Page 53 of The Arrow and the Alder

Abecka raised a hand, and Serinbor ceased speaking. He cleared his throat and his forehead wrinkled with confusion.

“Who is this?” Abecka said at a pitch higher than before.

Serinbor blinked. “The mortal girl whom Prince Alder was?—”

“Not you, Serinbor,” Abecka cut in. She lowered her hand and took a step forward, those amber eyes boring into Seph. “Tell me your name, child.”

Seph hesitated. She caught Alder’s puzzled gaze before hastily dipping her head in a bow. She didn’t know if it was proper, but it seemed like the right thing to do. “My name is Seph.”

“Yourfullname.”

Now Alder was eyeing the enchantress.

“Josephine. Josephine Risorro Alistair.”

Abecka inhaled sharply, which drew the curious attention of…everyone.

“Leave us,” Abecka said almost frantically. “I will speak to the mortal alone.”

It took the others a moment to respond, like the gears of a mill slowly groaning into motion. The robed kith cast uncertain glances at Seph but bowed and slowly stepped away. The priestess and Serinbor looked profoundly unhappy but withdrew as commanded. Evora followed, but when Alder began to turn, Abecka said, “Not you, son of Weald.”

Alder waited, looking vexed, while the others departed. Serinbor was the last to go, as if waiting for the enchantress to change her mind. She did not, and he bowed stiffly, casting Alder a scathing glance before leaving through the doors.

It was Alder who broke the thick and uncomfortable silence. “If I have caused offense, Enchantress, I swear it was not intentional?—”

“You do not know who she is,” Abecka said, appraising him with open disbelief.

A crease formed between Alder’s thick black brows. “I am not sure what you mean.”

Abecka’s gaze slid to Seph, and then Alder looked at her too, and Seph suddenly felt like a specimen on display for academic study.

“Forgive my ignorance, but…do I know you?” Seph asked Abecka, unease rattling her bones.

Abecka’s expression cracked just a little, as if the sound of Seph’s voice broke something deep inside of her. She approached steadily, gazing over Seph as one might appraise a lost treasure. “You have his face,” she said so softly, stopping just out of reach. Her eyes slid over Seph’s features, as though she were looking at a memory. A very fond, very painful memory. “Your eyes are hers, but the rest belongs to him.”

“Who are you talking about?” Seph asked, but as her question hovered there in the quiet as she realized they were the same height, she and the enchantress. Not only that, they possessed the very same build, though time had loosened Abecka’s skin and softened her musculature. They also possessed the same ivory-white hair, though Abecka’s was smooth where Seph’s was…well, big.

Alder’s gaze darted between them as if he, too, were suddenly noting their biological similarities, and Seph had the sudden and very new feeling that she was teetering on a cliff’s edge.

Abecka’s eyes shone like glass, the amber warm as honey—an amber that was achingly familiar. “My son is Jakobián, though you may know him as Jake, and I am the one who made that coat for him.”

And Seph was falling.

Beside her, Alder stood very still.

Jakobián.

GrandpaJake.

Seph suddenly couldn’t fill her lungs with enough air. “There must be some mistake. He isn’t…my family…that is, we areallmortal,” she managed, but even as she said the words, she no longer believed them.

She recalled her dream, the one where her grandfather had kith ears.

“I met her family,” Alder cut in, looking uneasy. “There are no kith among them.”

“Not anymore, no,” Abecka answered. “Jakobián forfeited his life to save Raquel—the mortal bride—and in return, the Fates blessed him with a second life. As a mortal man.”

Alder looked from Abecka to Seph as if struck by sudden revelation. “That day he disappeared…”

---