Page 137 of The Arrow and the Alder

Alder laughed, though Josephine looked uncertain until Serinbor’s lips stretched into a smile, and then she laughed too.

“Here, let me help you,” Alder said, gripping Serinbor’s hand and helping him to his feet. Then he embraced his old friend.

He thanked the gods when Serinbor returned it. Alder knew it wasn’t perfect, but it was a start at least.

“What’s the situation outside?” Alder asked as they pulled apart.

Lord Hammerfell’s mouth parted and closed as if he could not find the right words to explain. “I think you might come and see for yourself.”

The four of them left that sanctuary of green only to find that Alder’s power, apparently, had not ceased there. Vines draped from Süldar’s halls, and moss carpeted the floors. Swollen green buds bloomed as he walked past, dripping with every hue imaginable, completely burying the nightmare that had existed for so long.

“You’re not doing this on purpose?” Josephine asked.

He plucked one such bud, watched it bloom violet. “No.” He brought it to his nose and breathed it in before rolling the stem between his thumb and forefinger. “That is to say, I feel connected to myeloitin a way I’ve never felt before.” A burst ofeloitleft his body again, and he watched as a carpet of moss spread out before them. “Though I am not consciously doing any of this.”

“Mm,” Serinbor drawled dubiously.

Lord Hammerfell stepped over a clump of colorful mushrooms that had sprouted from the tiles. “It seems Weald is celebrating your return.”

“Well, let us hope it does not celebrate too much longer. This is a bit excessive.” Alder eyed another alder tree that had sprouted amidst the tiles. It stretched taller until it touched the high ceiling, where it spread out its branches, looking very much as though it’d grown first and this fortress had been built around it.

“Y know, Alder, if I didn’t know any better, I might think you were trying to take over my kingdom,” Josephine mused.

“It’s certainly more cheerful, don’t you agree? It was so dark and dreary before…”

She smiled as they stepped through the main doors and outside into the courtyard, where Alder slowed to a halt. Josephine stopped beside him.

Süldar itself had not changed. The fortress was still a crumbling ruin, but there was no mist, no darkness or depraved. A brilliant blue sky stretched above, and an unfiltered sun burned bright and defiant. The air felt warm and glorious, just as it had been all those years ago. Grasses sprouted from the cracks between cobbles, vines crawled over the rubble, wrapping around old statues, and a few warriors jumped back as a massive pine erupted in the place they had just been standing.

“It’s gone.” Alder’s voice had fallen out at a whisper, while he soberly gazed upon the world around them. At the remnants of a battle they had won, and those they’d lost in their desperate charge toward victory.

There were a few dead kith amongst the rubble, many wearing the colors of Weald, though some wore the silver of Light. The living picked through the rubble, looking for those who might be alive but were too weak to call for aid, and though the sun was bright, a heavy solemnity fell over everything.

Still, there were not as many dead as there could’ve been, and Alder praised the Fates for that, though one piece remained glaringly absent. “Where are the depraved?”

Lord Hammerfell’s gaze settled upon a handful of haggard-looking kith wearing scraps of clothing, a lost look about them. “Most disintegrated in the blast of light that came from the tower. The rest…it seems they were given back their kith or human forms, though they’re having a difficult time adjusting.”

Josephine took a small step forward, gazing across the courtyard, at the men and women who were trying to pick up the pieces. “Then we will help them,” she said, turning those summer-sky eyes boldly back at Alder. “We will help them reintegrate into society, and we will give them a home.”

Alder knew well how Josephine felt about rulers and ruling, but Fates if she did not look and speak like a queen—the kind the peopleneeded.

The kindheneeded.

Alder grabbed her hand and threaded his fingers through hers. “Wemost certainly will.”

It took two days to gather the dead. It wasn’t because there were so many bodies, but because foliage kept sprouting up everywhere, making it difficult to find…anything, really. Some of the kith complained about missing weapons or meals because a fully grown tree or hedge would spontaneously erupt in the place they’d last been, but Alder couldn’t help himself.

He didn’t seem concerned, either. Quite the opposite, really. Alder was lighter than Seph had ever known him to be. The corruption was gone, and without it, Alder was buoyant. Watching him work, watching him tend so generously to his people as well as the refugees of Light, and all of the prisoners that had been working the moonstone mines…well, it made the future even more difficult to think about.

Soon after waking in the tower, Seph had shared with Alder everything that’d transpired, her unraveling of the riddle, her defeat of Sound, and her conversation with the other two Fates.

“You asked them to dowhat…?” he’d said—a little scandalized—when she told him she’d tried trading her life for his.

“Calm down,” she’d said, grabbing his hands and squeezing them tight. “Clearly, I’m still here.”

Alder had glowered and grumbled beneath his breath, something about her intractability and unreasonable sense of altruism, but Seph had kissed him until he’d forgotten to be angry about it. Since then, they hadn’t had much opportunity to speak privately, with everything there was to do.

All of Canna had been healed—including the Rift, which had been transformed from a deadly chasm into a wide and beautiful bridge between kith and mortal worlds. Seph had appointed herself overseer of those who’d recently woken from the nightmare of being depraved. Little Rasia helped her in this task, but Seph knew well that healing would take more than a few days.

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