Chapter Nine #2
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.”