: Part 1 – Chapter 9

Ravyn saw me as far as the stairwell.

It was evening, Equinox night. Soon the second feast would begin, followed by court festivities—dancing, games, and all manner of debauchery fueled by the King’s wine.

“I must speak to the others. I trust you can find your own way back to your rooms,” Ravyn said, turning to leave. Then, as if he’d forgotten something, he looked back at me, his voice less strained. “I’ll see you at dinner, Miss Spindle.”

A threat or a promise? said the Nightmare.

I watched the Captain of the Destriers make his way across the hall, his steps hurried. He doesn’t trust me.

You told him your mind is off-limits. If he didn’t think you were hiding anything before, he certainly does now.

I AM hiding something, I said, fidgeting with the hem of my torn sleeve as I marched up the stairs. You.

The corridor was busy. Servants attended the rooms with trays of wine. Men loitered outside their doors in groups, laughing and smoking. I stayed clear of them, brushing up against the gray Prophet tapestry. So sudden was the ache to be back at Hawthorn House—away from everything and everyone—that I put a hand to my stomach.

When I opened the door to our rooms, Nya was in the parlor.

“For heaven’s sake!” she shrieked. The attending maid’s hands were white from cinching her into a very robust corset. “Close the door. Do you want everyone to see me in my undergarments?”

I ignored her and moved to my room, slamming the door. I sat on the bed, the last remnants of gray light fading to darkness. I’d been cooped up for hours in that cellar beneath the castle, most of the day lost to Ravyn Yew. He was a strange man, the Captain of the Destriers. I’d expected someone in his position to be a bit less quiet, more abrasive—more brutal.

I was happy to be wrong.

Still, there was darkness in Ravyn’s quiet. I could see it in his expression—the cool control of his features. He, like me, had learned to still his face—to obscure his thoughts under a mask of control and austerity.

Which meant he, like me, had things to hide.

Why else would he and his cousin stalk the forest road when they had the mighty Destriers at their disposal? If the Nightmare was correct about anything, it was that whatever his motives, the Captain wanted my magic.

It intrigued him.

The Captain of the Destriers is dark and severe. Watching from yew trees, his gray eyes are clear. His wingspan is broad and his beak is quite sharp. Hide quick or he’ll find you… and rip out your heart.

Dimia opened my door without knocking, her hair still wet from the washroom. When she saw me, her upper lip drew into a thin line. “Where have you been? You look a mess.”

“I was in the garden.”

“We were all in the garden,” Nya said, following her twin into my room, her corset casting an airy quality to her voice. “You’re the only one who came out with dirt on your dress and brambles in your hair.”

“Hurry up,” Nerium’s voice called from the other room. “We’re expected downstairs before the eighth chime.”

I pulled a loose twig out of my hair. “Did you know Ione was given a Maiden Card?”

My half sisters jerked their heads toward me. “What do you mean she’s been given one?” Nya said.

Dimia launched herself onto the bed, the mattress groaning. “Who gave it to her?”

“How much did it cost?”

“Does she look different?”

I moved to the washroom, peeling off my dirty dress. “All I know,” I said, “is she had it this morning on the garden walk. Did she say anything to you about it?”

Dimia pouted. “No one tells me anything.” Nya opened the washroom door, dragging my dark green gown. She held the dress up to me, examining it. “Fine enough make,” she said. “Though the color is too dark for Equinox. Did Father give it to you?”

“No,” I said, sliding the wet towel across my skin before snatching the gown. “Uncle.”

She raised her brows. “He’s far more generous than I imagined if he’s fitting you with new dresses and spending half his fortune on a Maiden Card. Who knew living in the wood paid so well?”

“It doesn’t,” Nerium said, entering my room, making no effort to hide the fact that she’d been eavesdropping. “Which means he borrowed the money. Or traded something of great value.”

The Nightmare’s laughter startled me.

“Here,” Nya said, handing me a fine-toothed comb. “Take this. Your hair’s more tangled than a bird’s nest.”

There was a tall silver looking glass in the common area. When I’d dressed I stepped to it, blinking at the woman in the mirror—hardly recognizing myself in the vibrant green gown. Dimia sidled up next to me, plumping her cheeks in the mirror. “Alyx Laburnum asked me about you last night.”

I clapped a hand to my face. “You didn’t say anything, did you?”

Nya scowled, her mouth a tight line. “I can’t understand why you snub him,” she said. “He’s amiable and thoughtful—far too good for you.”

“That he is,” I said without remorse.

Nerium came up behind us, wrangling her daughters, pinching their cheeks until they glowed red. “That’s the chime.” She shot me a brief up and down glance. “I trust you will find no reason to embarrass us this evening, Elspeth.”

I could think of a fair few things that might embarrass my stepmother. Being chased through the mist by the Captain of the Destriers, for one.

And knocking him senseless, said the Nightmare.

My lip twitched, but I did not smile.

My father was waiting in the corridor with the other men to escort us, his tunic a deep crimson red. He offered Nerium his hand. The twins followed, their arms linked together, leaving me to trail behind, a shadow next to their brilliant Spindle red.

We stepped into the corridor and made our way to the great hall. I cast my gaze about for Ione and her pink light but saw few Cards. Color emanating from three sentinel Destriers, a Golden Egg, a Chalice, and a Scythe filled the room. But no Maiden Cards.

When the orator announced the name Spindle, my father and Nerium stepped forward first, followed by my half sisters, then, lastly, me. The crowd turned to watch us. Heat rose in my cheeks and I clenched my fingers into fists along my dress, determined not to feel like the afterthought they painted me.

Prince Elm Rowan stood at the foot of the grand stairwell, the red glow from his Scythe lighting our way.

The Prince’s smile did not touch his eyes. “Erik,” he said, extending a hand. “I’m sorry I missed you at the hunt. Welcome to Equinox.”

“Highness.” My father bowed deeply. “Thank you for having us.”

“Always a pleasure to see you and your daughters.”

Dimia giggled and Nya elbowed her, their swanlike necks bent low.

Elm blinked at them, his freckled nose wrinkling, as if he’d smelled something foul. His eyes shifted over them to me. “This must be your first wife’s daughter.”

My father looked back, as if only just remembering me. “Elspeth has not come to Equinox in years,” he said, bidding me forward. “Elspeth, you remember Prince Renelm.”

I bowed. When Elm extended his hand in greeting, our fingers met, cold and unfeeling. “Welcome back to Stone, Miss Spindle,” he said, his green eyes cunning. “May I escort you to dinner?”

The Rowans are not to be trusted. They cling too desperately to their Scythes, hungry for power—for control, the Nightmare called in the din. Be wary.

I tensed, my eyes lowering to the red Card in Elm’s pocket. But I took his arm anyway, the fabric along our sleeves sliding together. He was only two years older than me—the same age as Ione. His green eyes stood out against olive skin, and when his hair caught the light, thick and unkempt, it was the same color as the Equinox wreaths that hung above the arches of the great hall, bright with autumn hues.

He was undeniably handsome. But the red light from his Scythe cast strange shadows across his features. I looked away, unnerved.

We glided through the room with my father’s second family behind us, the ocean of folk parting. Candles and torches had been lit and the great hall was aglow, illuminating the fine fabrics of Blunder’s houses, namesake trees embroidered on the breasts of dresses and tunics alike.

I looked for Ione and the Hawthorns but did not see them, the crowd as thick as the mist.

A servant trotted by with a silver tray of brimming goblets. Elm took two and handed me one brusquely, spilling some wine on the floor near our feet. I took it with both hands, happy to no longer be touching him.

Elm drank deeply from the goblet, his green eyes tracing the room. “You must be very special,” he said out the corner of his mouth, waving and nodding as members of his father’s court passed us. “It’s not often Ravyn lets anyone into his confidence.”

“Confidence?”

“You were alone together for hours.” A terse smile slithered across his mouth. “What’s more, he’s insisting you, or your magic, are somehow useful.”

I stared at the King’s second son, tightness creeping into my stomach. How easily he wore the mask of cordiality—of charm. But I could hear disapproval, doubt, in his voice. I smelled it on him like smoke.

I took a step back, distrusting the Prince as readily as he did me. But before I could walk away, a man—tall and handsome and broad—approached us, the crowd’s eyes following him.

“Brother,” High Prince Hauth Rowan said in greeting, his gaze shifting from Elm to me. “Who is this lovely creature?”

If my thoughts on Prince Elm were bleak, my opinion of Hauth was abysmal. The High Prince was a brute. Bathed in the red light of his Scythe Card, Hauth had no qualms forcing others to do his bidding, especially those who flouted Blunder’s laws.

I’d heard he was fond of executing criminals with his Scythe, forcing them to do horrible things against their will. The High Prince would often call a great crowd at the edge of town. Then, with three taps of his Scythe Card, he sent the accused, without a charm, to die in the mist—lost to the salt and the ravenous hunger of the Spirit of the Wood.

It made my skin crawl just to stand next to him.

Hauth gazed down at me. He was wider than his brother—his muscles prominent beneath his gold tunic. His skin was olive and his eyes the same Rowan green, but where Elm’s gaze was narrow and cunning, Hauth’s stare was bold, aggressive. “You’re Erik’s eldest daughter?”

“Pleased to meet you, sire,” I said, lowering my head.

“We haven’t met before?”

Elm exhaled through his teeth. “Hence the introduction, brother.”

Hauth reached forward, taking my hand and kissing it. “Better late than never.”

Elm made a gagging sound. “That’s enough of that,” he said, steering me away from his brother before the High Prince could get another word in. I felt Hauth’s eyes on my back but did not turn to face them, my skin crawling from his touch.

“I need another drink,” Elm muttered, leaving me to stand alone without a second glance. “Don’t go too far, Spindle.”

I found my aunt lingering at a food tray.

She jumped when I touched her shoulder, then folded me in a deep hug. When she pulled back, she looked me up and down, her eyes wide. “You look lovely!”

I searched the crowd around her, recognizing the telltale bickering of my younger cousins as they sprinted across the room, crumbs flying from their open mouths. “Where is Ione?” I asked. “We… argued. I want things to feel right again.”

The creases around my aunt’s brow deepened. Tears glistened in her eyes, and she rubbed her nose. “Ione is somewhere with your father and the King. Oh, Elspeth.” She raised a sleeve to her eye. “Your uncle is a stubborn man.”

My stomach dropped. “What does the King want with her?”

When my aunt spoke, her voice hitched. “Your uncle has given away his Nightmare Card to the King and struck an accord—without consulting me.”

The sound of crashing silver clamored nearby. My cousins raced past, laughing wickedly.

“Bless the trees!” my aunt cried. “Are none of my children right in the head?” She shook herself, then dashed through the crowd after her sons.

I stared after her, my insides twisting.

A bell chimed at the head of the table, and the room began to fill. I stayed where I was, my arms crossed over my chest. My dress hugged me tightly, and for a moment I held perfectly still, lulled by the soft material, lost in thought.

Someone tapped my shoulder. “You look beautiful, Elspeth.”

I groaned, recognizing the voice. Alyx.

When I turned he was standing there in another bright yellow tunic, smile wide, eyes expectant. “I’ve just asked your father if you might sit with me and my parents,” he said. “He gave his consent.” He paused. “So long as you’re agreeable, that is.”

I know no one’s going to ask me what I want, the Nightmare said, snide to his bones, but just in case you were wondering, the answer is no. No, I am decidedly NOT agreeable.

A surprise to no one, I muttered. “Look, Alyx, I’m—”

“My mother is anxious to meet you. I’ve told her so much about you…”

I didn’t hear the rest. My gaze shifted over Alyx’s shoulder, catching someone in the crowd. Ravyn Yew stood a few paces away, talking to two other Destriers, his hands clasped behind his back. He had changed his tunic since I’d last seen him. The belt of knives around his waist was gone, replaced by the gilded hilt of a long ceremonial blade. His tunic was dark blue with gold trim, and though I searched for the burgundy color of the Nightmare Card, no light emanated from his pockets. He was Cardless.

We’d only been apart an hour. Still, I couldn’t help but feel every time I saw Ravyn Yew, I was looking at a different man.

Drawn by my gaze, Ravyn turned his head. His eyes captured mine, falling a moment to my dress before shifting to Alyx. For the briefest of moments, I thought I saw the corner of his lips curl.

Alyx was still talking when Ravyn approached. “And I—Oh, excuse me, Captain Yew,” he said, bowing his head. “I didn’t see you.”

Ravyn returned his bow. “Enjoying Equinox, Laburnum?”

“Very much so. I was just inviting Miss Spindle to join my family and me for the feast.”

Ravyn’s eyes returned to me. There it was again—that nigh invisible smirk. “And how are you enjoying Equinox, Miss Spindle?” he asked me.

“As best I can,” I said, my voice thinner than I liked. Then, for spite, “Though there are a few too many Destriers here for my liking.”

Ravyn cocked a brow. “Do you have something against Destriers, Miss Spindle?”

“Not all of them.” I searched his face. When I noted the bruise along his cheekbone where I’d kicked him earlier, a small smile of my own slid across my mouth. “But most.”

Alyx’s eyes darted between us. “Yes, well, we should take our seats, Elspeth, my parents—”

I put a hand on Alyx’s arm. “You’ve been very sweet, Alyx. But I told the Yews I’d sit with them this evening. Isn’t that right, Captain?”

Alyx stalled, midstep. Ravyn ran a hand over his jaw, hiding his expression. “Indeed.”

Alyx pressed his hand over mine, trapping it against his arm. “I have your father’s permission, Elspeth.”

“But not mine,” I said, more forceful this time. “Now, if you please—”

Alyx made like he was going to protest, his mouth open, brow knit. But an icy look from Ravyn was enough to smother whatever ire burned within him. He let go of my hand, shot me a look somewhere between anger and hurt, and hurried off into the crowd.

Ravyn watched him go, crossing his arms over his chest. “Not the winning moment he hoped for, poor Laburnum.”

“Don’t,” I said, rubbing my hand, guilt tugging at me. “Alyx is too nice for his own good. He’s gotten worse from me than he deserves.”

“It’s the nice ones you should look out for,” Ravyn said.

I glanced up at him. “What about you, Captain? Are you too nice for your own good?”

He watched me, something I could not read flashing in his gray eyes. “No, Miss Spindle,” he said. “I’m not nice at all.”

The bell rang again, more eager in its chime. The crowd moved to the candlelit tables in the center of the room, hasty to claim their seats. I lingered, uncertain of my place.

“My family is over there,” Ravyn said, gesturing to the table. “If you were earnest about sitting with me.”

I glanced at him, my voice colder than I’d intended. “I suppose I don’t have much choice in the matter.”

He shrugged. “You could sit with Jespyr. She’s easier to talk to. Or, if you prefer, Elm is right over there.”

“I’d rather take my chances with Emory again,” I bit back. “Or is he indisposed?”

A flinch crossed Ravyn’s sharp face. A moment later it was gone, replaced by familiar, cool austerity. “My brother won’t be in attendance this evening.” He held his arm out to me. “Shall we?”

He led me silently to our seats, planting us near the head of the table where we stood with everyone else, waiting for King Rowan to arrive. My hand grew warm against the sleeve of Ravyn’s tunic and I tensed, unsure when to let go.

Destriers lined the wall ahead of us, shadowed by their Black Horses.

“So many Destriers,” I grumbled.

“That’s the way things are in my uncle’s home, I’m afraid.”

“Your home, too, isn’t it?”

“Duty requires I remain here, with the King,” he said, his expression unwavering. “But it is not my home. My family’s estate is in town. The Destriers often train there, as they once did at Spindle House.”

I frowned. “The castle at the top of the hill?”

“The very same.”

Castle Yew was old—the grounds historic. The wrought-iron gate and the dark, climbing ivy resided under the shadow of ancient yew trees—tall and foreboding. Beyond lay a statuary, a maze of stone and hedges, then the towering, ominous house. I had walked past the gate many times as a child, certain to my bones there was something to fear under those trees.

I’d never been inside.

The bell chimed a third time. We turned to face the head of the table. The shuffling of dresses and conversations quieted as the orator stood to give his announcements.

“Presenting His Royal Highness, King Quercus Rowan, Ruler of Blunder, Keeper of Laws, and Protector of Providence Cards.”

We bowed as he entered. I recalled little of the King’s features from my childhood. I had been allotted only brief glimpses of him over the years. Still, it was impossible to mistake the King for anything other than royalty. Garbed in gold robes trimmed with rich fur, a rowan tree embroidered across his chest, King Rowan stood tall and bold. His yellow hair—grayed with age—framed his sharply angled face, his broad nose crooked where it had been broken years ago.

He was not a charming, delicate ruler. Formidable—ruthless—fit his description more aptly, and though Blunder had been without war for hundreds of years, King Rowan had all the appearance of a great warrior stationed before his army, not a King at court.

“His Second Royalty,” the orator continued, “Hauth Rowan, High Prince, Heir to Blunder, Destrier, and Keeper of Laws.”

We bowed a second time. Though more handsome than his father, Hauth was still unmistakably a Rowan. Broad, strong, and brutal. Red and black lights emanated from the breast pocket of his silver tunic.

I moved to take my seat, but Ravyn shook his head, bidding me to wait.

“We’ve come together this Equinox to recognize our great kingdom,” the High Prince called. “It has not been an easy harvest. The Spirit of the Wood’s stranglehold on Blunder continues. Still, let us celebrate the triumphs we’ve achieved in family, in health, and, most importantly, in the trade and use of Providence Cards.”

The great hall echoed with applause.

“Many of you have shared your wealth with my family,” Hauth continued. “I thank you. But greater than wealth, there is duty. As High Prince of Blunder, it is my duty to share in my father’s legacy—to follow his path, and the path laid out for all of us in The Old Book of Alders.”

The Nightmare let out a hiss.

Hauth cast a brief glance at his father, and the King nodded. “Like Kings before him, it has been my father’s mission to collect all twelve Providence Cards,” Hauth said, his voice louder. “With them, we will lift the mist and banish the Spirit of the Wood, ridding Blunder of magical infection.” He paused. “I am pleased to tell you that tonight, we are closer to achieving that goal.”

Hauth turned to the side, gesturing forward someone I could not see.

Two lights warred for dominance. One burgundy, the other pink, carried by a strikingly beautiful woman with yellow hair. My heart plummeted into my stomach as Hauth’s voice rattled over the din. “Tonight,” he declared, “thanks to his generous contribution, my father has knighted Tyrn Hawthorn. We are proud to offer his daughter a place in our royal family.”

Applause erupted around me, glass clinking and cheers sounding, the clamor enormous.

Next to me, Ravyn Yew exhaled, as if all the wind in his lungs had frozen. Across the table, Elm Rowan and Jespyr Yew had gone ghostly pale, their faces arrested in shock.

Hauth took the hand of the beautiful woman. She passed him the burgundy light, a smile on her full lips. Hauth, goaded by the crowd’s uproar, held up the Providence Card trimmed by dark burgundy velvet. “I present to you,” he called, “the elusive Nightmare Providence Card, and my future wife, Ione Hawthorn.”