Page 89 of The Arrow and the Alder

And then it all came back: Massie.

Remnants of mint clung to her nose as she rubbed her temples, pushing herself to a seated position. Dirt and grit dug into her palms, andsaintsif it didn’t feel like her skull was being ripped in two. She’d been dumped into a prison of some sort—nothing more than a small cutout in the rock. The air was cold and stale, a single barred door marked her exit, and light burned from a torch affixed to the dark tunnel that stretched ahead of her.

She gritted her teeth and cursed. “Basrain, you bastard.”

I never trust a man who doesn’t take sides. It means he only takes his own.

Alder was right—again. Honestly, it was embarrassing how right he was all the time. She’d never tell him that, of course. He was conceited enough as it was, but at which point had Basrain sold himself to the kith high lord? Or had Basrain simply seen an opportunity the moment they’d arrived?

Seph crawled to the bars and wrapped her fingers around them, but the moment her skin brushed the surface, the moonstone ring glimmered and flared with heat, and Seph jerked her hands away. Her prison was fortified with enchantments, and Seph couldn’t help but laugh.

As if she knew anything of enchantments.

It did make Seph wonder what Massie thought she was capable of or what he intended to do with her, but right then, her largest concern was: where was everyone else? What had he done with Abecka?

With…Alder?

Was she still even in Callant?

Seph looked through the bars and listened, but all was quiet, save the soft hum of power radiating through her bars. She wished she knew how to weave—or in her caseunweave—enchantments, but then she spotted a lock.

Seph stared at the little keyhole curiously, hardly believing her good fortune as she reached down her bodice…

The lock picks were still there, saints be praised!

Would the enchantments override the lock? There was only one way to find out.

Seph was pulling the picks free just as voices echoed down the hall. She shoved the tools back down and scurried into the shadowy recesses of her cell.

“—not yet,” she heard Basrain say, the traitor. “The annals say nothing.”

“But she can touch it?” Lord Massie asked.

“Yes,” Basrain answered.

Long shadows appeared at the end of the hall, and Basrain and Massie came into view a second later.

“You saw the Weald Prince’s hand,” Basrain continued.

Seph’s heart clenched at mention of Alder. The two figures eventually stopped before her cell, but only their silhouettes were visible.

“Ah, it seems our little light is awake,” Massie drawled. He reached into his pocket, withdrew a small stone—a kithlight, Seph suspected—and spoke a word. The little enchantments sparked to life, illuminating Massie’s face of harsh contrasts, and Basrain, who stood a little behind him like the coward he was.

“You snake,” Seph snarled.

The only indication Basrain gave that her words struck was a slight twitch of his nose. Massie, however, regarded her with a kind of detached interest. “How…enchanting you are.”

“What have you done with them?”

Massie tipped his head. His silver scar looked otherworldly in the kithlight’s pale glow. “Why such concern for those whose only intent is to use you?”

“They’re not the ones who locked me behind bars.”

“Just because they are invisible does not mean they are not there.”

She hated that his words gave her pause.

Massie took a small step closer, wrapping his long pale fingers around her bars. Tiny symbols glimmered along the metal, as if coming to life at his touch. “That was a marvelous little stunt you pulled, handing me a fake. You had me fooled, and not many can make such a claim. But then I wondered…how could you have known I would come?” He cocked his head to the side, those frosty eyes unblinking. He was like a cat, watching his trapped mouse squirm. “It was Raquel, wasn’t it? Do you know…once I realized what you’d done, I recalled the rumors of Jakobián’s mortal bride. That she was…what do you mortals call it?Saints-touched? It was then I realized Raquel must have Seen me come to Harran, and Jakobián was always so meddlesome?—”

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