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.

“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.”

If he ever grew old enough to do so, he would tell this story to his children, with the firm lesson being don’t ever strike bargains with beautiful women.

cantankerous,

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.

Ione’s voice went flat. “Please, continue. I live and breathe to hear your opinion of my gown, Prince Renelm.”

“Though I fear, with so many idiots around me, that I must do everything myself.”

Ione’s eyes were honed, searching the pages of him.

“Are you with me, Jes?” His sister’s voice was close, just as it always was. “I’m right behind you.”

The Nightmare was mumbling to himself. “It’s hardly my fault, dearest, that they are pathetic swimmers.”

The relief was like stepping indoors after a winter night’s watch—so warm, it hurt.

“Are you with me, brother?” Something inside of Ravyn shattered. “I’m right behind you.”

A humiliation neither of us should attempt to recover from.

Dirt flew as Ravyn skittered to an abrupt halt. He teetered a moment at the valley’s lip. The Nightmare, trailing too close, slammed into his back. “You bloody imbecile.”

Ravyn tripped, panting. “Need—to stop.” The Nightmare kept going, pulling in rasping breaths. “Elspeth says if you do not get up, she’ll never kiss you again.” “That’s—not—what she—said.”

Ione Hawthorn wore a tattered gray dress and stood next to Elm’s horse. Her chest heaved, eyes darting between Ravyn to Jespyr to the Nightmare—lingering upon the latter. “Elspeth?” “She’s with me.” The Nightmare rolled his eyes. “And she is very loud in her enthusiasm to see you, yellow girl.”

Then he heard it. The thing he’d waited for around every corner, listened for in every pause. Ravyn’s voice. Elm.

You look terrible. It hurt too much to smile back. I’m still better looking than you. Elm’s breath shook. Hauth took the Cards from the chamber. They’re in his pocket.

I’m going to tell the Shepherd King, and then the bloody trees will drag you away. Jespyr needs rest.” He looked down at Emory. “So does he. We started this for him, and it’s almost over. So, please—pretend I didn’t inherit a lifetime of stubbornness from you, and get. Inside. The castle.”

They stared at him, jaws slack. “I’ve never heard you talk so much,” Morette muttered.

The Nightmare and I stared. We seem to have missed something rather important, I said. Small mercies.

The Nightmare laughed, wicked and infinite. “Fool. I’m not going to kill your brother.” He opened his arms, a beckoning—and a promise. “I’m going to crown him.” He looked over his shoulder, waiting once more. “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.”

Two twisted crowns.

Something hot touched Ravyn’s relief. “You’re telling me I’ve had the means to free her all this time?” The Nightmare grinned. “Yes.” “You didn’t—Why—” He pinched his nose, swallowing fury. “You make it so hard not to hate you.”

“I had my Deck to collect. History to revisit—and rewrite. A path to draw for you and the Princeling, both of you Kings in your own right.” The

Nightmare clung only a moment longer to his namesake Card, then released it into Ravyn’s hand. “And I was not ye...

Ravyn didn’t move. The Nightmare turned, his mouth a hard line. “Do it now.” “Don’t you want to say goodbye?” “To you, stupid bird?” Ravyn crossed his arms over his chest. “To her, parasite.”

He waited ten minutes in the meadow. Then tore the Nightmare Card in two.

It was well worth it, I said. To unite the Deck and lift the mist. To watch you right old wrongs. I’d do it all again, just to know you a little better, Taxus.

There once was a girl, 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—

I couldn’t go on. Elspeth. No. I’m not ready. Not yet. Finish the story, dear one. My voice shook. The two were together— Together. So the two were the same. The girl, he whispered, honey and oil and silk. The King… We said the final words together, our voices echoing, listless, through the dark. A final note. An eternal farewell. And the monster they became.

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

“None of this might have happened without you, Elspeth,” Ione whispered. “And isn’t that such a beautiful thing.” We walked the forest road together.