Forward, always forward.
Out of the rotting valley, into the ravenous wood. Trees swung at them and thorns hungered for a bite, the song of the wood a discordant call of wind, screeching through branches. Animals stalked and lunged. They clambered over roots—swung their swords at beasts of prey. The Nightmare kept Jespyr in his arms and Ravyn shielded them, taking the brunt of the branches that managed to land their blows.
Ravyn had not eaten for what felt like an age, but he was not hungry. He’d been afforded centuries—walked with the Spirit of the Wood through time. And now that he was back, he knew only one urge.
To outrun the clock.
The wood hunted them through the night. Then, like a candle in the darkest room, a pale light shone ahead. The Nightmare saw it, too, and his pace quickened. The light came from a small gap in the trees. It beckoned Ravyn just as strongly as the mist had beckoned Jespyr into the alderwood.
Dawn.
Nothing is free, the trees called after them. Nothing is safe. Magic is love, but also it’s hate. It comes at a cost. You’re found and you’re lost. Magic is love, but also—
“For mercy’s sake.” The Nightmare spat phlegm onto roots. “Shut the fuck up.”
They shot out of the alderwood into pale gray light. When Ravyn looked back, the gap in the trees had closed. He took in a full breath, the air bereft of rot. It washed down his lungs, so pure it made him cough. They stood in the aspen grove they’d slept in last night. Only, it hadn’t been last night. It had been nearly a month ago.
Then Ravyn remembered Petyr.
His gaze darted left, then right. He called his friend’s name. “Petyr. Petyr!”
“He wouldn’t have waited this long.” The Nightmare panted, his arms still wrapped firmly around Jespyr. “A clever man—which is giving him a deal too much credit—would have returned to Castle Yew.” He hurried west. “As must we. And fast.”
Ravyn’s stomach plummeted into his boots. “The Cards,” he gasped. “Even if we get to Castle Yew before midnight, we can’t unite the Deck. I—I don’t have all the Cards.”
The Nightmare stopped so abruptly Jespyr fell from his shoulder. He caught her before her head could hit soil. She groaned, eyelids flickering.
Ravyn staggered forward, put his hand on his sister’s overwarm forehead. “Jes?”
Bleary brown eyes opened. Jespyr reached for Ravyn, her fingers grazing over his face, his swollen nose. “What happened?”
It hurt, the place her fingers trailed. A sharp, consuming pain touched Ravyn’s face. He drew back. “I’ll explain everything soon. But we’ve got to get home.”
“Home,” Jespyr said, eyelids dropping once more. She rested her head against the Nightmare’s chest. “Tell the Shepherd King…he needs a bath.”
She slipped unconscious, and the Nightmare pressed her over his shoulder once more. When he glanced back at Ravyn’s face, his yellow eyes widened.
By instinct, Ravyn touched where the Nightmare was looking. His nose.
“What do you mean you don’t have all the Cards?” the Nightmare demanded.
Ravyn kept running his hand over his face, looking for injury. He felt nothing—no swelling, no pain, just a lingering tingle where Jespyr’s fingers had grazed his skin. “The Deck is divided between the Cards hidden in the stone in your chamber and those I have in my pocket. We have all but the Scythe, which is with—”
“The Princeling.” Sounding of a serpent’s hiss, the Nightmare’s breath came fast. “Then we must find him. This is the only chance we have. Emory will not live to see another Solstice.”
“I know that well enough.” Ravyn reached for Jespyr. “Here, let me—”
“No,” he snarled. “I will carry her.”
Crows cawed overhead. Ravyn and the Nightmare continued west. They found a small stream and drank deeply, only for Ravyn to spit most of the water back up on a sprint through a glen.
The Nightmare never let go of Jespyr. Even when he spoke to the trees, asking for the way, he never set her down. Never let her go.
Dawn slipped into day, then dusk. The path wasn’t easy. At times, there was no path at all, just rocks and thorns and dense underbrush.
Ravyn tripped, panting. “Need—to stop.”
The Nightmare kept going, pulling in rasping breaths. “Elspeth says if you do not get up, she’ll never kiss you again.”
“That’s—not—what she—said.”
“Get up, Ravyn.” The Nightmare’s oily voice echoed through the wood. “Get up.”
Ravyn dragged himself off his knees and followed. He’d never pushed this hard, not in a decade of training. Not even when his opponents were fitted with Black Horses and he had only his strength to rely upon. He’d never needed so badly to keep—going—forward.
The underbrush was gone, and suddenly his boots were clogging with mud. Ravyn looked up.
The lake.
Night had fallen, darkness pressing down onto the water’s eerily still surface. The last time they’d crossed, the lake had been a pale silver. Now, it bore the color of the blackest of inks.
Ravyn stood next to the Nightmare on the shore’s muddy lip and put a hand into his pocket. His fingers brushed the velvet of five Providence Cards—Black Horse, Maiden, Mirror, Nightmare, Twin Alders. If he drowned, the Cards would be lost at the bottom of the lake.
“Will there be more monsters in the water?”
“No. That barter was already paid.” The Nightmare tightened his grip on Jespyr. He waded up to his knees into the lake. “Hurry.”
Water filled Ravyn’s boots. But before either of them could dive—
Salt filled his nose, only to retreat a moment later. Ravyn knew that feeling. Someone had tried to use a Providence Card he was immune to against him.
His hand fell to his dagger. A moment later he heard it: the thunderous sound of a cantering horse.
It came from the path behind them, bearing two riders. The horse, white with gray speckles, Ravyn recognized at once. It was Elm’s horse.
The first rider dismounted with a booming curse before the animal could reach a full stop. “Where the bloody hell have you lot been?”
Petyr ran full speed at Ravyn. “I’ve never been so happy to see your ugly face.”
Wind soared from his lungs, his friend’s arms a vise around his chest. “Likewise,” Ravyn managed. He looked over Petyr’s shoulder, eyes widening.
Ione Hawthorn wore a tattered gray dress and stood next to Elm’s horse. Her chest heaved, eyes darting between Ravyn to Jespyr to the Nightmare—lingering upon the latter. “Elspeth?”
“She’s with me.” The Nightmare rolled his eyes. “And she is very loud in her enthusiasm to see you, yellow girl.”
Petyr pulled back. “What the hell happened—is Jes all right?” He tripped over himself, getting to the Nightmare. He reached for Jespyr.
“I’m carrying her—”
“Shove off, you ancient windbag.” In one impressive maneuver, Jespyr was in Petyr’s arms. “You still with us, princess? Want to hold my lucky coin?”
She stirred in his arms. Grimaced. Her brown eyes opened a sliver. “You smell worse than he did.”