Two Twisted Crowns (The Shepherd King, #2)

by Rachel Gillig

But his soul carried on, buried deep in Elspeth Spindle, the only woman Ravyn had ever loved.

“Pull your sleeves so the iron doesn’t sit directly on your wrists. I don’t want to give Elspeth any more bruises.” “She can’t feel them now.”

“Gently does it,” he grunted. “I’m delicate.”

“You agreed to marry Hauth, knowing you’d be tethering him to a family that carried sickness? You disgust me.” “The disgust,” Ione said, her tone idle, “is mutual.”

“Sorry. I forgot. You’re delicate.” “Yes, I am. I should be abed, resting my delicate body.”

“I may not feel despair,” she finally said, “but I am still lost. I have disappeared into the Maiden, just as Elspeth has into you. And I want to be freed.”

“Emory and Elspeth will be safe on Solstice,” he said—to them, to himself. “I’ll see to it.”

“You have a wonderful mouth.” He tapped the Chalice three times, severing its hold. “And now, it’s all mine.”

“She saw me look at her hair.” He stood straighter. “She can see me now.”

But I’d never seen him like this—hands shaking, weathered to the bone, a sheen over his gray eyes. Ten minutes. Ravyn’s voice wavered. Ten minutes, and I’d have been up those stairs. And Hauth—you— He glanced away. I’m the one who’s sorry.

We’ll get that time. I swear it, Elspeth.

“Another century would have been too soon,” Ravyn bit back. “At least then I might have had more than a single moment with the woman you stole from me.”

I don’t want rest, Elspeth. His eyelids drooped. I just want you.

The apology you owe him, I seethed, is beyond measure. He just saved your life. OUR life. A humiliation neither of us should attempt to recover from.

“You are strong, Ravyn Yew. I have known that since the moment I clapped eyes on you. And you must keep being strong—” He turned and faced the hilltop. “For what comes next.”

“There are many circles that draw through time,” he said. “Many mirrored events, many woods that inevitably lead us to the same place. Much of what happened five hundred years ago has happened again.” His eyes narrowed. “But not this. You will not make a monster out of him as you did me, forcing him to give up a sister. Let go of Jespyr Yew. Or I will cleave your roots from this earth.”

“You must know,” he said, “that I was never going to allow the King to spill her blood to unite the Deck.”

“I wish we could have had those hundred years, Hawthorn. I wish you could have been Queen.”

“Elspeth says if you do not get up, she’ll never kiss you again.” “That’s—not—what she—said.”

This will all be over at midnight, Elspeth. After that, you can love me as thoroughly as you like.

“You know, yellow girl, I’ve always liked you best. But if you do not be quiet and let me listen, I’m going to tell the trees to press their branches over your mouth.”

“You know how this goes, asshole. Be wary. Be clever. Be good.”

Elm leaned over, crashed his mouth against hers, kissed her feverishly. “I’m sorry. I should have gone with you. I’m not clever at all. I’m sorry—I’m sorry.” The Nightmare and I stared. We seem to have missed something rather important, I said. Small mercies.

“Neither Rowan nor Yew, but somewhere between. A pale tree in winter, neither red, gold, nor green. Black hides the bloodstain, but washes the realm. First of his name—King of the Elms.”

“Elspeth says she’s utterly sick of you.” His voice was weak. “She didn’t say that.”

To my kingdom, my Blunder, my land—be wary. Be clever. Be good. —The King of Elms

“A hundred years,” he said to her, as if she were the only one in the room. “I’ll love you for a hundred years—and an eternity after.”