Two Twisted Crowns (The Shepherd King, #2)

by Rachel Gillig

The sound of Ione’s bare feet slapping against stone floors echoed in the empty house. When they reached the parlor, she wrenched her arm free. “What’s going on?” Elm’s throat caught, his voice rough. “Your cousin Elspeth—” No, not Elspeth anymore. He clenched his jaw. “She tore into Hauth at Spindle House. Broke his spine. He’s hardly alive. My father is out for blood. His inquest—” His eyes swept over Ione, a chill crawling over him. “I have to bring you to Stone.” Ione did not flinch. She hardly even blinked. “So do it.” “You don’t—” He took a steadying breath. “Clearly, you do not understand.” “But I do, Prince. Had you not come and offered yourself as an escort, I would have found my own way to Stone.” “I’m not your goddamn escort,” Elm bit back. “I’m arresting you.” Ione turned to face him, but her expression remained unchanged—utterly blank. She should have been crying. Or screaming. It was what most people did when they faced an inquest. But she was just… calm. Eerily so.

If I gotta be a real one to say this, I will, but Hauth for sure would've done so much worse, unspeakable things if we're honest, to Elspeth if the Nightmare hadn't taken over.

Gold armor glistened and creaked as the man who had dragged me out of the water sat next to me on the black sand. Together, we watched the water roll up to our ankles before passing back down, the tide constant, the measureless flow of waves without variation. “Taxus,” he finally said, raising his voice above the sound of the waves. Salt water dried on my lips. I licked them, my voice cracking. “What?” “Aemmory Percyval Taxus.” He dragged his gauntlets across the sand. “That’s my name.” I blinked, sand in my eyelashes. “You… you are…” When he looked my way, his yellow eyes tugged at my lost memory. “You’ll remember soon enough.” He glanced back at the dark horizon. “There is little else to do here but remember.”

He spoke with his own voice into Ravyn’s mind once more. Before your lifetime, he said, before the story of the girl, the King, and the monster, I told an older tale. One of magic, mist, and Providence Cards. Of infection and degeneration. His smile fell away. Of barters made. “I’m familiar with The Old Book of Alders.” “Good. For you’re about to step into it.” Ravyn drew in a breath, the ice in the air nesting in his lungs. “The Twin Alders is the only Card of its kind,” the Nightmare continued. “It gives its user the power to speak to our deity, the Spirit of the Wood. And it is she who guards it. She will have a price for the last Card of the Deck. Nothing comes free.” “I’m prepared to pay whatever price she asks.” Ravyn pressed against the bars, his voice lowering. “And when I do pay, Nightmare, the Twin Alders Card will be mine. Not the King’s, not yours. Mine.”

Really am curious if the Spirit of the Wood is simply a metaphorical stand-in figure for the forest, if she's an actually being that we're going to eventually confront.

“Listen closely. The journey to the twelfth Card will three barters take. The first comes at water—a dark, mirrored lake. The second begins at the neck of a wood, where you cannot turn back, though truly, you should.” The Nightmare’s gaze shifted to Ravyn. His words came out sharp, as if to draw blood. “The last barter waits in a place with no time. A place of great sorrow and bloodshed and crime. No sword there can save you, no mask hide your face. You’ll return with the Twin Alders… “But you’ll never leave that place.”