Two Twisted Crowns (The Shepherd King, #2)(25)

Because of me.

And the Yews—I had destroyed their hope of healing Emory. They’d needed Orithe Willow’s blood to unite the dead. And I’d killed him.

My thoughts festered until my mind turned septic.

But even then, a flicker of warmth lingered in the dead cold of my despair. A candle’s worth of light—of hope. The softness of my aunt’s hands as she combed my hair. Ione’s arm in mine, our heels clacking on cobbled streets on Market Day.

Ravyn Yew, holding me in a hug tight enough to blot out all of Blunder.

My black wool dress sopped up water as I walked into the breaking waves. Bennett appeared out of the air and stood next to me. “The children miss you,” he said, fidgeting with the two Providence Cards—Mirror and Nightmare. “Especially Tilly. Come to dinner. Just this once.”

I knew by then he was not talking to me. None of the children had been talking to me. This beach—this dark-sanded oblivion—belonged to the Shepherd King.

I know what I know...

My secrets are deep...

But long have I kept them, and long will they keep.

Here. In the dark, on the shore. Where there was no sun, no moon. Where the mourning dove did not call at dawn and no owl announced dusk. A place of desolation—emptiness and despair. This is where his secrets were kept.

And I was among them.

I looked into Bennett’s gray eyes. “I cannot stay here with you and be forgotten,” I said. “I’m going to get out.”

I walked into the breaking waves. Swam with all my might. Screamed and swallowed brine. Kicked and clawed at the water until my muscles gave out.

I fell beneath the waves—

And sunk deeper into darkness.





Chapter Fourteen

Ravyn





The guards that kept watch over Emory’s door stepped into shadow. Ravyn unlocked his brother’s chamber and lingered at the threshold. He slipped a hand into his pocket. Before he was aware of his own fingers, he’d tapped his Nightmare Card three times.

Salt pounded his senses. He pushed and pushed, looking for the familiar, comforting presence. Like leather and fire and the pages of a well-read book.

Jespyr.

Her voice was sharp with startle. Ravyn?

The Twin Alders, Jes. We’re leaving at dawn.

There was a pause. Then, What do you need from me?

Ravyn’s hand trembled on the latch to his brother’s door. Emory, he whispered.

I’m on my way.

Salt fled his senses, Jespyr disappearing from his mind on the third tap. Ravyn heaved a breath, then opened the door.

Emory lay on his bench in the corner of the small chamber. Blanket tight under his chin, eyes shut, he almost looked asleep. But his shoulders were too tense, his thinned face too laden with furrows to be at rest. He shivered, his lips an awful gray.

Ravyn moved to his brother’s wardrobe and flung it open, digging for the warmest cloak he could find.

Emory’s voice was uneven, fraying at its edges. “What are you doing?”

“It’s time, Em.” Ravyn placed a wool cloak onto his brother’s lap. “We’re leaving. Now.”

Emory tried to sit up. “Why?”

“Arrangements have been made.”

“What arrangements?”

“Where are your boots?”

Emory flicked his hand toward the end of the bench.

Ravyn sat at the foot of the bench, hands deft as he pulled Emory’s leather boots over thick socks. All the while, he could feel his brother’s eyes on him.

“What arrangements?” the boy said again.

Ravyn tied the laces tight, though he was fairly certain his brother was no longer strong enough to walk without help. “I’m taking you home.”

A rattling breath swept up Emory’s fragile frame. “Did Uncle—”

“The King is aware,” Ravyn said, harsher than he meant. He heaved a sigh and finally looked up.

It hurt to gaze at his brother. More than Ravyn imagined it would.

Emory, who had once bloomed like a garden in spring, was wilted, frozen to his depth by chill and aggressive degeneration. A boy, who not long ago had stood tall, was now stooped, as if his spine—which protruded up his back in harsh knobs—weighed more than the rest of his body combined. Hie copper skin was wan, his cheeks gaunt, his fingertips blue. And his eyes—his brilliant gray eyes—were shadowed, dim, lit only by the deathly omen of what was to come.

He was degenerating. Faster than Ravyn had feared he would. And while Ravyn’s degeneration made certain Cards impossible to use and Elspeth’s had strengthened the monster in her mind, Emory’s was simply...killing him.

Ravyn reached for his brother’s shoulder. “Everything is going to get better for you, Em,” he said. “I promise.”

Emory’s shirt slid, Ravyn’s palm grazing his brother’s skin. The moment it did, Emory’s eyes glassed over. He shivered from deep within, his lips drawing into a pale thread. He reached up and gripped Ravyn’s hand, his eyes rolling into his skull.

Ravyn recoiled, realizing what he’d done. His hand—he’d touched Emory. He tried to rip away from his brother’s grasp, but Emory held him in a vise, nails digging into Ravyn’s skin.

“The dark bird has three heads,” Emory said, his voice strangled, an invisible rope around his neck. “Highwayman, Destrier, and another. One of age, of birthright. Tell me, Ravyn Yew, after your long walk in my wood—do you finally know your name?”