnaround, so it surprised Alder when Serinbor took a step closer to him, and said, quietly, “You really do care for her?”
Alder did not look away as he said, “I love her.”
Serinbor held his gaze. All of the years and so much pain mounted between them before Serinbor said, softly, and to Alder’s surprise, “Perhaps there is hope for Weald after all.”
Lord Hammerfell answered with a bemused expression, but he did not disagree.