Providence Cards are ageless. Their magic does not fade. They do not decay with time. They cannot be destroyed.
Providence Cards are ageless.
I slipped out of Ravyn’s bed at dawn, careful not to wake him. I dug furiously at the clothes on the floor for my dress but found only my chemise. I might have searched longer had Ravyn not stirred behind me, muttering something in a low growl. I froze, but he was still asleep, resting on his stomach, his broad back rising and falling in long, easy breaths. I slid my chemise over my head and tiptoed through the labyrinthine mess on his floor.
His chamber door was old, heavy. The untrustworthy kind that so often screamed on its hinges. I held my breath and pulled gently, and the door rewarded me with only a low groan. I slipped into the hallway and shut it behind me, releasing a triumphant exhale.
“An enjoyable evening, I hope.” I whirled, my heart in my throat.
Jespyr stood a few doors down, already dressed for the day in Destrier black. Despite the dim light, the corridor torches not yet lit, there was no mistaking the wide, devious smile plastered across her face.
I crossed my arms over my chest, my chemise painfully sheer. “You startled me.”
“Sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. She looked me up and down, her eyes landing on the mess of my hair. “You look… well rested.”
“Thank you,” I said, slipping past her. I stopped at my door. “You—you didn’t hear anything, did you?”
She pressed her lips together. “Like what?” “Nothing. Never mind. See you at breakfast.”
I pushed into my room, the low rumble of her laugh following me.
The hearth in the great hall had been lit, breakfast on the table. Morette and Fenir sat with Emory, their voices low as they coaxed him with sweetbreads and bone broth. They greeted me with their usual friendliness, and I took my seat next to Jespyr, the apples of her cheeks rounding as I sat down.
“What?” I said through my teeth.
She smiled into her eggs. “Nothing.”
Elm joined us next, his auburn hair catastrophic, flailing every direction like he’d slept in a windstorm. He landed in his chair with a plunk, yawning as he glanced up the table. “No Ravyn?”
Jespyr’s fork scraped over her plate. I shot her a murderous glance.
Thistle entered the room with a fresh loaf of bread. Behind him, back in his Destrier clothes, came Ravyn.
Heat rose up my collar. Suddenly, I was very preoccupied with my plate. “Smells amazing,” Ravyn said, patting Thistle’s back. He came up behind his parents and Emory, stealing a slice of bread off his father’s plate.
He passed Elm, mussing his cousin’s wild hair before taking a seat.
Everyone was watching him, brows high. When I looked up, Ravyn’s gaze was on me, his mouth upturned, his teeth tugging at his bottom lip. “Morning.”
He looked stupidly handsome, smug to his boots. I hid behind my teacup. “Morning.”
Next to him, Elm’s face twisted in a grimace. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”
Ravyn took a bite of bread and leaned back in his chair. “What do you mean?”
“You’re smiling.” Elm looked over the table. “Does no one else find that incredibly unnerving?”
Jespyr’s shoulders shook. She pressed a napkin to her mouth, laughter seeping out of her. “We told him he should smile more, didn’t we?”
I kicked her under the table, which only made her laugh louder. Across
from us, Elm’s eyes narrowed, jumping from Jespyr to Ravyn to me. When he noted the choke of red up my neck, paired with the unabashed grin on Ravyn’s face, he made a crude ugh sound and dropped his fork on his plate. “And just like that, I’ve lost my appetite.”
Down the table, Emory coughed. When he put a cloth to his mouth, it came back red. His coughs echoed through the hall, stealing our smiles, the mood immediately turning somber, all of us remembering at once.
Emory had to go back to Stone today.
 |
Jespyr went to get the carriage ready while the rest of us walked in the garden, our steps heavy. The dawn rain had subsided to a gentle haze, but the grass was overgrown. It didn’t take long before my boots and the hem of my green dress were dark with water.
Emory wanted to see the trees in the garden before returning to his gilded cage in the King’s castle. He walked ahead of us, his gray eyes wide as he rambled through the mist. Behind him, Elm wrapped his horsehair charm around his knuckles, his gaze trained on his young cousin.
Ravyn and I followed a pace behind, far enough apart that we did not touch, but close enough for me to feel that invisible wire pulling us together. Salt stung my nose as the wind picked up, cold air brushing my cheeks as several strands of dark hair flew across my face.
The back of Ravyn’s hand brushed against mine. “I’m glad you can see him as his true self,” he said, nodding at Emory. “He doesn’t have many days like this anymore.”
Does anyone?
I jumped, the Nightmare’s voice startling me. I had not heard him since the day before. Foolishly, I had let myself revel in his absence, pretending my mind belonged to me alone.
Rainwater dripped off the trees above us, wetting my head and shoulders. I could smell the water on Ravyn’s wool cloak. He put an arm around me and pulled me beneath the same willow tree I had hid from him under. “Are you all right?” he asked, brushing my damp hair out of my face.
“You were gone when I woke up.”
I leaned into him. “I wanted to let you rest.”
He kissed me, his fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of my neck. “I don’t want rest, Elspeth,” he murmured into my lips. “I want you.”
I was in the warmth of him, his body shielding me from Blunder’s autumn breeze as it caught along the reeds of the willow tree. My arms fit perfectly around his waist and I wrapped them there, content to be held and kissed and windblown.
A small, pointed cough echoed nearby. Emory peered at us through the willow’s branches, his lips curled in a mischievous grin. “Found them,” he called to Elm. “They were kissing.”
I blushed down to my roots, hiding my face in Ravyn’s cloak.
He smiled sheepishly, taking my hand and leading us back into the garden. Elm and Emory waited for us down the path, their arms crossed over their chests. Elm rolled his eyes. “Trees, we get it. No need to rub our noses in it.”
“What a shame,” Emory sighed, his eyes tracing me. “Here I was, thinking she’d come to kiss me. That’s how the fairy tale goes, isn’t it? Beautiful maiden saves sick boy with a kiss—boy miraculously heals and delivers the kingdom from dark magic.”
“Almost,” Elm said, his green eyes flickering to me. “Except, in this fairy tale, the maiden has blood on her hands.”
|
I knew what I needed to do. Leaving Ravyn and Elm to bicker behind me, I hurried ahead, familiar bramble reaching out to snag my hair. “Emory,” I called. “Wait.”
The gray-eyed boy lingered beneath a wide yew tree, running his fingers across twisting branches. When he turned to me, the corner of his lip curled in a half smile. “Yes?”
I struggled with the words. Damp, my hair clung to the sides of my face. When I pushed it away, my nose filled with salt. “I need to ask you something,” I said, peering over my shoulder.
“Something you don’t wish my brother and cousin to hear?”
My eyes moved past him. Beyond the yew tree’s branches, I caught the looming shapes of the stone ruins. There, nestled in the mist below a great yew tree, sat the chamber, the darkness fixed in its window ensnaring me.
“I need your magic, Emory,” I said, my voice quivering. “I need you to touch me again.”
The Nightmare’s voice ripped through my mind. So this is how you unlock my secrets, Elspeth Spindle? You steal them?
“Again?” Emory said.
You already know the truth. His snarl flooded my mind. I’ve told you the story.
I focused on Emory’s face. “You don’t remember, but you touched my arm at Equinox. You told me things about myself I’d never told anyone. You saw into my mind.” My eyes stung with tears. “I want you to look again, Emory. Please. I need to know who—or what—he really is.”
“He?” Emory asked, reaching out for my hand. “You’ll see.”
When our hands clasped, Emory shut his eyes. His fingers flexed around mine, and when he spoke, his voice was strange, as if caught in a jar—close and far away at once.
“I see you, Elspeth Spindle,” he said. “I see a woman with long black hair and charcoal eyes. I see a yellow gaze narrowed by hate. I see darkness and shadow.” His lips quivered. “And I see your fingers, long and pale, covered in blood.”
“What else?” I pleaded. “Do you see the Shepherd King? The man in gold armor?”
Emory shook his head, his brow creasing in concentration. “I see a creature, curled around your spine—as if woven into you.”
A chill wrapped itself around my throat. “How long do I have until he takes me over entirely?”
Emory’s eyes rolled behind his eyelids. “Not long, Elspeth Spindle. He is close.”
I tried to pull my hand away, but Emory clung to it, his voice hitching. “He hunches, not animal, not man, but something between. He stands in the room he built for the Spirit of the Wood, perched upon a tall, dark stone.” Emory’s face twisted, his features contorted in fear. “He whispers
something.”
“What does he say?” I asked, my heart in my throat.
Emory’s hand shook. When he spoke, his voice was strange—slippery. “There once was a girl,” he said, “clever and good, who tarried in shadow in the depths of the wood. There also was a King, a shepherd by his crook, who reigned over magic and wrote the old book. The two were together, so the two were the same…”
He did not have to say the rest. I knew it by heart. “The girl, the King…” I breathed.
The Nightmare’s voice burned through my mind. And the monster they became.
Emory’s eyes shot open, all the color blanched out of his face. “Your eyes,” he gasped, tears streaming down his cheeks. “They’re yellow.”
I looked away, blinking furiously.
“What was that?” Emory asked, his voice still hitching. “It was like something out of a terrible dream.”
“Oh, Emory,” I said, suddenly wrought with guilt. He was so young, so burdened by his own degeneration. To put my own worries in his hands had been more than selfish—it had been wrong.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have done that to you.”
Beyond the yew tree, I heard the others rustling. “Emory,” Ravyn called. “It’s time.”
I turned to Emory with a pleading look. “You won’t say anything, will you?”
The boy tried to smile. “Don’t worry,” he said, wiping the tears from his eyes. “I’ll forget by morning. That’s the one mercy of my degeneration. I don’t remember my nightmares.” He let go of my hand, his gray eyes forlorn. “Goodbye, Elspeth Spindle. Be wary. Be clever. Be good.”
When our fingers fell apart, my hand felt cold. I wanted to reach for him again, to tell him the fairy tale was true—that somehow, I could heal him. Not with a kiss, but with the Cards, all twelve collected, a means to save him—to save myself.
But I had grown tired of pretending. So I said nothing, my spine hunching as the Nightmare’s claws curled around it.
