Page 8 of The Arrow and the Alder

A lder had been tracking Massie’s silvery soliloquy with nothing short of wonder. How magnificently he twisted truth, how thoroughly he held his audience captive. It was impressive, really, and Alder was—yet again—proud of the queen for being the first to see through Massie’s deception. It was why she’d inevitably dismissed Massie from court, but apparently Harran did not know that.

Was the baron aware? Or was he just playing along like the good little puppet he was?

Massie’s mention of an enchanted coat astounded Alder, and while he didn’t doubt its existence—actually, the awareness of it was concerning—he trusted Massie’s motives about as much as he liked the man. Regardless, why did he want this coat? What power did it truly hold? How had Massie learned of it?

The answer to that last came with the question: the witch?

Alder’s gaze slid to the veiled woman, who hadn’t moved from the door.

Who was she, really? Where had Massie found her? How did she know about a coat, and why did she think it was here, in a dying mortal village at the farthest corner of Kestwich? The very same village Alder himself had been led to, but on a different errand.

Unless the errands were not so different after all.

“I would ask,” Massie continued, “that if you know anything of the coat, or suspect Prince Alder’s whereabouts, report it at once. Your loyalty will be greatly rewarded, including, perhaps, bringing home a loved one from the front lines.”

This stirred the crowd more than anything else, and Alder knew that Massie had just won the people’s loyalty.

But not that of Rys’s sister.

Josephine.

Alder had spotted her the moment she’d stepped into the courtyard—that snow-white hair was a beacon—accompanied by what Alder presumed to be her mother and younger sister. The mother looked exasperated and weary, while the younger sister—he couldn’t remember her name—stood poised and calm.

Yet there, in high contrast, stood Josephine. The lion, Rys had called her. She watched Massie like a huntress, as though truth were a rodent bounding deftly through the shroud of his empty words, and every one of her senses trained to catch it, to drag it out by the scruff and expose it for the rotting filth it was.

Sharp, that one.

So sharp, she’d spotted him in the crowd at once, and he’d had to find another place for cover.

The veiled woman’s mask turned in Alder’s direction, and he felt that strange press of cold air again.

Time to go.

“Has Prince Alder brought depraved through the Rift?” someone asked as Alder wove through the crowd.

“Thus far, he has not,” Massie answered, “but that holds no bearing on whether or not he will …”

Alder squeezed between two wagons and slipped into a narrow side street, where he strode on?—

“Hey!” a woman’s voice called out.

Alder stopped in his tracks and glanced over his shoulder to see a shock of white hair.

Josephine.

She’d followed him.

And she was the entire reason he was here. He could hand over the ring—be done with it—and he was just reaching into his coat when he felt those tendrils of cold again, followed by whispers.

Alder turned, and sprinted.

“Wait!” the girl yelled and gave chase.

Fates, she moved fast for a mortal, and a short one at that. Alder turned down a footpath that led behind an abandoned smithy, and the sound of Josephine’s pursuit vanished completely.

The cold and whispers disappeared too.

Alder glanced back, relieved to see an empty path behind him. He hadn’t expected to lose Josephine that easily, and he slowed his pace?—

Only to barrel right into her.

Alder grunted with surprise, gripping her shoulders for balance, when a surge of energy zinged through his body, like the reverberations of a bowstring.

What in the ? —?

Alder’s confusion reflected in the girl’s own eyes—so blue, brilliant as a summer sky—but Alder gathered himself, shoved her off, and sprinted on.

She cried out as she fell, and Alder felt a stab of guilt for that, but it would be far worse for her if Massie or this witch found her with him. He pressed on, his long legs carrying him farther, and farther, over a low wall and bounding up another, where he perched upon a high rooftop.

He watched as she rounded the corner, as her steps slowed and she cursed in frustration because she’d reached a dead end. She didn’t bother looking up in his direction; no mortal could’ve jumped and climbed as he had done. He saw the moment she relented, when she finally admitted defeat.

She pushed that wild hair from her flushed face, turned, and strode on, back the way she’d come, and Alder was oddly sad to see her go.