Two Twisted Crowns (The Shepherd King #2)

by Rachel Gillig

Ravyn! called a woman’s voice. Wind kicked out of his lungs. He fell into the mud. That voice. Her voice.

Ravyn drew a breath, his voice deathly quiet. “If it would not hurt her, I would flay you alive.” A crooked, malevolent smile was his only answer.

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

“She’s betrothed to your brother.” The smooth line of the horse’s midsection wobbled. “I’m aware.”

Elm signed. “Ravyn must be in hell.” There was nothing to say after that, because saying the truth would hurt too much. Ravyn was in love with Elspeth Spindle. And by Solstice, she, if she wasn’t already, would surely be dead.

She’d run off without a backward glance, leaving him reeling. So he’d spent the day in the library, the only place in Stone he didn’t hate. The only place he’d be free of reminders of Ione Hawthorn.

But that wasn’t exactly true. Because, when Elm looked down at his sketchbook, he realized the face he’s spent half an hour drawing was hers.

“Do you draw from reference or memory?” The smell of wine. Heat from the hearth. The shape of Ione’s mouth when she parted her lips—her eyes, clear and sharp and homed entirely on him. “Memory,” Elm said in a low voice,

When he was younger, he fancied that’s when women saw him. Not the Prince, not Renelm—but Elm. Elm, who wanted to be liked, to be seen. Petulant, reticent Elm.

He’d reached into women to find himself, when all he really wanted was for someone to look at him. To admit they knew what had happened to him as a boy and still hold him, unflinching, in their gaze. The way Ione had last night.

I could see what the Nightmare saw now. And what he saw was Ravyn.

He kept one hand on the hilt of his sword while the other, ungloved, ghosted over the glen, brushing over foxtails and barley grass. He was alive. Beautiful and alive. And I could not touch him.

The less I look like Elspeth, the less Ravyn Yew startles every time he glances my way. It’s fraying my nerves, listening to him sigh.

I’m sorry. He flinched, his entire face caught up in the act. No. This isn’t your fault, Elspeth.

It wasn’t anyone’s fault. But I’m still sorry it happened. I would have liked— My voice quieted. I would have liked a little more time. With you.

We’ll get that time. I swear it, Elspeth.

That’s enough for now. Put away your Nightmare Card, Captain. No. Ravyn’s voice was hard once more. I need her. Let him stay, I said. Please.

“What do the Yews have to say?” Elm took a drink. “Not much.” “Emory?” “Better now that he’s at home where he should be.”

That clever, innocent boy. A boy Elm had watched grow up. Get sicker. Slowly die in Stone. Elm had never caught the infection. But he knew all too well what it felt like to wither away at Stone. So when he had gone to Castle Yew last night, and there had been a thimble’s worth of warmth in Emory’s cheeks, he had all but kissed the boy.

Even without Ravyn and Jespyr present, Castle Yew was Elm’s true home. The bed where he slept best. Where all his favorite books were kept. He spoke freely there, without pretense.

“One more word, Destrier, and I’ll finish what began on Market Day and rip your face so far open not even the Spirit will recognize you. If you touch Miss Hawthorn again, by the fucking trees, I’ll end you.” He ran his gaze over Linden’s scars. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” he said through tight lips. “Yes, Highness.” “Yes, Highness.”

Elm smiled—ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “That wicked mouth is going to get you into trouble.”

“Even so, be wary, Taxus. Be wary, clever, and good.” “So says a Rowan, who is none of the three.”

“Another century would have been too soon,” Ravyn bit back. “At least then I might have had more than a single moment with the woman you stole from me.”

An unmasked woman, shadowed by two young boys. She wore a green dress and a cloak of the same color with a white tree embroidered near the collar. Her graying gold hair was loose, her hazel eyes wide. Wide, familiar— And trained on the Nightmare. Opal Hawthorn put a hand to her mouth. “Elspeth,” she said, tears in her eyes. “You’re alive.”

“Messy business, killing.” The corner of his lip twitched. “Elspeth says you look terrible.” Ravyn’s gaze shot up. “She didn’t say that.” “No. She didn’t.” He cleared his throat. “It seems I owe you an apology.” “You mean Elspeth wants you to apologize.” “Annoyingly, yes.” His mouth grew strained. “Witless though you are, you are not a disappointment.”

“It won’t come to that,” the Nightmare called, he and Petyr aiming toward their pile of weapons. “I have plans for the Rowans.”

There were tears in her eyes once more. “And Elspeth?” Ravyn’s voice was ragged. “I’m going to get her back. No matter the cost.”

“She’ll live. All I did was pay her back for breaking your nose.” “I didn’t ask you to do that.” “No. But Elspeth did.”

yuppppppp

“I imagine there is an Ione,” he said, “buried somewhere in there, who might appreciate a little niceness from a Rowan.”

But when Elm pulled her toward him, lacing their fingers together, he felt one in his own.

“Your hands are shaking.” “I’m cold,” he ground out, slamming the box shut and locking it. “And I hate it down here.” “Is there any place in Stone you don’t hate?” “No.” Then, “The library, maybe.” This time, Ione offered her hand. “Let me guess,” Elm said. “When you’re free of the Maiden, and all the feelings come back, you worry you won’t be able to live with yourself if you didn’t take pity on the trembling, rotten Prince.” “Trees, you’re annoying.” She gripped his hand tight enough to still Elm’s tremors. “Now tell me how to get to the library.”

brb going to go cry

The chair next to Elm slid back, and Ione pushed to her feet. “I’ll leave you two—” Elm wrapped his fingers in her skirt and held tight. “Not so fast, Hawthorn.”

“I’ll only be in the way.” “Right where I like you. We need a witness, do we not, Baldwyn?” “Just so. I have already asked—” “Perfect. I volunteer Miss Hawthorn.”

The Nightmare clicked his blade thrice more, and the trees went still, so close together a child couldn’t slip through the gaps in their trunks. “We should be safe from any manner of beast in here,” the Nightmare said. He turned—aimed the tip of his sword at Ravyn’s face. “Sit down, Ravyn Yew. I’m going to fix your broken beak.”

He loomed above them. Clicked his teeth—then gripped Ravyn’s nose. There was a terrible grinding sound, pain biting over the mask of Ravyn’s face. “Fucking trees.” “As I suspected,” the Nightmare said, indifferent. “Decidedly broken.” Ravyn jerked his head back. “You’re hardly a Physician.”

You’re tired, Elspeth whispered, her voice covering his mind like a blanket. I’ll be here when you wake up. Rest now. I don’t want rest, Elspeth. His eyelids drooped. I just want you. I know. She paused. It’s still very striking, your nose. Undoubtably your best feature. Muscles feathered in the corners of Ravyn’s mouth. You think so? Good night, Ravyn. Good night, Miss Spindle.

They pressed their backs together, their gazes lifting to the sky. They’d sat like that as children—as Destriers on patrol—as highwaymen in the wood. “I can’t see any stars,” Jespyr said. “Too much mist.” Ravyn’s eyelids fell. “I don’t know what’s on the other side of those alder trees, Jes. When we find a way in, stay close.” When he drifted off to sleep, his sister’s voice was in his ear. “I always do.”

It was difficult to look at her. Beneath the ache that existed between them was a thin, fragile thread. One Ione had slipped through the eye of a needle and plunged into Elm’s chest, past all his bricks and barbs, though she didn’t yet realize it. It was uncomfortable, pretending she was not sewn into him—that it had not become vital to him, helping her find her Maiden Card. That he was not in some kind of pain every moment he was with her. It was all so terribly, wonderfully uncomfortable.

“No. I don’t want anyone to use a Scythe on me. Not even you, Prince.” It took Elm a moment. He winced. Fucking Hauth. He placed his Card into Ione’s hand. “You do it, then.”

“You had some choice words for me the last time I held this Card in my hand.” Elm tugged a strand of her hair that had fallen from its knot. “That’s because, wicked one, you stole it out of my damn pocket.”

“I had an extensive education in pain.”

“You shouldn’t be so cavalier about what happened to you, Prince.” “What would you have me do? Burn the castle down with everyone in it?” “That would be a start.”

A laugh rose up Elm’s throat. “Trees, Hawthorn. What a Queen you’d make.” He hadn’t meant to say it. And,...

She studied Elm’s face. “Prince Renelm. It would be terribly unclever to die searching for my Maiden Card.” Elm tightened his grip on her hand. “Don’t call me that,” he said, shaking. “It’s Elm. Just Elm.”

“You’re helping me find my Card. Call it balance.” He didn’t. He wanted to call it something else entirely.

I’d bled, bartered, and bent for twelve Providence Cards. And I could not use a single one.

“You’re with us, but you’re never really here, are you, Father?”

And yet Ayris was still the sun to me. Even in the wood, cold and gray with mist, her presence was a light, a warmth. I wanted her near me, for there are some things not even magic can erase.