Page 12 of The Arrow and the Alder

Alder knew something about that.

Just as he knew that fury was another face of grief, and he didn’t want to add any more to it.

He could walk away and return at a later time. Give her the privacy she wanted—privacy she thought she had. Alder watched as she wiped her splotched cheeks, strode for the woodpile, and picked up the ax.

She was such a little thing, but she swung the ax around as if she’d done it a thousand times.

She probably had.

Again, Rys’s ring weighed heavily. Again, Alder could not convince himself to interrupt—especially not for this errand. Log after log, the girl cracked them open so that despair did not crackheropen instead.

Alder knew something about that, too.

He watched her woodpile grow, until she set down the ax, wiped her brow, and looked to the trees where he’d stood, but he had already slipped away.

Seph glanced at the pines, hackles raised.

Their home abutted another, made private by a few large pines and overgrowth. No one stood in the brush, and yet the pine’s lower branches swayed as if someone had been standing there, watching her.

Seph’s gaze narrowed, and she scanned the split-rail fence that ran their perimeter.

Nothing.

And it could have been nothing, but Seph’s skin still prickled with unease. The sensation followed her all the way back into the house, where she stacked the split logs by the door.

Linnea was nowhere in sight, and Seph could just hear Mama in the next room, singing softly to Nora.

The depraved have evolved, somehow. They can talk, and their master—whoever it is—has been leading them in organized attacks at the Rift, making things very difficult for our fighters.

Linnea’s news was disconcerting indeed, namely the idea that those winged demons could be developing any form of intelligence. Was it true? Or was this just another lie pitched by their leaders to persuade the people to sacrifice even more of their dwindling resources?

Seph finished stacking the logs and glanced over at her grandfather, who was still unconscious and slumped in the chair. Seph wished they could give him the bed, but Nora needed it, and he was too heavy to carry to the loft. They’d tried a pallet on the floor, but with spiders and drafts and trampling feet, they’d decided he was safest in the chair.

Seph wiped her hands on her pants, crossed the room, and knelt before him. There were no traces of that black hair now, only silver, and the years had carved deep lines into his skin. His bright personality had always made him seem so much younger than he was, but without it, he just looked…old.

Seph grabbed his hand. It was all bones and loose flesh now, lifeless and cold. Saints, she missed him. His wit and enduring strength. He was the only one who’d ever truly understood Seph’s fire—not even Elias could have claimed that—because her grandfather had married the one she’d inherited it from.

Seph trailed her thumb over his knuckles, over each bony knob. “A kith high lord arrived in Harran today.”

He gave no response, though Seph wasn’t expecting one. Still, she wished he could answer her. He’d always held strong opinions where kith were concerned and would usually frame them with, “Never trust a kith.”

Seph wondered what he would say about Linnea’s “news.”

“I miss you,” Seph whispered with a sigh. She sat with him a moment longer before releasing his hand and kissing the top of his head.

Which was when Mama slipped through the door. Her mother looked at Grandpa Jake, and when she didn’t stop staring at him, Seph asked, “Is everything all right?”

Mama’s brow furrowed.

“What’s wrong with Nora?” Seph asked with growing concern.

“Nora’s fine,” Mama said, shaking her head. “I…There’s something I’d like to speak to you about. Concerning Grandpa.”

Seph frowned. “What about him?”

Mama fidgeted with the folds of her apron.

“Mama.”

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