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This was the Shepherd King’s body. He was truly dead. But his soul carried on, buried deep in Elspeth Spindle, the only woman Ravyn had ever loved.
A place I forged to hide things I’d rather forget. I went there from time to time in our eleven years together. To give Elspeth reprieve. And, most recently,” he added, tapping his fingernails on the wall, “to spare myself the particulars of her rather incomprehensible attachment to you.”
The moment Elspeth touched that Nightmare Card and I slipped into her mind, her days were marked. I was her degeneration.”
“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.”
Daaaaammnnn girl
That’s what it boiled down to with Ione Hawthorn. Every look was a challenge, every question a test, a measurement. To what end, Elm wasn’t certain. But it made him tighten, chest to groin, knowing he wanted to play her games.
It struck Elm with a feeling he hadn’t yet worked out, that she’d brought him there to make him feel better. She shouldn’t be trying to make him feel anything—not with her affections locked away.
“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’ll be time for all manner of sordid things, Miss Hawthorn. For now, just—” His voice quieted. “Just keep looking at me.”
“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.”
