Two Twisted Crowns (The Shepherd King #2)

by Rachel Gillig

When a sob finally cleaved itself from him, he wondered bitterly if it had been her who’d nearly died, or him.

“Forgive me, Prince,” he said. “I should have knocked louder.”

He nodded at Ione in his arms. “Take her,” he said, his voice breaking. “Help her.”

Ione’s hand grazed his sleeve. “I thought I’d slipped through the veil. I was riding in the wood, mud on my ankles.” A small smile graced her colorless lips. “With you.” Elm buried his face in her neck. “Someday. But first, I want a hundred years with you.”

“Blood is the price to unite the Deck. To lift the mist and heal the infection. Your price. And I will gladly pay it. Gladly die. I’ve been dying piece by piece since Emory grew sick.” His throat constricted. “I have died tenfold since Elspeth disappeared. And now your mist has claimed my sister. So do not speak to me of cost, Spirit.” His eyes fell to the Twin Alders in her claw. “I am leaving here with that Card. Or I am not leaving at all.”

Ravyn was afforded only a brief glance back at the Nightmare and Jespyr before the Sprint plunged him beneath water, the salty tide slipping over his head.

I walk through centuries like they were my own garden.”

The Shepherd King had described the Spirit of the Wood in The Old Book of Alders as neither kin, foe, nor friend. He might have saved ink and called her what she truly was. A proper asshole.

If he were to close his eyes, he knew what he would see. His parents’ faces, bent as they read books in silence by the library fire. Elm and Jespyr and Emory, riding on horseback down the forest road. Elspeth, sitting across from him at Castle Yew’s table, pink in her cheeks as she smiled at him from behind a teacup. “I have something of love in me.”

“I will find you on the other side of the veil,” he murmured. His gaze turned back to Brutus. Yellow, wicked—

The nightmare in the night.”

A boy stood in the meadow, framed by fire and smoke. He looked like his father. Dark hair, tall, angular. A distinct, beak-like nose. The only difference was his eyes. They were not yellow—

His throat tightened. His eyes rushed over the meadow, the tips of trees. Trees he and Jespyr and Emory had swung from as children. Just like Tilly did, waiting for her father.

I’m nothing like you. But you are. More than you know.

When he finally said the words, he knew, with every piece of himself, that they were true. “Taxus. My name is Taxus.”

“The Destriers will catch up. We need to get you farther.”

“Hauth needs someone to barter with when Ravyn returns. And I cannot let it be you.” His voice hardened. “I’m not going to run away from him this time.”

“I wish we could have had those hundred years, Hawthorn. I wish you could have been Queen.”

“You are not Hauth, and you are not the boy he tormented. It would be terribly unclever to die, just to prove it. Please, Elm. Come with me.”

“When I look at her, I do not know if she reminds me more of Ayris or Tilly.”

oh-

“Your name?” “You know it already.” Ravyn looked deep into the Nightmare’s eyes. “It’s yours, after all.”

“You might have told me the Mirror and Nightmare Cards I keep in my pocket belonged to your son, Taxus.”

“Seems you’re less stupid than I thought.” “And you’re just as horrible as ever.”

Blunder families have always taken the names of the trees, I whispered. But I have never heard of a tree called Taxus. That’s because it is an old name, came his oily reply. For an old, twisted tree. Like the last line of a poem, the truth fell into place. A yew tree.

My revenge is not merely a sword. It is a scale. It is balance. I will take the throne of Blunder back. But not for you.” He straightened his spine, fixing Ravyn in his unflinching gaze. “For Elm.”

You and I are Blunder’s reckoning, Ravyn Yew. Not its peace.”

But poetry is as judicious as violence.

Your cousin Elm has done more than Brutus Rowan or I ever could. He has looked pain in the eye—and refused to let it make a monster of him.”

“For mercy’s sake.” The Nightmare spat phlegm onto roots. “Shut the fuck up.”

The Nightmare held tight to Jespyr. Even when he spoke to the trees, asking for the way, he never set her down. Never let her go.

“Elspeth says if you do not get up, she’ll never kiss you again.” “That’s—not—what she—said.” “Get up, Ravyn.” The Nightmare’s oily voice echoed through the wood. “Get up.”

“I’ve never been so happy to see your ugly face.”

“Elspeth?” “She’s with me.” The Nightmare rolled his eyes. “And she is very loud in her enthusiasm to see you, yellow girl.”

“What the hell happened—is Jes all right?” He tripped over himself, getting to the Nightmare. He reached for Jespyr. “I’m carrying her—” “Shove off, you ancient windbag.” In one impressive maneuver, Jespyr was in Petyr’s arms. “You still with us, princess? Want to hold my lucky coin?”

Disembodied shapes danced before his eyes and voices rang in his ears. They sounded like children, crying. Like himself as a boy, crying.

“You never cared for her. If you wish to barter with Ravyn, I am hostage enough.” He laughed, then coughed. “And I wanted to stay and kill you.”

“M-my Ione. She escaped? She’s safe?” “I don’t know.” Elm put his face in his hands. “Pray she forgives you for trading that Nightmare Card for a marriage to Hauth. Because I never will.”

“But then I saw him on Market Day. Holding my daughter. Wrapping her in his arms the way I’d once held Iris in mine. He was not the same man who’d taken my place as Captain.”

Death to the Rowans.” His gray eyes focused, homing in on Elm. “Long live the King.”

“Hauth,” he said, half curse—half plea. “Don’t do this. He’s just a boy.”

When her gaze collided with Elm’s, her chest heaved, her brow going soft. Then she took in his face. The damage they’d done to it. Ione stiffened, the red in her cheeks going wan. When her gaze returned to Hauth, those hazel eyes burned.

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

He appeared out of nothingness and stood in front of Ione, a dark, vengeful bird of prey. Hauth’s eyes went wide and he took a step back, the only man he’d ever feared standing in front of him—marking him.

The trees, Elm realized. The trees were moving.

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. “Best do what he says before he keeps blathering,”

Yes, Elspeth? 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.

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. Not to cut this tender moment short, but time is somewhat of the essence. You sure you don’t want the trees to help you, stupid bird?

I love you, too, Elspeth.

“A Nightmare Card? Did you steal it upon the forest road as well, highwayman?” Ravyn laughed, his steps light. Not this time. This Card, I inherited.

Ten for Elm.