Page 3 of The Arrow and the Alder

The man held the arrow before him and trailed long, slender fingers along the shaft. He then removed his horned mask of bone and set it down, revealing tapered ears.

Seph’s blood ran cold.

Kith.

What in the saints were kith doinghere? Seph might’ve thought they’d ridden straight from the Rift to steal more of Harran’s poor citizens for their war, but then why not use the main roads? Why wander into a part of the woods that no one ventured to anymore?

No one, except for her.

“Is it Alder?” asked another rider. A woman, and something about the voice set Seph’s nerves on edge. She strained to see this woman through the cluster of riders, and thankfully one shifted, giving Seph a glimpse. Ribbons of long, silken black hair spilled out of her hood, and while the other riders wore masks of bleached bone, hers was smooth and featureless and black as a starless night. It covered most of her face, but left her lips free—lips that were also black, as if she’d painted them in ink.

Lips that had said a name: Alder.

The name was not unfamiliar, though Seph couldn’t place it. Her thoughts were cut short as the unmasked kith stood and turned around, giving her full sight of his face.

The kith man was beauty and nightmare wrapped into a canvas of contrast. Black hair and white skin. Smooth planes and jagged bones. A long, slender scar ran through his left brow and ended at his sharp, angular jaw, but his features were otherwise pristine. Calculated and unnatural. His lips were too red—too bright, like his eyes, which were a cold and icy blue.

The kith man closed his eyes and dragged the fletching along his crimson lips, and Seph was transfixed. Mesmerized and terrified, simultaneously drawn and repulsed. She had never seen a kith before, not in person, and looking at him now, she was glad that a war and a veil separated their realms. He was too much for the mortal world, and it felt as though all of creation might strain against the press of his power.

Those too-bright eyes snapped open and shot to the trees. Tohertree.

Seph slunk back into the boughs, her heart pounding like a mallet in her ears.

“It’s difficult to say,” Seph heard the kith leader say. “It reeks too strongly of mortal.”

Seph broke out into a cold sweat.

“Shall I search the grounds, my lord?” asked one of the other riders.

Lord? A kithlordhad come to Harran?

A horse whinnied softly, and a long, agonizing breath passed.

“No,” the kith lord said at last, resolved. “He’ll come out with the right lure. He always does.” Leaves crunched, leather creaked, and Seph imagined him climbing back into his saddle. A moment later, thunder erupted and faded away, and Seph found herself all alone and forgotten.

Left with her one dead rabbit.

Alder hated crowds. It was impossible to hide, given his height, and he was drawing more sidelong glances than he cared to collect.

Unacceptable.

He was already risking his life coming here. He could not be seen—not yet. But some matters were worth the risk, and when he’d discovered Massie and his rats en route to Harran, Alder’s objective took a hard right turn. What could possibly compel that snake to comehere—to this forgotten mortal village in the middle of nowhere?

Alder didn’t believe in coincidences, especially where Massie was concerned. He was going to get to the bottom of it, even if it meant?—

“Watch it!” spat an old man pushing a cart full of hay that Alder hadn’t noticed.

Alderreallyhated crowds.

He glared, and the old man paled as he flinched back and dragged his cart out of Alder’s way.

Alder usually had this effect on people. The old man couldn’t possibly know who he was—Alder’s true identity wasn’t obvious, not anymore—but people often sensed what their eyes could not show them.

“Sorry…” said the old man as Alder pressed unapologetically on, weaving through the crowd, keeping to the fringe. He absolutely could not be discovered, or everything would be for naught.

He slipped past beggars and peddlers, snagging an apple from a basket as he walked. His stomach grumbled and he satisfied it with a bite.

Fates have mercy.

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