Wary I’d grown, so I needed the Well.
She asked for a chamber—a place she might dwell.
To reclaim my good self, I forged the Iron Gate.
The cost was my armor, my golden breastplate.
For the Scythe I wanted power, and her price was quite steep.
I gave her my rest—she claimed all my sleep.
The Mirror was next, to be invisible—unseen.
She wanted old bones, so I gave her my Queen’s.
But it felt incomplete, my collection yet whole.
And so, for the Nightmare… I bartered my soul.
I couldn’t rip my eyes away. I saw Ione clearly, despite the mar of color rising around her like a plume of pink smoke. She had tapped the Maiden Card three times, accessing its magic. Unlike this morning in the garden, she was unmistakably changed—the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.
The sight of her filled me with dread.
Tears pricked my eyes, her new beauty so great it had already begun to erode my memory of her previous self—the kind, soft features of my cousin’s former face. Her lips were fuller, and when she smiled, the gap in
her teeth was gone. Her hair, richly golden, was longer—shinier—and flowed, both weightless and heavy, like a waterfall down her back. Her lashes were long and her nose delicately narrowed. Her hazel eyes shone with a strange, ethereal vibrancy. When she peered down the table, I forced myself to look away.
It was still Ione, but also a stranger.
Chairs scraped the floor as Blunder’s families took their seats. I remained standing, lost to the world.
Ravyn’s arms were stiff as he pulled out my chair. When I still did not move, his broad hand grazed my back. “Please sit, Miss Spindle.”
When the first course was served, excited chatter still sparking through the room, I did not touch it. I merely stared at my fork, the remnants of my previous life escaping like smoke up a flue.
“Your uncle had the other Nightmare Card?” Ravyn whispered in my ear.
A few traitorous tears escaped my eyes. “Yes.” “And you didn’t think to mention it?”
I glanced up at the Captain of the Destriers, caught by something in his voice. His copper skin had lost its warmth, and when he spoke, I could see his jaw muscles clench, as if under great strain.
As if freed from a blindfold, my eyes opened. “You lied to me,” I said, the heavy weight of dread filling my chest. “Why would the King want my uncle’s Nightmare Card if his own Captain already possessed one?” My breath whooshed out of me. “Unless… he does not know.”
“Quiet,” Ravyn cautioned. He cast his eyes up the table to the King. Then, as if I’d pulled the words out of him, he lowered his voice. “I never lied. You merely assumed the King knew I had a Nightmare Card.”
The Nightmare tapped his claws, laughter rolling off his back like snakeskin. How wonderful, he said. Absolutely marvelous.
Shut up and let me think.
Isn’t it obvious? The Captain of the Destriers is a sneaking, contemptible traitor.
I had to sit on my hands to keep them from shaking.
Just answer the riddle, he called. What has two eyes for seeing, two ears for hearing, and one tongue for lying? When I didn’t reply, he tittered. A highwayman, darling girl.
But Ravyn hasn’t acted alone, I countered, my eyes shooting across the table to Elm.
Even more curious, the Nightmare purred. Does the young Prince know his cousin is hiding such a valuable Providence Card from the King? Or is he a part of the scheme?
Ravyn watched me, waiting. When I finally spoke, my voice was unsteady.
“Tell me what’s going on,” I said. “I’ll not risk being branded a traitor as well as a magic carrier.”
The Captain put his elbow on the table and rested his chin against the heel of his palm. He spoke through his fingers, his voice a muffled growl. “I’ll tell you what you need to know. But I can’t do it alone. We keep a council.”
Be wary, the Nightmare said, stringing his words like spider silk in my ears. The yew tree is cunning, its shadow unknown. It bends without breaking, its secrets its own. Look past twisting branches, dig deep to its bones. Is it Providence Cards he seeks—or is it the throne?
I turned to Ravyn, emboldened. “You must tell me everything.”
He raised a brow, glaring down his long nose at me. “There are things I have to do—”
“You want my magic?” I said, cutting off the Captain of the Destriers. “Call your council. I want the truth. Now.”
 |
We left the table separately. When I finally made my way out of the great hall and met Ravyn at the end of a servants’ corridor, he did a poor job masking his impatience. “Did anyone see you?”
“I don’t think so,” I replied through tight lips. “My stepmother, perhaps.”
I had to lift my skirt to keep up, thankful my cobbler had not heeled my shoes. Ravyn was swift in his step, maneuvering in and out of rooms I’d never seen before.
One of them—several flights above the great hall—was locked.
Ravyn reached into his pocket and withdrew a key. When the door opened, he hurried in, ushering me in with a jerk of his head.
“Where are we?” I fumbled in the dark, stubbing my toe on something flimsy—a book.
“My chamber. Close the door.”
The room was dark but for the dying hearth, which glowed an amber red against the far wall. Ravyn crossed the room and swore. A book flew out from under his boot and crashed several feet away. He knelt beside the fire, coaxing it to life with his breath long enough to light a single candlestick.
The smell of dust and subtle hints of clove and cedar filled my nose as I cast my eyes across the chamber. It was no wonder he had tripped. Books were strewn across the floor, some stacked, others lying facedown, their pages splayed like the wings of a dead bird. So, too, were the Captain’s clothes. Tunics—jerkins—cloaks all lay in heaps on the floor. Others were draped upon the backs of chairs and the frame of his wide, sparsely blanketed bed.
Had it been a smaller room, it would have felt cluttered, his belongings thrown in careless piles, leaving strange, ghoulish shadows across the wood floor. But the Captain’s chamber was spacious—made larger still by a lack of decor, its only furnishings a bed, a few chairs, a small washing table in the corner—an aged looking glass propped precariously upon it—and a wardrobe.
It wasn’t what I’d expected for someone so severe. Order, neatness, discipline—like my father. Those were qualities I attributed to the Captain of the Destriers. Either Ravyn Yew was in the middle of rearranging his chamber, or what was beginning to feel more apparent by the moment—
He was not the man I imagined him to be.
The rustling of keys pulled me from my thoughts. Across the room, Ravyn’s candle flickered at the wardrobe. Behind it shone another light, a deep burgundy, so dark it was difficult to distinguish.
The second Nightmare Card. Ravyn’s Nightmare Card.
I kept one hand on the door latch. “What are you doing?”
“You wanted me to call my council, yes? Did you expect I’d do so in front of my uncle’s entire court?”
I heard the lock twist open. Ravyn swung open the wardrobe doors, revealing more burgundy light. He took the Nightmare Card and tapped it
three times. I sucked in my breath and flinched. When nothing happened, the silence was deafening.
“How does it work?” I blurted. “The Nightmare Card.” “Best when I can concentrate.”
“Yes, but what keeps you from hearing everyone in the castle? Does it take—”
Ravyn shot me a narrow look. “Concentration, Miss Spindle. Lots of concentration. So please, if you don’t mind, be quiet.”
I clenched my jaw, praying Ravyn would not break his word and trespass into my mind.
Be quiet. Be shrewd. He can’t hear your thoughts lest he focus on you. What makes you so certain? I demanded.
His laugh rumbled in the dark. I know a few things about Providence Cards, my dear.
I doubt that.
He said nothing, a weighted quiet. Even his silence felt like a game. And, like most games I played with the Nightmare, I was bound to lose.
Do you actually know about the Cards? I asked.
His laugh sounded again, crueler. Final.
I shook my head. Unhelpful, as always. Now shut up, lest he hear all the noise coming out of my head.
You’re the one shouting, Elspeth.
My nostrils flared. I’m merely trying to navigate this utter disaster without alerting the Captain of the Destriers to the fact that I’ve got a five- hundred-year-old MONSTER living in my head.
I think you mean “traitor to lord and land,” not “Captain.” After all, dear one, there were only two Nightmare Cards ever forged. Long have the Rowans sought one, only for it to be here—hidden neatly in the King’s castle—under his very nose.
I glanced at Ravyn, who stood so still he might have been another piece of furniture in the shadowy room. We don’t know why he’s hidden his Nightmare Card from his uncle, I said. There could be a plausible reason.
Plausible reasons are but a shadow at the gallows. The highwayman meets the hangman, one way or another.
Ravyn tapped the Nightmare Card three more times and shoved it into his pocket. He turned on his heel and marched toward me, so fast I jumped.
“I’ve spoken to my family,” he said. “We’ll meet them in the cellar.”
I opened my mouth as I pressed down on the door latch, wondering just how many members of Ravyn’s family knew of his duplicity—his Nightmare Card. But before I could speak, the Captain was upon me, his hand pressing down on mine, stilling the latch between my fingers.
“What are you—”
“Quiet!” he urged, holding a single finger to my lips. I froze, my ears perking to the sound of footfall.
“His temper has been foul of late,” a man’s voice called from the corridor. “Violent, uneven.”
“That’s expected,” another voice said just outside Ravyn’s door. “Without a Scythe, the boy can be difficult to control.”
I could feel Ravyn’s chest swell as he sucked in a breath, sharp lines of strain creeping across his face. I remained frozen, staring up at him, his finger still pressed against my lips. It was warm—the skin rough. I tried to keep my mouth from moving—to lessen the deep unease I felt to be trapped so near the Captain of the Destriers. But all I managed to do was hold my breath.
And even that did not last. Especially with my heart racing. I inhaled abruptly, my lips parting against the skin of his finger. Ravyn lowered his gaze to my mouth. His finger slipped off my lips, his eyes meeting mine for a fleeting glance before he looked back at the door. And though it was too dark to be certain, I thought I saw a flush slide up his neck.
The men in the hallway continued to speak. “I can strengthen his sedatives. Only, with the Captain of the Destriers so protective, I fear I will not be allowed to administer them.”
“Do not bother the Captain with news of his brother,” the other said. “If Emory gives you any more trouble, come to me. And whatever you do,” he warned, “don’t let the boy touch you. It will only unnerve you.”
Their voices echoed in the hall, growing smaller. A moment later they were gone, my heartbeat the only remaining clamor.
I looked up at Ravyn, searching his face for answers I could not yet fathom. Emory. They’d been talking about Emory—his dangerous, inconstant nature.
“Who were they?” I whispered.
“Physicians,” Ravyn said, deep lines in his brow. “Filick’s cousin.”
“Orithe Willow?” I managed. “You know him?”
A narrow man with pale, milky eyes cut across my mind. “He came to my uncle’s house, searching my family for any sign of the infection.”
Ravyn tensed. “He never tested your blood?”
“No.” I let out a small sound—as if fingers had encircled my throat and begun to squeeze. “My aunt hid me.”
Ravyn looked down at me, some of the strain gone from his features. He slid his hand away from mine atop the latch, his warm, calloused thumb snagging over my knuckles. It was meant as a gesture of comfort—a quiet acknowledgment of my fear. And it was.
But that did not explain why we both looked away immediately afterward.
Ravyn moved to the open mahogany wardrobe in the far corner of the room. I heard the noise of fabric shifting as he pushed his clothes aside, revealing the wardrobe’s firm wooden backboard.
I squinted. There was a Card in the wardrobe, I was certain. But I could not yet make out its color—only that it was dark.
Ravyn knocked on the backboard. Then again. On the fourth knock, I heard an echo of hollowness. Grunting, Ravyn pried something I could not see out of a hidden panel in his wardrobe.
It was only when the Card was free that I understood its color. Rich and royal purple, like an amethyst stone I’d once seen on Market Street. A second Card hidden away, nearly as rare as the Nightmare—and just as terrifying.
The Mirror.
The Nightmare clawed at the inside of my head, as if pressing against bars. I felt a smile stretch across his face, his tail flicking. Even more delightful.
Of all the Providence Cards chronicled in The Old Book of Alders, the Mirror had frightened me most as a girl. I backed into the door, afraid to even be close to the Mirror Card.
So much dread, the Nightmare said. So much might. To see beyond the veil—what wicked delight.
There’s nothing delightful about being invisible, I said. Or seeing the dead.
He was quiet a moment. Some would give anything to speak to loved ones passed.
Ravyn shut the wardrobe and stepped toward the door, stopping only when our eyes met. “What’s the matter?”
I stared at the Mirror Card in his hand. “Are you going to use that?” “It’s for you.”
Air whooshed out my open mouth, and I shoved my hands deep into my pockets. “I can’t,” I said too quickly.
Ravyn cocked a brow. “Trust me, you want to avoid Orithe.”
Now’s your chance, the Nightmare said, his voice thick with mischief. Tell him your real magic. Go on. Tell him why you refuse to touch Providence Cards.
This isn’t a game, I said. If I tell him I absorb any Card I touch, he’ll want to know the rest. He’ll find out about YOU.
Would that really be so horrible?
I ignored him, steeling myself. “I’ve no desire to use Providence Cards,” I said to Ravyn.
The Captain’s gray eyes tightened on my face. “Why is that, Miss Spindle?”
“Nothing comes for free,” I said, forcing firmness into my voice. “I don’t take risks. Not even with Cards. Please, Captain. I cannot.”
After a severe pause, his eyes lingering a moment too long on my face, Ravyn cleared his throat. “Very well. You won’t mind if I do, will you?”
Hallway light flooded the dark room when I opened the door. I turned, waiting to follow Ravyn’s lead, but he was suddenly gone—vanished.
Eyes wide, I yelped.
Faint laughter sounded from the space the Captain of the Destriers had stood.
“How—Are you still—”
“I’m right here,” Ravyn said, making me jump.
I reached out, expecting nothing. But my fingers collided with the silk of his tunic, pressing into Ravyn’s taut stomach muscles.
I retracted my hand immediately. “Right. Erm, sorry.”
“Better if I’m not seen,” he explained. “I’m supposed to be monitoring the crowd this evening. Can you see the Card?”
The purple light floated seemingly on its own accord—like an amethyst
fairy on the wind. “Yes.”
“Good. Now pick your jaw up off the floor and follow me.”
|
“Providence Cards,” I muttered as I followed the purple and burgundy lights through Stone. It had taken only three touches for the Mirror Card to work. And while my own ability to absorb Providence Cards made such close proximity to any Card churn my stomach with dread, I could not help but feel a thimbleful of fascination for the power they held.
But I did not feed that fascination. Better let it starve, knowing I would never touch another Providence Card as long as I lived.
The Nightmare’s voice echoed through my mind. Nothing is free, he murmured. Nothing is safe. Magic is love, but also, it’s hate. It comes at a cost. You’re found and you’re lost. Magic is love, but also—
Will you just stop? I snapped. Just for a night—for one bloody night— can we give The Old Book of Alders a rest?
But my frustration only seemed to please him, and for the next few minutes as I tarried after Ravyn Yew through the castle, it was to the sound of the Nightmare’s laughter.
When we reached the bottom of the main stairwell, I heard the clamor of the great hall. The purple light bobbed in midair, then abruptly stopped.
I plowed into Ravyn, smashing my face against his shoulder blade. “What are you—”
“Elspeth,” a voice called.
I knew the voice too well—the chill, haughty lilt of Nerium’s voice.
My insides felt watery, every clack of her shoes a nail in my coffin. “Nerium,” I said, rubbing my nose, aware I was seeing my stepmother through Ravyn’s invisible body. “How are you enjoying Equinox?”
“Quite well,” Nerium said, coming so close that Ravyn was forced to step out from between us, his Card now glowing at my side. My stepmother’s voice grew eerily soft. “Until I saw you leave the King’s table with Ravyn Yew.”
“He was just escorting me—”
“Save it,” she said, lowering her voice as Wayland Pine and his three daughters moved past us. “I don’t care who you sully your reputation with, you little fool,” she said. “So long as it’s not the Captain of the Destriers. Have you even considered what might happen to us if he”—she looked around, her blue eyes narrowing—“found out what you really are?”
I let out a slow breath. “And what am I, Nerium?”
Her icy blue eyes narrowed. “The same thing your mother was. Strange, fevered.” She whispered through her teeth. “Infected.”
I had never heard her say the word before. She hadn’t dared, not in front of my father. But the King’s wine had emboldened her, uncaging the quiet loathing she carried for me, long held at bay.
Her hatred stung, but it did not startle me. If anything, I felt a small relief, the veil between us finally falling. But she had evoked my mother. And for that, she would not get away unscathed. Too long had I let her mistake my silence for weakness.
“It doesn’t matter what my mother was—what I am. There will always be someone who cares for people like us, Nerium.”
“Like who? Your father?” Her laugh was sharp, meant to injure. “But he sent you away, my dear. Your father sent you away. How can you be certain he cares for you at all?”
I bit my cheek, heat boiling up my neck into my face. “He keeps the rooms the way she made them, Nerium. That is why he refuses to let you remake Spindle House. He keeps them exactly as they were when she was alive. He orders irises for the parlor.” I clenched my jaw to keep the angry tears at bay. “I can’t say if he cares for me or not. But I am certain that, long after you and I are gone, when the house falls to ruin, only two things will remain at Spindle House. The spindle tree at the heart of the courtyard,” I said, my gaze unflinching, “and the whitebeam tree my father planted next to it the day my mother died.”
Glass formed over Nerium’s eyes. Lips pursed, hands tightening to fists. For a moment I thought she might hit me. But she said nothing, freezing me out.
She turned, rejoining the festivities as quickly as she’d left. I watched her go and tried not to look at the purple light hovering nearby.
“Have you met my stepmother, Captain?” I whispered, the remnants of my anger distilled in a single tear that fell to my cheek. “Lovely woman.”
The same calloused thumb that had slid over my knuckles in Ravyn’s chamber caught the tear on my cheek—dragged it away. It was gone in a moment. His voice drifted past my ear. “Come.”
The corridors below the stairs were poorly lit. Only the light from Ravyn’s Cards kept me from tripping over myself. How he saw in the dark, I did not know. Perhaps he’d grown used to the path.
I recognized the way just before we got to the door with the stags, the same room we’d been in only hours ago. A moment later I jumped, startled by the sudden reappearance of the Captain of the Destriers at my side.
“You did well,” he said, glancing down at me. “With your stepmother.” I ran a hand over my face. “We don’t get along, she and I.”
“Does she always talk to you that way?”
“If she talks to me at all. Though I imagine she might have chosen her words more carefully had she known we were not alone.”
Ravyn slid his Mirror Card into his pocket, its violet light joining the Nightmare’s burgundy. “I should warn you,” he said, nodding to the door. “It’s not going to be pleasant in there, either.”
“What do you mean?”
“You said you wanted to know everything. It’s a double-edged sword, Miss Spindle.” He knocked three times on the door, then a fourth, then a fifth.
The door opened from the inside, the distinct growl of hounds meeting us at the threshold. I stepped in after Ravyn, my hands knotted in my skirt
—my heart in my throat.
They sat at the rounded table, five of them: Jespyr Yew, Elm Rowan, Filick Willow, and two others I had not met but knew by the Yew insignia upon their clothes—Fenir and Morette Yew. Ravyn’s parents.
A single chair was situated in the middle of the room, the light from the hearth casting long, ominous shadows across it.
Ravyn gestured to it, offering me a seat.
The Nightmare slithered to the forefront of my mind, acute—aware. Let the inquest begin.
