Page 5 of The Arrow and the Alder

She had not seen him; she was too focused on not being seen herself, navigating these back alleys much as he’d done, hugging the shadows like a fugitive with her bow slung across her back.

War was a funny thing. While prosperity empowered a man to be whoever he wanted to be, war showed them who they were. Most were crushed by the weight of its demands, chained by fear and hollowed out by its interminable hunger, but there were always those war could not tame. Those who saw through the bloody haze, through the machinations of tyrants. Those whose bones were made of steel, whose resolve and determination became an unquenchable fire inside of them.

It was how rebellions were made.

And it was this that burned in the girl’s eyes, that sharpened the set of her features. That kept her shoulders straight and steps sure as she smuggled her bloodied—and illegal—feast back home.

Rys had warned him about her, but Alder couldn’t decide if Rys’s words had been woefully insufficient, or if Alder just hadn’t been listening.

The girl slipped around a corner, and Alder felt a sharp and unexpected pull to follow, but first: Massie.

He turned back to the lone guard only to see the other guards walking back into the courtyard, with the pig. Alder had been watching the girl longer than he’d realized, and he’d missed his window.

Dammit.

He chewed his bottom lip, considering. Perhaps this was a sign from the Fates, a nudge to fulfill his promise first. And what harm could it do? Massie and the baron would have time to conduct their business, and Alder could pay the baron a visitafterMassie and his rats were gone.

After the witch was gone, if that’s what she was.

He slid his hand inside of his coat, into the pocket where the enchanted moonstone ring lay, tucked safely within. He turned it between his fingers, finding comfort in its solidity and weight. It was a new habit he’d formed, and he almost regretted the promise he’d made to return this ring to its rightful owner.

But this was the least he could do for Rys.

With a sigh, Alder shoved off the wall and started after the girl, while the ring weighed heavier with every step he took.

Seph returned to Harran’s front gate much later than she would have liked. She’d taken great care through the wood, not wishing to intercept the kith riders again, and yet despite the now falling rain, it seemed all of Harran was gathered in the streets.

The kith must have arrived.

Seph could only guess why they had come. More fighters for their blasted war? They’d already bled all of Harran and the surrounding hamlets dry these past three years. Or perhaps the kith’s arrival had more to do with whomever they’d been hunting in the wood? Alder? Whatever their reason, Seph didn’t trustanythingwhere kith were concerned, especially now that she’d seen them in person, and so she shoved the bloodied sack beneath her coat to hide the evidence of her transgression as she headed home. There wasn’t much to be done about her bow and quiver, and she prayed no one would notice her as she slipped into alleyways and down the side streets, skirting the baron’s pompous estate until—finally—she made her way through her front door, sopping wet and freezing.

Mama looked over from the stone hearth where she crouched, feeding the small fire with fresh kindling. She didn’t ask; she already knew, and her small mouth pinched into a frown. While Mama lacked the temerity for breaking the law herself, she wouldn’t turn away a profit from one already broken. Her weary gaze landed upon Seph’s damp and bulging coat, and her eyes filled with hope.

Seph pulled the bloodied sack from beneath her frayed lapel, and her mother’s posture relaxed.

“How’s Nora?” Seph asked, heading straight for the old workbench, where she dumped the sack. She peeled off her wet coat and hung it on a hook near the fire to dry.

“Sleeping. Finally.” Mama stood and wiped soot upon her apron. Tendrils of graying brown hair curled out from her temples, though she tried futilely to push them back. “Her lungs sound better, at least.”

Seph returned to the bench, pulled the jackrabbit from the sack, and slammed it on the bench top with a thud.

Quiet.

“Is that all?” Mama whispered.

“Aye.” Seph mentioned neither the stag nor the kith. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust her mother, but Mama might speak of them in front of her middle sister, Linnea, and, well, Linnea’s loyalties were up for debate these days.

“Where’s Linnea?” Seph pulled the paring knife from her belt.

Mama exhaled her growing despair, then moved about the room, drawing shutters closed to shield Seph’s crime from prying eyes. “She left to see if Lord Bracey knew why the kith are here.”

Seph tensed, blade in hand.

Mama misread Seph’s reaction. “Oh, that’s right…you wouldn’t have seen them. You were…” Mama hesitated as if this confession were the only thing that might incriminate Seph for the bright red blood staining her hands. “They arrived not half an hour ago.” Mama leaned in and spoke a bit softer. “A kithhigh lordis here. He’s meeting with the baron now.”

Seph hated the way her mama said that last part, as if a visit from a kith high lord was anything to be proud of.

She pinched the rabbit’s skin, made a small incision, and set down the blade. Her hands trembled. “What do they want?”

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