Page 62 of The Arrow and the Alder

This was the question that had an answer he could not give. So Alder had come up with one hecouldgive. But right then, he wished he’d explained it to Josephine, that he’d told her everything. Maybe someday he could, if she would ever speak to him again after what he was about to say. After how he was about to spin the truth.

Alder’s shoulders expanded with a breath and he opened his eyes a sliver. He did not look at Josephine as he said, “I knew of the coat.”

He heard Josephine’s sharp intake of air.

“How?” Abecka asked.

“Quite by accident, really. Rys used to tell stories while we were working the mines to help the time pass. That’s how I learned of his family and how he’d been separated from his father, Ronan, and brother Levi. Reinforcements were needed on our side, and Rys’s commander sent him and a few others to help—Rys was very skilled with a bow—though Ronan and Levi remained at Fallows Gorge.

“Anyway, one of Rys’s stories was about a coat of many colors. One that shone with all the shades of light. He said his grandfather had buried it because he feared it might fall into the wrong hands.”

Alder hesitated, then forced himself to press on. He had to be very careful with his wording on this next part.

“A depraved caught wind of his tale, however. They tortured him for more, but Rys had no more to give, and so they stuck him back in his cell with the intent to try again the next day. I believe they would have tortured him to death had we not escaped. But that is why I was in Harran. I knew the coat was real the first day the depraved took him away, and once we escaped, I vowed to do whatever it took to find Rys’s family and…bring the coat back to Weald.”

Against his better judgment, he looked at Josephine. There was a small part of him that hoped she might hear the truth through his words. She was so good at seeing it.

But all he saw in her eyes was pain, and he knew that she would never forgive him.

Once the meeting with Abecka and her elders concluded, Alder left to be with his people, to determine their next course of action against Lord Massie. The kith high lord might have granted life to the citizens of Weald who’d sworn loyalty to him, but he still took from them as the baron had taken from Harran. But where the baron sent Harran’s people off to war, Lord Massie kept his people for himself—those whose power he sought to strengthen his reign. Apparently any who stood against him were made a public example, like Alder’s family had been.

Some were even thrown into depraved nests.

So while Alder strategized with his kin, Seph was escorted back to her chamber to await Abecka’s impending visit so that they could speak in confidence about Seph’s future. Seph should’ve been eager for this necessary conversation, but all she felt was a blinding hot fury.

She clenched her fists and growled at the silence. How could she have been so stupid? Seph of all people should have known better.Yes, Alder had compromised his own well-being to heal her hand, andyes, he’d gifted her a beautiful bow, but Alder waskith.First and foremost. That should’ve anchored every other thought, warned away every fleeting spark of intimacy. But somewhere along their journey, his thoughtfulness and respect had dulled her convictions, and saints, how sincere he’d seemed!

Of course, this was the prince who’d charmed an entire kingdom into overlooking his sins.

Alder hadn’t come to Harran for any noble cause. He hadn’t come on Rys’s behalf or because he’d held any affection for her brother. Alder hadusedRys to take something from them, just like every other damned aristocrat. Taking what he thought he deserved because he thought he was superior, that his life was more valuable, his purpose more important.

Seph regretted promising not to shoot him with the ivory bow.

A knock sounded at the door, and Seph was in a such a state that her “Come in,” was more impassioned than intended.

The door cracked open, slowly, as if whoever stood on the other side feared an attack.

“It’s all right,” she said, softer this time, pushing the hair back from her face as she approached the door.

The door opened wider, revealing a stranger on the other side. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. She didn’t know this kith, but she recognized him from Serinbor’s escort. She thought his name was Rian. He had a young face but old eyes, and a posture of quiet confidence. The sort only those with many years were able to carry, as if he no longer cared to prove anything to anyone because he’d proven it all already.

She was surprised to see him now. “Am I needed somewhere?”

“No, I thought I might have a word…?” He had a pleasant voice. Strong, but not imposing.

“Um, sure…?” Seph replied. What could this kith want to speak to her about? She glanced about the room, trying to remember her manners, and gestured at the chair. “Would you like to sit?”

“No, that’s all right,” he said, gazing curiously at her before catching himself. “Forgive me, I don’t mean to intrude, Your Highness?—”

“Seph.” When he didn’t seem to understand, she added, “My name is Seph.”

His brow furrowed, and he said, “My name is Rian. I served on Jakobián’s personal guard, and he…he was a good friend of mine.”

His words sobered her at once. He’d known her grandfather.

Rian gave her a wistful smile. “You look so much like Abecka, with the hair and everything.” He gestured grandly about his head in an attempt to outline Seph’s wild mane. She knew he didn’t mean it to be insulting; his comment was more endearing than anything else. “And you have Raquel’s eyes, but your face…it is his.”

Seph didn’t know what to say. The silence stretched between them—thelifetimesstretched between them—but Rian let it sit, as if he sensed she needed a moment.

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