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If the Deck is united, will I truly be cured? Who says you need a cure? Be serious! His laugh echoed in the cavernous dark. I know what I know. My secrets are deep. But long have I kept them, and long will they keep.
“What if we tell Erik Spindle and the Hawthorns that we’ve invited Elspeth to stay at Castle Yew… so that you might court her?” I skipped a breath, my fatigue suddenly gone.
“Make no mistake, she’s beautiful. Only, I—” Ravyn’s voice cut out. Then, as if the words were bitter in his mouth, “If the ruse will help…” He heaved a sigh. “I’ll try. Though I doubt I’ll play a convincing suitor.”
He gazed down his nose at me. “And is the plan to your satisfaction?” The sting I felt in my chest returned. I narrowed my eyes. “If the ruse will help, I’ll try.” He did not appear keen to have his own words used against him.
But for its warmth and rich furnishings, the room was still—lifeless. Empty. Emory Yew, the King’s captive, was gone.
He just made fifty people as docile as paper. The Nightmare clicked his tongue against his teeth. He couldn’t control you, could he?
He’s degenerating, the Nightmare said. Little by little. Magic always comes at a cost. I twisted the crow’s foot in my pocket. “What magic did Emory’s infection grant him?” Elm’s gaze shifted to his young cousin. “He can read people,” he said. “As if all their secrets had been transcribed onto the pages of a book. All it takes is a single touch.”
He’s never met anyone else infected before. Anyone besides his brother, that is.” It felt as if a hundred bees had flooded my lungs, their wings fluttering in a torrid panic. I struggled to breathe, heat climbing out of my chest and wrapping around my throat. Ravyn Yew. Infected.
The Nightmare leaned forward, honing my eyes. We watched both men, bruised and bloody, place their White Eagle Cards onto Ravyn’s open palm. The moment the Cards touched the Captain’s hand, the white color disappeared.
“Does the King know?” “Yes.” He shifted his weight, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’d be surprised by the counsel my uncle keeps.”
Don’t you see? He cannot use Providence Cards. Or at least, not all of them.
“No. But neither can they be used against me. Such is the nature of my magic. Cards like the Chalice—the Scythe—have no effect on me.”
“Cards lose their magic the moment they touch my skin. The Mirror and the Nightmare—and perhaps the Twin Alders—are the only Cards I can still use.”
The only reason he held my hand—stood opposite me in front of half of Blunder—was to keep me from asking any more questions of him.
“It was not my intention to be unfeeling, Miss Spindle,” he said, a bite to his words. “I’ve had to pretend for so long, hidden parts of myself—my magic—so deep, I’ve forgotten how to talk about them.” His eyes met mine, searching me for something I could not name. “Can you understand that?”
Which perhaps was why Ravyn Yew enraged me so deeply. It was easier to hate him for being secretive and dishonest than admitting I hated myself for the same reasons. But I could not tell him that. I could hardly say it to myself.
“It relieves the burden of a pretend courtship—which, as I understand, is abhorrent to you.” My smile did not touch my eyes. “Here, away from the gossip, we needn’t pretend to be anything we’re not.”
Providence Cards are a gift. Their magic is measured. Neither they, nor those who wield them, risk degeneration. Still, be wary. Be clever. Be good. Nothing comes for free, especially magic. Providence Cards are a gift.
The Nightmare’s wakefulness was stirred by the strange, aged stone. I could feel the flutter of his consciousness—his curiosity.
“Whose blood do you intend to use to unite the Deck?” Fenir leaned forward. “You may have met him. He’s head of the King’s Physicians.” The tall, narrow man with eerily pale eyes. “Orithe Willow?” I cried. “He’s infected?”
The Nightmare hummed, his words slippery. The Captain of the Destriers is dark and severe. Perched atop yew trees, his gray eyes are clear. Be wary his magic, be wary his fate. The Yews and the Rowans do not ready friends make.
He took a step forward, holding the blood-red rose in his hand out to me. “May I?” I looked at the rose, then back at his face. Trees, that face. Austerity and beauty. An imperfect, breathtaking statue. “I thought we weren’t pretending,” I murmured.
“Only one room remains.” The Nightmare clawed through my mind and inhaled deeply, the salt in the air strong.
“The last room left standing.” The stone chamber—enveloped by moss and vines—stood tall at the edge of the mist. How strange it looked, alone in the ruins, unmarked but for one dark window situated on its southernmost wall. The Nightmare’s tail whipped through my mind, the chamber fixed in our shared vision. Go in, he said.
There is no door. Only— A window. His voice swarmed in my ears, near and far at once, slick with oil. That’s all she ever required. Who? The Spirit of the Wood. The hair at my spine prickled. You’ve been here before? He laughed.
A moment later, Ravyn reappeared, close to me, a mischievous grin on his mouth. “You’re the only one I can’t sneak up on,” he said. My heart quickened, seeing his stern mouth turned by a smile.
“Well?” I stepped forward, my hands knotted in my sleeves. “Am I better suited for the task?” I didn’t miss the way Ravyn’s eyes jumped up and down my body. “Much better,” he said, a flush inching up his neck into his cheeks.
It felt like a challenge. And how I wanted to deny him—to see the impress on his face when I took the reins and mounted the beast without him. But I couldn’t. I didn’t know a damn thing about horses. “If it’s not too much trouble, Captain.”
They were warm, his hands. And I caught myself wondering what the calluses along his palms would feel like against my bare skin. He inhaled sharply, lifting me with ease
What the hell was that? Just a bit of fun. I could have died! Don’t be dramatic, the Nightmare said. People fall off horses every day. That doesn’t make it a particularly pleasant experience. At least now you realize what you’re getting yourself into—who you really are.
“May I?” There he was again, asking to touch me. I nodded, and when his hand traced up and down my rib cage, I almost forgot the pain, too worried he’d feel the rapid beat of my heart. “You’ll be all right,” he said, pulling his hand away, almost too fast.
I believe the Spirit is the moon, commanding the tide. She pulls us in, but also sets us free. She is neither good nor evil. She is magic—balance. Eternal.” The Nightmare whispered behind my eyes, his claws sharp. But the Spirit was neglected, no matter her plea. The Rowans erased her, as they once did to me. But she keeps her own time, and I keep a long score. The tide that comes next will blot out the shore.
“There are so few of us, Miss Spindle. You are more special than you know. And it pains me to think I might have hurt you. I’m—sorry.” He paused. “Trees, I’m sorry.”
“You’re forgiven. On one condition.” The invisible string tugged the corner of his mouth. “What’s that?” When our hands touched, heat moved into my cheeks. “Call me Elspeth,” I said. “We’re about to commit treason together, after all.”
The Iron Gate. But before I could point it out to Ravyn, the clamor heightened, four more lights coming into view, only these lights were no flicker of flame, nor were they bright like the Iron Gate. They were dark, so deep I felt as if I were falling into them. Four Black Horses, their riders atop warhorses that flanked the carriage. Four Black Horses and one brilliant red beacon. A Scythe Card. Hauth Rowan.
Get up, the Nightmare snarled, so awake I could feel his claws in my head. Get up, Elspeth!
My father scowled. He pivoted, shifting his dagger back behind him. “Fucking highwaymen,” he said, preparing to throw it. At me. And I knew he would not miss. I’d come all this way, only to be killed by the man who, eleven years ago, had risked everything to keep me alive.
...oh no
“Be wary the blue,” I said, my voice melding with the Nightmare’s oily tone. “Be wary the stone. Be wary of shadows the water hath shown. Your enemies wait. The wolves stalk the gate. Be wary of shadows the water hath shown.”
The Nightmare’s voice was like hot iron. The berry of rowans is red, always red. The earth at its trunk is dark with blood shed. But a Prince is a man, and a man may be bled. He came for the girl… And got the monster instead.
I stiffened, the Nightmare’s wicked laugh resonating in the din. When I spoke, the low notes of my voice were slick, as if dipped in oil. “Perhaps it was he who got away from me.”
so he is slowly taking over... obviously the Shepherd King
I cast my thoughts inward, searching for the Nightmare, who, since the mayhem in the wood, had remained still. Strange, how quiet he felt when I was with Ravyn. Almost as if he was gone altogether.
because Ravyn nullifies the cards!!!
A creature—neither man nor animal, fur bristled along his tall, pointed ears—stared back at me, his yellow eyes wide. But when I looked again, he was gone.
he is definitely starting to take over
My aunt had told me once that my strange charcoal eyes were special, beautiful even—a dark window to the soul beneath.
hence the title!
But there was no brilliant pink light. She pulled her beauty from the Maiden Card, but for a reason I could not work out, she did not carry it on her person, a horrid risk hardly anyone practiced.
Elm cast me a sidelong glance. “Who says it isn’t haunted?”
okay I like Elm
Strange, that he did not tell them it was a woman who had attacked him.
The only one who moved was Ione. Her head turned a fraction, her hazel eyes leaving her betrothed, falling to my sleeve, just above my broken wrist.
she obviously has figured it out
But the Captain of the Destriers pivoted, his foot loud as it landed on Hauth’s ribs and sent the heir to the throne back into the dirt. Then Ravyn stomped, full force, on the High Prince’s hand. A sickening snap echoed through the yard, followed by Hauth’s brutal scream. I flinched and looked away. Elm leaned in with wide eyes. The Nightmare hissed with gratification. Ione merely laughed.
oh he is MAD that the prince hurt Elspeth!
This is the place, I gasped. The room from my dreams. Yes, the Nightmare called, his voice shifting like a ghost on the wind. What is it? Who was the man seated atop the stone? A place of time—a man of fault. Both fueled by rage—both buried in salt.
the shepherd king, obviously
Breath caught in my chest as Ravyn turned his palm onto the stone, the world and the Nightmare behind my eyes suddenly still. Then, out of the depths of the stone—bright and true—emerged several unmistakable beams of light. Providence Cards, hidden in the depths of the ancient stone, unlocked by blood. Ravyn’s blood. Infected blood. Magical blood.
okay that's cool
