Ravyn’s eyes lifted to the chamber. And because every conversation with the Shepherd King seemed to drag up the past, he said, “On the subject of Providence Cards—” He nodded at the dark window. “I found two in there when I was a boy. I bled onto the stone, and it opened for me.” He reached into his pocket and retrieved his Mirror and the Nightmare Cards. “These were inside.”
Those yellow eyes grew distant. “And?”
“Did you put them there?”
“No.”
“Who did?” He paused. “Was it one of your children?”
The Nightmare did not speak. He had gone still. Unmoving, unblinking—staring into nothingness.
“Hello?”
No answer.
Ravyn drew a finger over his Nightmare Card. When the monster remained unfocused, he tapped the Card three times. There was a bite of salt, then Ravyn pushed the magic outward. Not to speak to the Nightmare—but to search the dark chamber of his mind.
Elspeth. Where are you?
The Nightmare’s stillness broke, his gaze snapping into focus. He rose to his feet and, with impressive might, shoved Ravyn to the ground.
Salt fled Ravyn’s senses as his head slammed onto grass. The cold, blunt tip of the Nightmare’s sword scraped over his throat.
“I told you once before, stupid bird. You must come invited into her mind.”
“And I told you I would find her when we were out of Stone.” Ravyn’s hands were fists in the grass. “It is injustice enough that the spirits of your children keep wait while you, monstrous, remain. But Elspeth is not a spirit you can ignore. She is not dead. Let. Her. Out.”
Even in the darkening meadow, those yellow eyes flared. They were the only part of the Nightmare not consumed by the shadow of the yew tree, as if he were the tree itself—and the shadow. “Do you never think beyond your own selfish wants, Ravyn Yew?” he snarled. “If I called her out of darkness into my terrible mind, it would pain her. You cannot imagine the rage that comes with having no control over your own thoughts—your own body. You, traitorous thing, who have never truly ceded authority. Liar, thief—immune to the Chalice and Scythe—you know nothing of losing control.” His lips twisted, snarl letting to a smile. “But you will. You will learn, just as I did, what it feels like to lose yourself in the wood.”
Chapter Twenty
Elm
The first thing Ione did when they got to the yard was hand Elm the full flagon of wine she’d smuggled out of the great hall. The second was to rip her dress.
She used both hands, tearing the neckline down to her sternum, destroying the stifling collar. The fabric made a sharp sound, buttons flying, powerless against her impressive yank.
Elm stopped drinking. “I could have helped with that.”
Ione gave her version of a smile, which was hardly a twitch of muscle in the corners of her mouth. Maybe it was all she was capable of. Or maybe she simply didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of making her smile. She took the wine back. “Developed a taste for removing my clothes, have you, Prince?”
That shut him up. Elm looked away. He wanted to break things. And her, ripping her dress like that, only maddened the desire.
“Is this what you usually do,” she asked, watching as he took a discarded javelin off the ground and shattered it against a nearby sparring post, “when you’re drunk and angry?”
Elm snatched the flagon out of her hand. “Among other things.”
“Such as?”
He met her gaze over the rim. “Can’t you guess?”
If the Maiden allowed Ione a flush, it was too dark in the yard to note it. She sucked her teeth. “I hope you don’t plan on talking to Farrah Pine the way you talk to me. She’s sweet.”
Elm handed her back the wine. “You don’t care how I talk to Farrah Pine.”
She sighed. “No, I don’t.”
Another javelin, shattered. “Just as well. I won’t be speaking to any of the women on my father’s list, her included.”
“You had an easy enough time back at the great hall,” Ione said. “For a moment, you almost sounded charming. If not a little—”
“Roguish? Utterly irresistible?”
She drank, a bead of red liquid lingering on her bottom lip. “Angry. Under it all, you sounded angry.”
Elm stepped closer, suppressing the urge to run his finger under her lip and wipe the wine away. “I am angry. I think, if I’m honest, I’ve been angry all my life.”
Ione’s eyes were honed, searching the pages of him. When the silence between them sharpened to a point, she took a deep breath. “Then be angry, Prince.” She handed the wine back to him. “It looks well on you.”
“Careful.” Elm brushed his thumb along the flagon’s wet rim—where her mouth had been. “That sounded an awful lot like a compliment.”
“I prefer to think of it as advice.”
“I’m sure you do.” He took a drink. “But you’ll forgive me if I have a difficult time taking advice on how to feel from a woman who can’t even muster a smile.”
She gave half a shrug. “Give me something to smile about.”
“I can think of a few.”
He saw it in her eyes—the flash of surprise. The widening of her pupils. And while the Maiden shielded her expression, it didn’t mask it entirely. There were still glints of something. Ione Hawthorn could feel something, of that Elm was certain.
She ignored his remark with a dismissive tilt of her chin. “I used to smile. I had little lines here.” She ran a finger, a gentle brushstroke, from the crease in her nose to the corner of her mouth. “From laughing.” She touched the outside of her eye. “Here as well. They’re gone now, of course. But I used to smile. I used to laugh.”
Elm’s eyes remained on her face, the smoothed-out terrain of her skin. “I remember,” he said quietly.
She scowled up at him and snatched the wine back, the dark liquid sloshing in the flagon. “No, you don’t. I’d wager all my money you never once glanced at me before Equinox.” She winced down a gulp. “If I had any money to wager.”
Wagers, barters, games. That’s what it boiled down to with Ione Hawthorn. Every look was a challenge, every question a test, a measurement. To what end, Elm wasn’t certain. But it made him tighten, chest to groin, knowing he wanted to play her games. And maybe it was the wine, or the way those hazel eyes pinned him in place, but he wasn’t ashamed to admit he’d do terrible, terrible things to win.
He fixed his mouth with a lazy smile. “Just as well you have no money. I’d take every last coin.”
Ione watched him over the lip of the flagon. “You’re full of shit, Prince.”
Elm stepped closer to take the flagon back. Only this time, his fingers folded over hers along the silver handle. He leaned in, his voice a low scrape in his throat. “You don’t think I noticed you, Ione?”
A breath hastened through the slim part between her lips. “Not before the Maiden. Men like you do not take pleasure in yellow flowers when there are roses in your garden.”
“I don’t take pleasure in either—horticulture’s not exactly a strong suit.” When she rolled her eyes, Elm tightened his hand over hers. “Wager something you do have, if you’re so sure.”