Two Twisted Crowns (The Shepherd King #2)

by Rachel Gillig

Ravyn had been a liar always out of necessity, never a fondness for the craft. It was one of the many masks he wore. And he’d worn it so long that, even when he should take it off, he didn’t always know how. He stole into darkness. “I’m fine.”

“You’ll get your wish,” the King called after him. “When this is all over, I’m stripping you of command.” His words were coated in spite. “You’ve proven a wretched disappointment, Ravyn.” Ravyn lowered himself at the door, a final bow. “From you, Uncle, that is praise indeed.”

Elm drained his goblet, then reached for Ione’s, using the opportunity to speak into her ear. “I have another idea how we might find your Card.” His breath stirred a loose strand of hair that framed her face. “But you may not care for it.” “I don’t care for anything anymore, Prince. That’s entirely the problem.”

It came quickly, Elm’s rage. Like flames licking through a grate, he felt heat all over him. He tried to swallow it, but the pain of it was already there. His palms hurt. His eyes burned. His molars pressed so hard into each other they felt fused. For an instant, he considered flipping the table over.

“What did you use to feel? Before the Maiden.” “Everything. In terrible, wonderful excess. Joy, anger, compassion, revulsion—” Her voice chilled on the word. “Love. I knew them all so well. When the Maiden began to dull them, it frightened me—but it was also a reprieve. After a lifetime of feeling things so keenly, the numbness felt good.” She heaved a sigh. “But even that went away. And nothing felt good, or bad, anymore.”

“Your son,” he managed, bile in the back of this throat. “It’s worse than I thought. The damage to his body.” “My son.” The King’s green, bleary gaze found Elm’s face. “Even on his deathbed, you will not call him a brother?” “He never played the part well enough.”

hurried back onto the path Jespyr’s erratic steps had cleaved. 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.

“I say spiteful things when my feelings are hurt. Hold grudges. And the highwaymen—I’m not sorry for what I did to them. Not even a little. It was frightening and awful, and I’d do it again without thinking to keep you from getting hurt.” She took a rattling breath. “I think about how easy it would be to do horrible things if I felt I had a good reason.”

Don’t die. I won’t. Because if you do, and we never get the time we’re owed, I’ll hate you, Ravyn Yew. I’ll love you and hate you forever. The corner of his lip quirked. This will all be over at midnight, Elspeth. After that, you can love me as thoroughly as you like. The Nightmare made a retching noise.

“You know, yellow girl, I’ve always liked you best. But if you do not be quiet and let me listen, I’m going tell the trees to press their branches over your mouth.” Ione balked, and I swatted at darkness. Would it kill you to be civil? I’m already dead. But yes. Decidedly. He opened his eyes a sliver. Peeked at Ione. “Elspeth is lecturing me.” Hesitant at first, then blossoming, a smile spread over my cousin’s mouth. She could not see it, but I answered with my own. Oh, give her a hug. Don’t be grotesque.

He let out a broken laugh, then surged forward. Catching Ione’s face between his palms, 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.

The Nightmare’s gaze collided with Ravyn’s. “Elspeth says she’s utterly sick of you.” His voice was weak. “She didn’t say that.” “No. She didn’t.”

Elm had barely opened his mouth to answer before the door burst open. Jespyr squealed, then hurtled toward Ravyn’s bedside. “Oh, thank the bloody trees, I thought I’d killed you.” She put her hand on his forehead—grabbed at his bandages. “Filick’s been to check on you. He said it was a miracle you didn’t bleed to death—” “You’re elbowing his windpipe, nitwit,” Elm said, dragging her off. “Imagine how humiliated you’d be to kill him after bragging to everyone under the sun about saving his life.”