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The Twin Alders is hidden in a place with no time. A place of great sorrow and bloodshed and crime. Betwixt ancient trees, where the mist cuts bone-deep, the last Card remains, waiting, asleep. The wood knows no road—no path through the snare. Only I can find the Twin Alders… For it was I who left it there.
But his soul carried on, buried deep in Elspeth Spindle, the only woman Ravyn had ever loved.
“Balance,” she answered, head tilting like a bird of prey. “To right terrible wrongs. To free Blunder from the Rowans.” Her yellow eyes narrowed, wicked and absolute. “To collect his due.”
“Aemmory Percyval Taxus.” He dragged his gauntlets across the sand. “That’s my name.”
“You’re wrong. I don’t remember who you are. I can’t—” I looked back out onto the water. “I can’t remember anything.” “Shall I tell you the story?” “What story?” “Ours, dear one.” I sat up straighter. “There once was a girl,” he said, his voice slick, “clever and good, who tarried in shadow in the depths of the wood. There also was a King—a shepherd by his crook, who reigned over magic and wrote the old book. The two were together, so the two were the same: “The girl, the King, and the monster they became.”
She’s dead, you fool, came a familiar, derisive tone from the depths of his mind. Why cling to hope? Even if you unite the Deck and lift the mist and cure the infection, she will not come back. She died in her room at Spindle House four nights ago. A low, rumbling laugh. All because you were ten minutes late back from your patrol.
“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.”
Ten minutes, he said to himself for the hundredth time in four days. It all might have been different had I gotten to Spindle House ten minutes sooner.
I know what I know… My secrets are deep… But long have I kept them, and long will they keep.
“The dark bird has three heads,” Emory said, his voice strangled, an invisible rope around his neck. “Highwayman, Destrier, and another. One of age, of birthright. Tell me, Ravyn Yew, after your long walk in my wood—do you finally know your name?”
Elm’s smirk budded to a smile. He traced Ione’s blush with a curiosity he decided was purely scientific.
“It’s important to you?” Elm murmured. “Getting your Card back?” She hardly seemed to hear him. “If you think this is about beauty—that I am opposed to what the Maiden has done—you are wrong. If I could still feel what it is to like something, I would tell you that I like being beautiful. I like being healed by magic and having no pain. I like who I was and how I looked before the Maiden Card as well. What I aim to get back, Prince, is my choice.”
Elm bit the inside of his cheek. “I was a prick to Elspeth. Ravyn was falling in love with her, and I—” His eyes fell, his mouth turning with derision. “Let’s just say I’ve never had anything like that. I was too concerned with losing him to note that Elspeth was losing herself until it was far too late.” He finally looked back at Ione. “I aim to be better. If you are disappearing like Elspeth did—and have little choice in the matter—I would like to help you.”
Above rowan and yew, the elm tree stands tall. It waits along borders, a sentry at call. Quiet and guarded and windblown and marred, its bark whispers stories of a boy-Prince once scarred. His voice in Ravyn’s mind went eerily soft. And so, Ravyn Yew, your Elm I won’t touch. His life strays beyond my ravenous clutch. For a kicked pup grows teeth, and teeth sink to bone. I will need him, one day, when I harvest the throne.
“Neither Rowan nor Yew, but somewhere between. A pale tree in winter, neither red, gold, nor green. Black hides the bloodstain, forever his mark. Alone in the castle, Prince of the dark.”
“Then do it,” he whispered, gliding a hand up her spine. “Use me. Toy with me. Feel something, Ione.”
Ione seemed to understand. “Tear it off,” she said. “Now.” Elm brought her bottom lip into his mouth. Pressed it with the tips of his teeth. “Beg me to.”
