Two Twisted Crowns (The Shepherd King, #2)(47)

The Nightmare was mumbling to himself. “It was hardly my fault, dearest, that they are pathetic swimmers.”

Petyr skin had gone colorless—pale as the surface of the lake.

“Nightmare!”

His nostrils flared. He looked down at the Maiden Card in Ravyn’s hand. “Make him use it.”

Ravyn didn’t question it. He shoved the Maiden Card into Petyr’s hand, curling his fingers to tap it once—twice—three times.

Petyr’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open. He took in a ragged gasp, then another.

The putrid blood stopped.

Beneath Jespyr’s shaking hands, Ravyn could see Petyr’s wound...closing. Petyr took another breath, and the color in his face returned. Another, and the tension in his body eased.

On the fifth breath, he opened his eyes and looked up at Wik, then Ravyn. “I—I can’t feel the pain anymore.”

Ravyn stared into Petyr’s face. It had never been the sort of face an artist might flock to. There was a scar from a knife fight that stretched from Petyr’s left eyebrow to the corner of his nostril. Crumpled cartilage in his ears, crooked teeth. Only now, they were gone. Petyr’s scars, his imperfections—gone. He was covered in his own blood and lake mud, but he’d never looked so well.

Wik gaped at his brother. “Goddamn trees.”

Petyr pushed up, blinked, turning his injured leg left, then right. He tore more of his pant leg to get a better look. The claw marks were gone—healed. Not even a scar remained.

Ravyn’s voice came out a strangle. “How do you feel?”

Petyr ran a hand over where the wound had been, testing the skin. His brown eyes went wide. “Like nothing happened.” He looked down at the Maiden Card in his other hand. “Did this heal me?”

Only then did the Nightmare come back into focus. He was still talking to himself, his sentences broken between purrs and hisses. “I am helping them, dear one,” he said under his breath. “More than they know.”

Ravyn cocked his head to the side.

“Who the hell are you talking to?” Jespyr snapped.

The Nightmare ignored her. His gaze drifted to the ground—to Ravyn’s Providence Cards in the mud. Mirror, and Nightmare.

Gorse, who’d been useless, trying to save Petyr, came forward. “Am I seeing things, or is that a Nightmare Ca—”

Ravyn dove. He snagged his burgundy Card out of the mud, yellow eyes flaring above him. Tapped it once—twice—thrice.

Ravyn! called a woman’s voice.

Wind kicked out of his lungs. He fell into mud. That voice. Her voice.

Can you hear me, Ravyn?

He closed his eyes. Elspeth.

She made a pained sound that ripped the heart out of him, and then a different voice called. Male and monstrous. Give her time to adjust, Ravyn Yew. Put away your Nightmare Card.

If she wants me gone, she will tell me so herself. It is her mind. YOU are the trespasser.

An invisible wall of salt slammed into Ravyn. He called out for Elspeth once more, but she was gone. The Nightmare had shut him out.

Ravyn released himself from his Nightmare Card, jolted up—

And lunged.

He wrapped his fists into the Nightmare’s cloak, looked into those terrible yellow eyes, and slammed him into the mud.

More terrifying than snarl or hiss, the Nightmare laughed. “Your stone veneer is crumbling, Ravyn Yew. Who will be waiting on the other side when the mask slips away? Captain? Highwayman? Or beast yet unknown?”

Ravyn drew a breath, his voice deathly quiet. “If it would not hurt her, I would flay you alive.”

A crooked, malevolent smile was his only answer.





They ate a mile from the water. Ravyn found a stream and cleaned the putrid blood from his hands, his clothes, noting just how sore his muscles were—how much strain it had taken to cross the lake.

The Nightmare shoved aspen bark into their hands to remedy whatever lake water they’d ingested. When Jespyr asked how he knew the bark would aid them, he muttered something about the idiocy of Yews before disappearing behind the tree line.

Ravyn watched him go, Elspeth’s voice ringing through his mind.

Alive.

She was alive.

The relief was like stepping indoors after a winter night’s watch—so warm, it hurt.

Wik built a fire and pulled rations from his satchel, handing them down the line. When Ravyn sat next to Gorse, the Destrier got up and took a seat on the other side of the fire. His eyes slid over Ravyn’s hands—his pockets. Ravyn knew what he was hoping to glimpse.

The Nightmare Card.

Only two burgundy Nightmare Cards had been forged. Both had been missing for decades. Tyrn Hawthorn had brought one forward—traded it to King Rowan at Equinox for a marriage contract between Ione and Hauth. It was no doubt still being used at Stone by the Physicians attempting to revive Hauth.

Gorse wasn’t the smartest Destrier. But the distrust coloring his face meant he had come to one of two conclusions. Either Ravyn had taken the King’s Nightmare Card—

Or he, Captain of the Destriers, possessed the second one. Along with a Mirror Card he’d conveniently failed to mention.

Jespyr mouth was full of food. “If there’s something you want to say,” she managed, watching Gorse as she heated dried venison over the flames, “now’s a perfect time.”