Page 47 of The Arrow and the Alder

Alder.

The prodigal prince of Weald, whom Lord Massie had accused of treachery against his own kith and kin, charged with aiding the depraved and their leader. And this kith woman had just called MarksAlder, and Marks had not corrected her.

Seph sifted through everything he’d shared with her, but it was very little, and if Evora’s claims were true, his apprehension to share anything about his life made complete and perfect sense. When she’d asked, he’d denied workingforthe Weald Prince, but she never asked him if hewasthe Weald Prince. The idea had seemed impossible. He didn’t look like any kith prince––though he had the bearing of one, despite his unkempt appearance. But why would the infamous prince of Weald, the debauched profligate who’d been lately accused by Lord Massie of leading the depraved, have condescended to return Rys’s ring to little Harran, to a family who wasn’t of any import or status?

Whatever his reasons, he certainly wasn’t workingwiththe depraved.

Seph stared at him, mind reeling, but he was carefully avoiding her gaze.

“Alder? That’s not possible,” snarled the man with the vambrace, who now strode toward them. He waved his hand. His green-and-gold mask disappeared, and a severe face waited beneath. One with cold eyes and hard lines and a mouth set with arrogance. Kith ears parted a veil of long midnight-black hair.

“Serinbor,” Marks said stiffly.

At the sound of Marks’s voice, the kith—Serinbor—stopped in his tracks, and every figure surrounding them went stone-still. Revelation filled the quiet and charged it with unease. Serinbor’s black eyes swept over Marks, like he was having some silent argument with himself. As if Markscould not bethe one Evora had said he was, as if Serinbor could will the truth away, even though it was standing right before him.

Seph saw the moment Serinbor’s conclusion shifted, when he could no longer deny the truth. The kith cursed. Loudly. At himself or at Marks, Seph couldn’t tell, but either way, Serinbor did not appear to share in Evora’s relief at seeing the prodigal prince of Weald returned. “Alder.”

Seph looked at Marks—no,Alder—who looked only at Evora as he asked, “What happened here?”

Seph heard the pain in his voice. That much was real, at least.

Evora opened her mouth to answer, but Serinbor beat her to it. “Do you truly not know?”

When the Weald Prince remained silent, Serinbor continued, as if he were honored to bring the gauntlet of judgment upon Alder’s head. “Your mother was found guilty of tampering in the forbidden arts, aided by your father and sister, in an attempt to set Weald above the other courts.”

Alder’s expression darkened. “That is a lie, and you know it.”

“Do I?” Serinbor cut back. He stepped nearer to the prince, his expression ruthless. “You’ve been gone for two years,my prince, and the last any of us saw of you, you were drowning in a barrel of ambrosia with two sirens in your bed.” He stopped before Alder, and though the Weald Prince was the picture of fury, he did not deny the accusations cast before him.

Seph’s gut twisted, sharp and painful.

Serinbor continued with a sneer, “Since you seem ignorant of the facts, allow me to illuminate them for you. The mist crept in first, and then the depraved came. At first, we thought it a simple oversight, and when Lord Massie accused your mother of giving herself over to forbidden powers, thereby weakening Weald’s natural protections, we dismissed him. But the mist did not leave, the depraved did not cease, and so the next time Massie brought Queen Navarra to trial, the good people of Asra Domm were too afraid to defend her. Especially when his zealots burned your family and your legacy to the ground as an example to the rest of us.”

Serinbor’s words fell upon them like ice-cold rain while Alder stood like a statue of himself. The figure nailed to the actual statue—the one wearing the crown. That had been Queen Navarra of the Weald Court.

Marks’s—Prince Alder’s—mother.

The other two must have been Alder’s father and sister.

“You knew my mother.” The Weald Prince’s voice was low, but it trembled. “Despite your sentiments toward me, you know she would never touch the forbidden arts.”

Serinbor regarded his prince. “No, but I do believe she would cover for a son who did.”

Without warning, and with a motion too quick for Seph to register, he punched Alder in the gut.

Alder bent forward with a gasp while everyone watched in uneasy silence.

“Thatis for Genava,” Serinbor hissed, and he grabbed a fistful of Alder’s hair, which was easily done since the Weald Prince had so much of it. Oddly, Alder did not fight back. “She did not swear her allegiance to Massie, and so Massie burned her to the ground too. I wasn’t there, of course. I was on an errand for your devoted mother.” Serinbor released Alder’s hair with a shove, and the Weald Prince took a step to catch his balance. “She was still looking foryou, theprideof her life.” He said those last words bitterly as he whirled to elbow Alder in the back.

But this time, Alder caught his bearings, and Serinbor’s elbow met Alder’s open palm instead.

Fear flickered across Serinbor’s face before Alder threw him to the cobblestones.

Serinbor landed on his back with a grunt and a snarl, but Alder did not exploit his advantage. He stood over the kith and glared down. “I am sorry for Genava—truly, I am—but your blame is misplaced. Seems to be a common failing of yours these days.”

Serinbor chuckled lowly, darkly. “Good to see you’re still the same entitled, arrogant bastard.”

And then Serinbor stuck out a leg, knocking Alder from both of his. Marks––Alder had barely jumped back to his feet before Serinbor was up and charging him again, this time with a sword.

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