It took only a moment to realize something was wrong. The tumult was too loud, the sound of their horses too many. Had I not known they were coming, I might have mistaken their clamor for thunder.

I peered through the mist and watched two carriages round the corner, their lanterns casting ghostlike shadows across the road. The flames blended with another light, a deep mossy green, its source somewhere within the first carriage. A light only I could see.

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.

I tugged Ravyn’s sleeve, the Nightmare crawling behind my eyes. “The Prince is there, with a Black Horse and a Scythe. You didn’t say anything

about fighting Destriers!”

Ravyn’s jaw muscles flexed. From the size of his eyes—the stillness of his shoulders—I could tell he was as surprised as I was. A moment later he reached into his pocket and tapped his Nightmare Card three times, communicating silently with the others. His brows drew firmly together.

The horses on the road whickered, their ears perked. Ravyn turned to me. “Do you see the Iron Gate?”

I blinked at him, my mouth agape. “You’re not still thinking of attacking?”

Ravyn’s gaze darted between me and the road. “We need that Card.” “But the Destriers—”

Ravyn’s voice was steady. But when he looked at me, I saw a wildness in his eyes I had not seen before. “We’ll handle the Destriers,” he said. “If we rush Hauth, he won’t have enough focus to wield the Scythe. The quicker we retrieve the Iron Gate, the quicker we will be free of danger. Do you still wish to help us, Elspeth?”

The Nightmare said nothing. Still, I felt the weight of him as he sat, crouched, waiting.

I took a deep breath, my lungs tight. “The Iron Gate is in the first carriage.”

Beyond, the riders grew louder, closer. Even through the mist, I could see the dust of their fervor, their horses slick with sweat. Crows stirred in their wake and took to the sky, cawing their distress as the horsemen thundered on.

Ravyn reached into his pocket once more, retrieving the Mirror Card. “Sure you won’t use this?”

I shook my head vehemently.

“Suit yourself.” He tapped it three times, disappearing. “You and I will go last,” said the air where he previously stood. “Lead me to the Iron Gate. Once we’re close, run back here and hide in the mist. Understand?”

I didn’t have time to answer. Without warning, several goose-fletched arrows tethered with rope shot across the road, blocking the path a mere pace ahead of the carriages. Jespyr and Elm’s Black Horses shone dark and menacing in the distance as they and the Ivys continued to shoot arrows, obstructing the road—forcing the carriages and Destriers to come to a screeching halt.

The horses brayed. One reared, throwing its rider, who plummeted to the ground. I could not see Ravyn, but I felt him next to me. A moment later he grabbed my hand and we ran full speed through the trees toward the fray.

My breath came in hurried, desperate gasps. All I could see was the road ahead—just beyond the tree line—and the men scattered there, the green light centered within their midst.

“Take up arms!” one of the Destriers shouted. “We’re under attack!” another cried.

But they’d no time to regroup—the highwaymen had come.

The sharp ring of steel on steel rattled me, the clash of swords loud in my ears. Ravyn pulled me forward onto the road, his grip on my hand never wavering. Ahead of us, men spilled out of the carriages and Destriers fell from their horses in a flurry, weapons drawn.

I saw Elm up the road. A moment later the Ivys joined the fray, met by Hauth and two other men. They clashed together—might against might— swords and fists wielded with bone-breaking strength. But Ravyn pulled me deeper into the struggle, and I quickly lost sight of them.

The green light from the Iron Gate was no longer in the first carriage. It had moved on to the road, hovering in Wayland Pine’s cloak. The light spun about, Wayland bobbing through the tumult, stationing himself between Destriers and another man-at-arms. “It’s in Pine’s cloak!” I called in Ravyn’s direction. “Right side.”

Ravyn squeezed my hand, yanking me down as arrows pierced the air. “Go,” he said, my hand suddenly cold as he released it. “Go now!”

I did not wait to be told a third time.

I turned my heel and ran—ran with all my might. Dirt kicked up beneath my feet and I slipped, narrowly avoiding the wild slash of a Destrier’s blade.

Get up, the Nightmare snarled, so awake I could feel his claws in my head. Get up, Elspeth!

The Destrier turned, his sword engaged by Jon Thistle. I launched myself off the ground, the tree line and the mist a mere fifteen paces away. I ran, my eyes cast backward for a final glance at the glow of the Iron Gate…

And careened straight into my father.

He seemed taller, the blood-red spindle tree sewn into his sapphire cloak. He held a dagger in one hand, and in the other, he brandished my

grandfather’s sword with great strength, employed in a violent struggle with Elm. To me, he offered little notice, repaying my bump with a sharp elbow to the cheek that sent me hurtling to the ground.

I tasted blood and blinked, my vision spinning. Only then did I notice the familiar shape engraved in the door of the second carriage.

A spindle tree.

You’ve bit your tongue, that’s all, the Nightmare called above the bedlam. Get up.

The clang of steel grew closer, as if on top of me. Keeping to my hands and knees, I crawled, dust clinging to the tears in my eyes. When I reached the edge of the road, I flung myself into a pile of foliage beneath a tall poplar tree.

Wiping the dirt from my eyes, I peered back at the mayhem—searching for my father. He stood, still in combat with Elm. Only now, Elm’s sword had been knocked to the ground. Dread crawled up my spine as I watched the Prince struggle, trapped between the carriage and my father’s looming blade. Three strikes he dodged, every last bit of the Prince’s focus spent avoiding my father’s next blow.

He’s going to get hurt, I said, panic clutching my throat.

He’s not your bloody concern!

I was on the ground once more, scrounging for something—anything. My fingers closed around a dense, cold rock. When I stood, Elm was off his feet, knocked to the ground.

My father loomed above him, sword in hand, the clinching blow a breath away.

I stepped back onto the road and closed my eyes, turning to the blackness of my mind. When I spoke, the Nightmare’s voice melded with mine in loud, determined dissonance.

“Do. Not. Miss.”

The rock slammed into the back of my father’s head, knocking him off balance, denying his sword the kill. Elm, fast to his feet, tore from the fray, disappearing beneath the shadow of his Black Horse.

My father whirled on me, a violence in his eyes I had never seen before.

Now what? the Nightmare hissed.

I backed away, my limbs suddenly frozen. I pulled the knife from my belt and held it shakily between my father and me. Help me, I called to the

Nightmare, my legs weak with panic.

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.

Help me help me help me HELP! I cried, shutting my eyes, the vicious sound of the singing blade buzzing through my body.

Salt filled my nose. I felt as if I’d fallen beneath a sheet of ice. I gasped, desperate for air I could not taste. Pain ripped up my arms—the dark magic of the infection and the Nightmare’s strength swimming through my veins. When I opened my eyes, the world was bright and vivid behind the Nightmare’s gaze. My father stood before me, fearsome, a small touch of surprise etched into his dark scowl…

… and his dagger tightly fisted in my hand.

The Nightmare was faster than he’d ever been. My eyes, my arms, my mind, danced with violent intent. In only a few swift steps, I closed the distance between myself and my father. Before he could level his sword, I slammed my foot into his diaphragm, knocking him off his feet.

He fell to the ground in a heap. I stood over him, a wicked smile twisting my lips as I balanced the tip of his dagger to his throat. “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.” Fear shattered my father’s austerity. He stared up at me, his blue eyes glassy and wide. When he saw my eyes above my mask, I knew he did not

recognize me.

He’d never seen me with yellow eyes before.

But before my father could speak—his mouth agape and his face ghost white—a spooked horse rushed by, knocking me to the ground.

I dropped his dagger and my head struck stone, the world suddenly buckling, as if turned on its head.

Hands reached for me. I swiped at them but could not push them away.

My vision dizzied, the heat in my veins so great it burned me.

A moment later I was wrenched off the ground and placed on my feet. Her face was obscured by her mask. But I knew her eyes, her voice.

When Jespyr offered her hand, I took it, the bedlam around us as loud as

war drums.

Jespyr and I dashed headfirst into the mist.

I was immediately lost. Still, I ran. Jespyr’s breath came in steady huffs, and she might have kept going—

Had a Destrier not come out of the mist and knocked her full force onto the ground.

She fell with a slam onto the forest floor, taking me down with her. I smothered a scream, the Nightmare flooding my mind. Hush, child, he warned. They will hear you.

Jespyr was on her feet in a moment, blocking me with her body, squared off with the Destrier. When he lunged she parried, matching his strength, Black Horse against Black Horse. Their swords collided, a piercing knell that echoed through the mist. Jespyr’s elbow collided with the Destrier’s jaw and he faltered, stepping back, slashing wildly.

The edge of his sword tore through her black tunic, cutting into her shoulder.

She hissed but did not falter. Pivoting with speed so immense I could hardly measure it, Jespyr came up beside the Destrier, dodging the second slash of his blade. He swore, pulling a wickedly curved dagger from his belt.

But before his dagger could find its mark, Jespyr slammed the pommel of her hilt into the side of the Destrier’s head. He teetered a moment, eyes wide and unfocused, before crashing to the ground at my feet. He lay still, eyes shut.

I stared down at him. “Is he…?”

Jespyr knelt beside him, her shoulder bleeding where he’d cut it. She put two fingers to the Destrier’s neck, just under his jaw. “Unconscious,” she murmured. She glanced up at me, pausing on my eyes. “Are you all right?”

I felt as if I’d been carved out of wood—stiff, splintering. “I’m fine,” I said through gritted teeth. “Where are the others?”

“I don’t know.” She reached into her breast pocket. “I got turned around.” Her face grew drawn—her hand more urgent. She unturned her pockets, then her cloak, searching for something. “Shit,” she breathed.

“What?”

“It’s not here,” she cried. “My charm. I must have dropped it when he knocked into me.”

Somewhere behind us, a branch snapped. “What was that?” Jespyr said, her eyes wide.

“We shouldn’t linger,” I managed, my neck strained as I looked around. “The other Destriers can’t be far.”

But Jespyr merely shook her head, her eyes glassy with fear. “I—I…” She coughed, as if she’d swallowed too much water. “Can you smell it?” she said. “Can you smell the salt?”

I stared at her, my breath turning cold. “Jespyr?”

Fingers shaking, she rubbed her eyes. “I—I—I—can’t—see.” Her eyelids fluttered wildly. “No, no, no!” she choked.

What’s happening to her? I said, a chill crawling up my spine.

Don’t you know? Can’t you smell it?

Salt filled my nose. Magic. Dark, uncontrolled magic. The Spirit of the Wood, come to exact balance.

Come to steal Jespyr into the mist.

I dove into my jerkin, my fingers trembling. But my pockets were empty. I’d left my charm neatly folded in my dress back at Castle Yew.

A fox screamed in the distance, making us jump. “Jespyr, we’ve got to get out of the mist.”

“Can’t,” she managed. “The road—n-not safe.” She turned west, called by something I could not hear. “We’ve got to go deeper into the wood.”

“No,” I said. “You’re confused. We’ve got to get—”

She did not hear me. She was lost, her brown eyes glazed over. A moment later she was running, diving deeper into the trees, swallowed by the mist.

I forced my tired limbs after her, my heartbeat so loud it shook me. I reached my hands out ahead of me, the path so dark it swaddled my eyes, but I was hollowed out from the Nightmare’s strength and didn’t dare ask for it again. Tree limbs snagged my hair, and the soil beneath my feet was tangled in roots, every step a snare.

Ahead, an animal scream ripped through the trees. The Nightmare laughed, his voice trickling through my mind. The Spirit has no forgiveness, no pardon to lend. She calls out our names, neither kin, foe, nor friend. She watches the mist like a shepherd its sheep…

The animal screamed again, only this time, I discerned two words in the frantic notes of its wail.

“Help me!”

It was not an animal screaming. It was Jespyr.

And pays those she snares with the great, final sleep.

Her cries echoed in the mist, fearful and wretched. I rushed toward the din and found Jespyr tangled in vines beneath an old poplar tree, her ankle twisted in roots.

Her eyes were unfocused, lost on something far away. “Limbs of the land, come to bring me home,” she laughed through clenched teeth. “Don’t be afraid, Elspeth. The roots and the animals of the wood are servants to the Spirit, just like you and I.”

Nausea rolled through my stomach as I stared down at her unnaturally turned ankle. I took my knife and freed her of vines. “Jespyr,” I said. “Does your brother have a charm?”

She didn’t seem to hear me. “I tarry—I tarry in darkness, never in light.” “Jespyr!”

She blinked, her hands digging into the dirt around her. “Yes,” she managed. “Ravyn—charm. Hurry.”

I tore through the wood, my eyes wide, frantic to catch a glimpse of the Captain of the Destriers’ telltale burgundy and purple lights.

But I was immediately lost, swallowed by mist.

I searched the darkness for any hint of color, my arms stretched out against vicious brambles that snagged at my face and hair. Animals scurried in my wake and I hurried my step, certain something horrible would befall Jespyr if I did not find her a charm.

I stumbled down a ravine, branches cutting at the cloth still covering my face.

Where is he? I cried. Which way do I go? Wait, the Nightmare cautioned. Listen.

I perked an ear to the wind. At first, all I heard was the beat of my own heart. But then—footsteps. Something was coming my way. Something, or someone.

I peered out from behind a boxwood, searching for color. Another animal scream sliced through the wood, and I muffled a cry. I wanted to call out, but the Nightmare hushed me and I remained quiet, waiting.

More footsteps sounded, branches snapping under heavy footfall. Beyond the boxwood, difficult to discern in the dark, I saw Black Horses

and a Scythe. They came from the other side of the ravine, slow, wary, swords drawn. Destriers, three of them, approaching a fourth Black Horse that lay motionless upon the ground.

Lost, I’d run back the very direction we’d fled.

Don’t move, the Nightmare said.

My hands shook. I placed one over my mouth and the other on the hilt of the knife Ravyn had given me. They could not see me from behind the boxwood; the mist was too thick. But they were close enough to hear me.

I held my breath.

The men picked up their fallen Destrier, draping his arms over their shoulders. One of them swore as a screech owl tore through the trees, and the others retreated behind him. Whatever their resolve, they did not intend to be long off the road. Only one of them hesitated, searching the mist a mere stone’s throw from my boxwood.

His face was illuminated by the menacing black and red lights of his Cards. The High Prince of Blunder, Ione’s betrothed.

Hauth Rowan.

He stepped closer, ears perked in my direction. “Who’s there?”

He was the hunter, and I the prey. A single cold tear slid down my cheek. But when I peered around my shoulder, the High Prince was gone.

I blinked, testing my eyes. He hadn’t used a Mirror Card—I’d have seen the purple color. After a tense moment’s silence, I slid out from behind the brush. My hands shook and the boxwood trembled.

But Hauth Rowan, along with the other Destriers, had disappeared.

I let out a shaky sigh and turned back to the ravine. If I could find my way back to the horses, I could find the others. More importantly, I could find Ravyn and his spare charm.

Jespyr was running out of time.

But before I could take a step, something shifted behind me, dark and unearthly fast. I turned, the hair on the back of my neck bristling.

He darted out of the mist with brutal speed and caught my wrist. I tried to flee, but he twisted me back, his Black Horse and Scythe casting sinister color across my vision.

“Who are you?” Hauth said, shaking me.

He twisted my arm. I felt a strange, unnatural snap, and suddenly my wrist was swimming in vicious agony. I cried out, the pain visceral as it tore

up my arm.

The Nightmare’s hiss became a roar. He flooded my mind with a sudden, venomous fury. Prince of brutes, he snarled.

Hauth shook my wrist, squinting, as if trying to peer through my mask. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t have the chance to. I struck the High Prince, my hand a blur in the mist. The sound of ripping fabric caught the air. My eyes widened as I looked down, my hand slick with blood.

And it wasn’t mine.

Hauth’s screams filled the wood. “Who are you?” he shouted again, stepping away from me, ferocious lacerations clawed across his shoulder all the way up to his jaw.

I did not answer. I was already running—full force—into the wood, his blood still on my fingers.

What did you do? I cried, too afraid to look back.

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.

Hauth’s cries echoed in the wood, guttural as the fox’s screams. I tore through the trees, my muscles strained, desperate to get away. I didn’t know if I was going north or south, only that I had to put as much distance between the High Prince and myself as I could.

Tears stung my eyes, and my wrist, hot and swelling, sang in pain. When I heard leaves rustling behind me, I veered right, slashing through a daphne shrub. Weeds caught my legs and I fell hard, unable to brace myself.

I groaned, my vision blurring.

Get up, the Nightmare called. Get up, Elspeth.

I rolled, listening to the wood. Footsteps sounded through the mist, but this time when I looked up, I saw the faintest hints of color in the distance

—burgundy, violet, and mossy green. The Nightmare, the Mirror, and the Iron Gate.

Ravyn.

He must have heard me coming, because when I came crashing through the mist, he was gone—vanished with three taps of the Mirror Card.

I ran into him with a bang, my lungs swelling with relief. I heard him

exhale, and suddenly the shroud of magic was lifted. The Captain of the Destriers reappeared in front of me. “Elspeth.” His eyes widened above his mask as he took me in. “What—”

“Shhh!” I said, pulling him behind a tree and covering his mouth with my hand. “The High Prince is behind me.”

Ravyn’s breath caught in his throat. He reached down to his belt and pulled a dagger. My fingers slid off his mouth. But before they could fall, he caught them, lacing our fingers together. A screech owl called nearby and I jumped, my face cold with tears I hadn’t realized I’d shed.

Ravyn watched me, listening to the mist. When stillness crept over us, I peered around the tree, looking for any sign of Hauth Rowan’s black and red lights.

But there was nothing. The High Prince was gone—retreated back to the road to lick his wounds.

“I can’t see his Cards anymore,” I whispered.

Ravyn slid his knife back into its sheath. “Pine and his party fled in their carriage the moment we retreated. The second carriage followed, but the Destriers remained, so we scattered. I doubt they’ll stray too far into the mist.”

“I saw them heading back to the road.” “Did Hauth see you?”

I nodded. “I think he broke my wrist.”

The Captain’s eyes flashed. He reached for my injured arm, but I flinched away. “We don’t have time. Jespyr—she’s lost her charm.” My boots dug into the dirt as I pulled him away from the tree. “We have to go back. Now.”

We found Jon Thistle and ran deeper into the wood, wary of Destriers. But the black and red lights were nowhere in sight. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to recognize the path, but my frantic flight from Hauth was easy to follow, and from there, we found the ravine that led us back to Jespyr.

She hadn’t gotten far, her ankle too weak to support her. Ravyn kneeled over his sister and pulled a charm wrapped in linen from his pocket. He placed it in Jespyr’s rigid fingers and pressed his forehead to hers, whispering something I could not hear.

I watched, my heart racing. After a time, life reentered Jespyr’s glassy eyes and she stopped fidgeting, no longer straining to crawl deeper into the

mist.

She winced and sat up. “What the hell happened?”

“You dropped your charm,” Ravyn said, brushing his sister’s hair out of her eyes. “You hurt your ankle. But everything’s all right, Jes. You’re safe.” I exhaled, relief melding with nauseous pain. Behind us, the trees rustled and the noise of bickering echoed through the wood. The Ivys had returned.

“All right, boys?” Thistle called.

Petyr’s profanity filled the air. “Royce Linden broke my goddamn nose.” “It’s your own fault for not bashing him,” Wik hollered.

“Captain said not to kill ’em, didn’t he?”

“Did anyone see your face?” Thistle demanded. “Did anyone recognize you?”

“Course not.” “You sure?”

“Don’t I look bloody sure, Jon?”

The crunch of leaves sounded. Someone was running toward us, a dark, bottomless shadow cutting through the trees. I grabbed at Thistle’s arm, to warn him, but before I could speak, a head of tousled auburn hair shot through the darkness.

Elm.

“Oi!” Petyr called. “Took you long enough.”

The Prince was in no easy mood. “Said the dimwit who thought he could take on a Destrier without a Black Horse. You’d be bleeding out on the road if I hadn’t stepped in to save your flat-footed ass.” His green eyes shot to Ravyn, then Jespyr, still seated on the forest floor. “What’s wrong?”

“Dropped her charm,” Thistle said. “Strong as salt, that one. She’ll be right in a minute.”

Elm’s gaze returned to Ravyn. “You better have gotten that damn Card.” “He’s got it.” Wik laughed. “Look at that smug face.”

“Let’s see it, then,” Petyr demanded.

Ravyn pulled the green light from his pocket, the light flickering to nothing as he twirled it between his bare fingers, the corners of his lips curled by a devilish arrogance. Something tightened deep in my stomach, watching him gloat.

The party passed the Iron Gate among themselves, voices shedding strain, breaths of relief filling the air like smoke. They returned the Card to

Ravyn, who placed it back in his pocket, the green light, free of his touch, vibrant once more.

Tension slowly eased, laughter perforating our small corner of the wood. I moved a few paces away, suddenly aware of just how sore my body was. I found a log and lowered myself onto it with an unceremonious thud.

Elm approached me, his eyes tight on my face. “Still alive, then?”

I managed to nod before another wave of pain hit my wrist. My skin felt hot, swollen, and angry.

“Did he recognize you?” Elm asked. “Who?” Ravyn called, watching us. “Her father.”

Thistle’s eyebrows disappeared beneath his hairline. “Erik Spindle was there?”

“In the second carriage,” Elm said, wiping blood from his nostrils. “The bastard caught me off guard—practically ran me through.”

“What happened?” Jespyr said, wincing as she stood, leaning on Petyr for support.

“I’m still in one piece, aren’t I?” Elm glanced at me, his brows drawn together. “She fought him off.”

The others quieted, their eyes falling on me. I cradled my arm and kept my eyes low as I let out a long, tired breath. “He didn’t recognize me.”

“You’re sure? Because if he did, we’re royally f—” “Do you really think he’d try to kill his own daughter?”

Ravyn approached, kneeling at my side. He took my injured wrist and made a crude wrap with his cloth mask, supporting the joint until I could no longer move it. I clenched my teeth but did not look away, a few stray tears falling down my cheeks.

Elm watched us. “Who did that?” he said.

Ravyn’s voice was cold. “Hauth,” he said, tying off the makeshift bandage, his eyes raising to my face. “You never said how you got away from him.”

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.”