Two Twisted Crowns (The Shepherd King, #2)(89)

Chapter Forty

Elm





A flash of red. “Don’t move,” came Hauth’s voice. “Don’t even speak.”

Salt stung Elm’s senses. His mind skittered to a halt, locking his muscles along with it. He was frozen, one hand in his pocket, the other laced with Ione’s.

Hauth stood before them. Tall, menacing, and entirely flawless. The scars—bruises and claw marks—were gone, his skin unblemished. He wore a gold tunic and a deep crimson doublet, his chest wide as he squared off with Elm. A pair of daggers was fastened to his belt.

He looked younger. But that was only because the deeply embedded frown lines in his brow had been smoothed over. Hauth glanced down, his green eyes tracing Elm and Ione’s clasped hands. “I shouldn’t be surprised,” he said, his tone idle. “You’ve always been a cocky little runt.”

The last time Elm had seen his brother, Hauth had been lying in a puddle of his own drool. There was no poultice, no medicine—no magic—in the world that could have healed him so well.

Save one.

Hauth lowered himself to a seat atop Elm’s chest of clothes. “I see you thinking, Renelm. Trying to work it all out in that weaselly little mind.” His eyes flickered to Ione. “Did she tell you? About that night at Spindle House? About what I did to her?”

Rage coated Elm’s throat. He tried to open his mouth, but his jaw was locked.

Hauth’s eyes raked over Ione’s body. “How different you look, my dear, from the bloody shell of a woman lying beneath my window at Spindle House. When I opened my eyes two nights ago and saw you, so perfectly whole, I knew. Even when I understood nothing else, I knew.” The words slid between his teeth. “The Maiden Card healed you, Ione.”

Ione’s hand was cold in Elm’s, slick with sweat.

“When Father tapped the Nightmare Card and entered my mind, I tried to tell him. But the fool was too drunk, too unfocused. He didn’t hear me.” A touch of satisfaction crossed Hauth’s face. “But a night later, Linden did.”

The door opened behind him. And then Linden was there. Only now, his face was clear, his skin unblemished—his scars gone.

“Take his Scythe,” Hauth said, nodding at Elm.

Brutish hands pushed into Elm’s pockets. Linden looked up at him with a sneer. He ripped Elm’s Scythe free. Then, for good measure, rammed a fist into his stomach.

Breath rushed out of him and nausea rolled. But he couldn’t even double over. The Scythe’s leash, holding him in place, was too tight.

The old panic Elm had shoved behind walls was back. It clawed out of his chest, up his throat, into his mouth, begging him to scream. He was a boy again, tethered by his brother’s Scythe.

Waiting for pain.

Hauth held out his hand, and Linden dropped Elm’s Scythe into it. “When you returned the Nightmare Card last night, Linden used it. He found me. And pieced together what Father couldn’t.”

“‘Maiden,’” Linden said, glowering at Elm, then Ione. “That’s what I heard him say into my mind. Over and over. ‘Maiden Card.’ Then, ‘Ione.’”

Linden stood in front of Elm. Looked him up and down with an unmasked leer. “Hauth told me some time ago where he’d made Miss Hawthorn place her Card. But when I went to the throne room, it was not under the hearthstone. I thought maybe she’d recovered it. I went to her room to search. Her door was locked.” He reached for his belt. “But yours, Prince Renelm, was not.”

There was a clang of iron. Linden pulled a ring of keys—Elm’s ring of keys—free and dangled it in front of him. “You should really take your duties more seriously, Prince. It took me less than five minutes to unlock her door and find her Maiden. I tapped it three times, and then—” He ran a hand over his face, where the skin had once been cleaved. “My scars vanished. I was healed.”

Elm had to do something. Or else he and Ione might never escape this room. But he couldn’t. Fucking. Move.

A smirk graced the corners of Hauth’s mouth. “Not so tough without Ravyn, are you, brother?” He stepped forward, took Elm by the throat. “Where are they—Ravyn and Jespyr? Tell me.”

Another wave of salt hit Elm’s senses. His jaw ached. When he opened it, venom pooled, his brother’s Scythe dragging the truth out of his mouth. “Gone for the Twin Alders.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know.”

Hauth ripped the ring of keys out of Linden’s hand and hit Elm across the face with it. “When will they be back?”

“I don’t know.”

Another blow.

Ione made a noise in her throat.

“What’s the matter, Renelm?” Another blow. “Nothing clever to say?”

Elm’s mouth filled with blood. He spat, painting Hauth’s boots red. “You may be healed, but your time is marked, brother. I know who it is you woke when you bashed Elspeth Spindle’s head into the wall.” He looked deep in Hauth’s Rowan-green eyes. “And not even a Maiden Card can save you when he returns.”

Fear flickered over that perfect brutish face. Hauth’s fingers tightened around the ring of keys. Elm sucked in a breath, waiting for another blow.