Page 43 of The Arrow and the Alder

Alder nodded once, waiting as she ducked around a tree and reappeared shortly after. Her expression was closed off again, if not a little uncertain, but Alder told himself it was better this way.

She didn’t bring up the incident again. In fact, she didn’t bring upanythingagain, but that wasn’t to say herpresencewas quiet. It wasn’t, not at all. He felt her there behind him with every step he took, like the sun beating relentlessly upon his back. She was difficult to ignore, really.

So Alder focused on figuring out what he was going to do once they arrived. Josephine added an unexpected complication, but surely his mother could solicitsomeoneto escort her safely through the Rift.

She was Weald’s queen, after all.

The battle was ugly at the front lines but not impassible, if one knew what they were doing. Alder didn’t know the state of the war at present; it’d been a few months since he’d passed through the Rift, and a lot could have changed. His mother should know more.

And Alder…well, he just prayed he wasn’t murdered on sight. He hadn’t exactly left on the best of terms. The coat should help with that—which was why he’d bargained it from Josephine in the first place.

Trees eventually gave way to moors, the temperature dropped and dark clouds stretched overhead. A greedy wind tore across the open field, rippling the grasses, but Alder kept a swift pace. Josephine didn’t complain. Not once, though he caught her jogging intermittently to keep up with his long stride. She was easy company, if Alder was being completely objective. Much easier than most soldiers he’d journeyed with, and Alder had journeyed with his fair share.

Not even Rys had been this agreeable.

They crested a rise, and Alder spotted the small hamlet ahead, nestled against an endless stretch of dark water that frothed beneath the churning sky.

Peressian.

They were close now.

Alder used to set sail from Peressian’s harbor, when he was much younger. He’d always loved the sea. The freedom it afforded. The sea was never trying to be anything other than what it was, subject to storm and season, beholden to no one. And life at sea was always so simple: survive or die.

Alder preferred simple.

Even now, sailboats bobbed beside docks that jutted out from the shore like grasping fingers, while those good sailors worked to secure sails and cargo before the storm berthed. He wondered if Marwyn’s crew was still there, or if they were out at sea. They never liked to dock for very long, where they were subject to the expectations of queens and kings.

A cloud of brilliant white birds flapped overhead, fighting furiously against the wind.

“Is that an ocean?” Josephine called out suddenly.

Alder was shocked she’d spoken, and then further surprised by her question.

He stopped and glanced back at her. The wind made her white hair wild. “Have you never seen an ocean before?”

She stared at the endless blue as she shook her head. “The Sarandian Sea is at least a week away from Harran on horseback.”

“And you weren’t ever curious to see it?”

“I was plenty curious. I just never had the resources to get there.”

Alder searched for bitterness in her tone, but heard only truth with a hint of sadness.

She had never seen the ocean. Never. Not once.

He had the strange and sudden urge to take her there, to lead her aboard one of those boats and set sail, to leave this world behind and all the expectations that strangled like a noose.

She would love it. The freedom, the sheer wildness of the sea. The simplicity of survival. Alder couldn’t help thinking that he would love it too: surviving, with her.

He kept walking.

“Are we not stopping?” she asked, jogging after him.

He wanted to. “No.”

Thunder cracked overhead.

“What about the storm?” she pressed.

---