Page 4 of The Arrow and the Alder

Alder groaned. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d tasted anything so crisp with flavor. It reminded him of Cannabefore. Before the mist, before the darkness.

Before that damnable curse.

Alder tossed the apple core before a tethered horse and regretted not absconding with the entire basket. He nearly doubled back to do just that when commotion erupted at Harran’s gate.

Glancing back, he spotted a head of shining black hair trotting arrogantly through Harran’s main entrance, flanked by six bone-faced kith.

Massie.

There weren’t many people in this world who invoked such a visceral hatred within Alder, but Massie was first on the short list. Alder’s blood turned to fire, demanding justice, but now was not the time. He needed to figure out why the wretch was here first.

Vengeance was the prize of the patient.

Alder ducked beneath an awning, blending into the shadows, while the crowd parted in awe and terror, giving way for Massie and his goons as they rode through Harran’s narrow streets.

Alder’s gaze snagged on the rider nearest Massie. The one with ink-black hair spilling out of her massive cowl. Unlike the others, she bore no weapon—at least nothing visible—and where the other masks were bone-white, hers was black and featureless.

As if sensing Alder’s stare, the black mask turned in his direction. A sudden press of cold air breathed over his skin, carrying with it the softest whispers.

Eloit.

But Alder had never felt anything like it before. This carried a rancid tinge, like decaying flesh.

Alarmed, he ducked behind a wooden post, waiting until the black mask faced forward again, until the cold and whispers dissipated, and only then did he relax. Sort of.

Who wasthat?

He’d heard rumors of a witch in Massie’s employ. Alder didn’t know if it was true, but the power he’d just felt was not normal. He wouldn’t put it past that unconscionable prick to be dabbling in the forbidden arts. Either way, witch or no, Alder would have to treadverycarefully with that woman around.

He followed the procession with his gaze, and then his feet, keeping to the shadows as best he could, eyes fixed on the riders ahead. The one benefit to Massie’s arrival was that no one seemed curious about Alder anymore.

In his former life, he might have been offended.

Massie finally stopped in the village square, right before a prominent structure that could only be the baron’s quarters. Nothing else in this crumbling hamlet was so well maintained. The war had left scars on every piece of Harran, except for the man who governed it.

Alder wanted to believe himself above such hypocrisies, but he knew better. The Fates kept finding ways to remind him.

Guards greeted Massie as if they’d been expecting him, took their horses and led the kith through the main doors. Alder did not approach the baron’s directly, instead skirting the courtyard until he reached a small footpath that led to the rear.

Where there were still too many guards, and threeverylarge pigs tucked conveniently out of public sight.

Yes, this baron profited mightily.

Alder glanced up, following the steep lines of the pitched roof, but every option was too conspicuous. He needed to draw the guards’ attention away first, but he didn’t dare use enchantments. Not with a potential witch nearby.

No, he’d have to do this themortalway.

Alder didn’t look long before finding what he needed—a small rock, which he threw at a pig. The pig barked, and when Alder’s second rock struck, the pig charged through its shoddy pen and into the street adjacent, squealing all the way to freedom. The guards cursed and shouted, and all but one of them ran in pursuit.

Alder could handle one guard without causing a scene.

He was just starting forward when he heard the softest sound farther behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and spotted a mane of white hair scurrying along the alley.

It was the girl. The one Rys had told him about.

Josephine.

Thathadto be her. She fit Rys’s description exactly, though she was prettier than he’d expected.

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