Two Twisted Crowns (The Shepherd King, #2)(66)

“Here,” came the Nightmare’s slippery voice from ahead. When they met him at the bottom of the valley, he was standing stone-still at the edge of a new wood.

The trees in front of him did not merely stand close to one another. They were a wall. Just like the lake, the wood stretched farther than the horizon. There were hundreds—thousands—of trees, all woven together.

Ravyn’s pulse thickened. He stepped forward, putting a calloused hand on a crooked trunk. “They’re alder trees.”

The Nightmare’s voice slipped between his teeth. “The second begins at the neck of a wood, where you cannot turn back, though truly, you should. Those here that enter are neither wary, clever, nor good. You know nothing of hell—

“Till you’ve crossed the alderwood.”

Wind whispered through the trees and on it, the biting scent of salt.

“The Twin Alders Card,” Jespyr said, her eyes cast skeptically down the endless row of trees. “It’s inside?”

“Yes.”

“How do we get in?”

“That is for tomorrow. For now—” The Nightmare turned, facing back the way they’d come. “Aspen,” he murmured.

The aspen trees began to move into the valley. Dirt upturned, and the ground rolled. Petyr lost his balance and fell, and Jespyr braced herself on Ravyn before she, too, caught a mouthful of dirt.

The Nightmare swung his sword in low, circular patterns, and the aspens followed in accordance. When the trees were finished rearranging themselves, they stood in a circle around the party.

The Nightmare clicked his blade thrice more, and the trees went still, so close together a child couldn’t slip through the gaps in their trunks.

“We should be safe from any manner of beast in here,” the Nightmare said. He turned—aimed the tip of his sword at Ravyn’s face. “Sit down, Ravyn Yew. I’m going to fix your broken beak.”





Ravyn’s broad back pressed against an aspen trunk. He didn’t like it. It felt too much like the pole he’d been tethered to in that fort, where he’d forfeited all his composure.

Where he’d killed Gorse.

Petyr lowered himself next to him with a grunt. “Wik—” He exhaled, voice uneven. “He broke my nose when we were kids. Hurt like hell.”

“I’m fine.”

The Nightmare’s chuckle sounded from a few paces away. He poured water from Petyr’s canteen over his hands, washing away grime.

Jespyr crouched on the farthest side of the aspen circle, all of them looking away while she relieved herself behind a shrub. When she finished she stood—ran a hand over her cheek. Winced. “I’ve not sure those bitches didn’t break something in my face, too.”

It was too dark to see much of her. The moon was but a pale smudge in the night sky, swathed in mist. Still, the swell of Jespyr’s left cheek was unmistakable.

Ravyn hadn’t noticed it during their fight in the courtyard. Otho’s magic—that terrible smoke—had limned his vision in red. He hadn’t known anything but rage and hate.

Guilt clutched him by the throat. He dug in his pocket—squinting in the dim light to discern which Card was pink. “Here,” he said, holding out the Maiden Card to the Nightmare. “Hand this to her.”

The Nightmare’s nostrils flared, his gaze passing over the Maiden. “I can’t touch it.”

Ravyn raised his brows.

“Believe me, I wish I could. I’d have saved myself the aggravation of traveling with you were I capable of taking back the Twin Alders myself. But this is still Elspeth’s body. Any Card I touch—she will absorb the object I paid to forge it.”

Jespyr rounded him, plucking the Maiden out of Ravyn’s hands. “What did you pay for this one, Shepherd King?”

“His hair, shorn off with a blade,” Petyr answered. There was a pause. “What? It’s not like I haven’t read The Old Book.”

Ravyn touched his nose. Winced. “Didn’t know you could read at all.”

Petyr’s elbow met his bruised ribs. “Laugh while you can. We all know that pretty pink Card won’t do a thing to heal you.”

Jespyr tapped the Maiden. Closed her eyes. Let out a long breath. “Trees,” she said, her voice reverent. “It feels so good not to be in pain.” She pressed a hand to her healed cheek, then tapped the Maiden thrice more. “Say Elspeth touched this Card instead of the Nightmare all those years ago. She would have absorbed...your hair?”

“Yes,” the Nightmare replied. “I had long hair. Dark.” His eyes raised over Ravyn’s head. “Like yours. Perhaps it would have clogged her throat. Strung itself around her heart. Made a nest in her lungs.”

Jespyr took her seat next to Ravyn. “Just when I think you’re getting tolerable, you go and open your mouth.”

The Nightmare approached on silent step. He loomed above them. Clicked his teeth—then gripped Ravyn’s nose.

There was a terrible grinding sound, pain biting over the mask of Ravyn’s face. “Fucking trees.”

“As I suspected,” the Nightmare said, indifferent. “Decidedly broken.”

Ravyn jerked his head back. “You’re hardly a Physician.”

“No. But I’ve mended my share of noses—my own in particular.”