Chapter Ten #2
I could feel Ravyn’s chest swell as he sucked in a breath, sharp lines of strain creeping across his face.
I remained frozen, staring up at him, his finger still pressed against my lips.
It was warm—the skin rough. I tried to keep my mouth from moving—to lessen the deep unease I felt to be trapped so near the Captain of the Destriers.
But all I managed to do was hold my breath.
And even that did not last. Especially with my heart racing.
I inhaled abruptly, my lips parting against the skin of his finger.
Ravyn lowered his gaze to my mouth. His finger slipped off my lips, his eyes meeting mine for a fleeting glance before he looked back at the door.
And though it was too dark to be certain, I thought I saw a flush slide up his neck.
The men in the hallway continued to speak. “I can strengthen his sedatives. Only, with the Captain of the Destriers so protective, I fear I will not be allowed to administer them.”
“Do not bother the Captain with news of his brother,” the other said. “If Emory gives you any more trouble, come to me. And whatever you do,” he warned, “don’t let the boy touch you. It will only unnerve you.”
Their voices echoed in the hall, growing smaller. A moment later they were gone, my heartbeat the only remaining clamor.
I looked up at Ravyn, searching his face for answers I could not yet fathom. Emory. They’d been talking about Emory—his dangerous, inconstant nature.
“Who were they?” I whispered.
“Physicians,” Ravyn said, deep lines in his brow. “Filick’s cousin.”
“Orithe Willow?” I managed.
“You know him?”
A narrow man with pale, milky eyes cut across my mind. “He came to my uncle’s house, searching my family for any sign of the infection.”
Ravyn tensed. “He never tested your blood?”
“No.” I let out a small sound—as if fingers had encircled my throat and begun to squeeze. “My aunt hid me.”
Ravyn looked down at me, some of the strain gone from his features. He slid his hand away from mine atop the latch, his warm, calloused thumb snagging over my knuckles. It was meant as a gesture of comfort—a quiet acknowledgment of my fear. And it was.
But that did not explain why we both looked away immediately afterward.
Ravyn moved to the open mahogany wardrobe in the far corner of the room. I heard the noise of fabric shifting as he pushed his clothes aside, revealing the wardrobe’s firm wooden backboard.
I squinted. There was a Card in the wardrobe, I was certain. But I could not yet make out its color—only that it was dark.
Ravyn knocked on the backboard. Then again. On the fourth knock, I heard an echo of hollowness. Grunting, Ravyn pried something I could not see out of a hidden panel in his wardrobe.
It was only when the Card was free that I understood its color. Rich and royal purple, like an amethyst stone I’d once seen on Market Street. A second Card hidden away, nearly as rare as the Nightmare—and just as terrifying.
The Mirror.
The Nightmare clawed at the inside of my head, as if pressing against bars. I felt a smile stretch across his face, his tail flicking. Even more delightful.
Of all the Providence Cards chronicled in The Old Book of Alders , the Mirror had frightened me most as a girl. I backed into the door, afraid to even be close to the Mirror Card.
So much dread , the Nightmare said. So much might. To see beyond the veil—what wicked delight.
There’s nothing delightful about being invisible , I said. Or seeing the dead.
He was quiet a moment. Some would give anything to speak to loved ones passed.
Ravyn shut the wardrobe and stepped toward the door, stopping only when our eyes met. “What’s the matter?”
I stared at the Mirror Card in his hand. “Are you going to use that?”
“It’s for you.”
Air whooshed out my open mouth, and I shoved my hands deep into my pockets. “I can’t,” I said too quickly.
Ravyn cocked a brow. “Trust me, you want to avoid Orithe.”
Now’s your chance , the Nightmare said, his voice thick with mischief. Tell him your real magic. Go on. Tell him why you refuse to touch Providence Cards.
This isn’t a game , I said. If I tell him I absorb any Card I touch, he’ll want to know the rest. He’ll find out about YOU.
Would that really be so horrible?
I ignored him, steeling myself. “I’ve no desire to use Providence Cards,” I said to Ravyn.
The Captain’s gray eyes tightened on my face. “Why is that, Miss Spindle?”
“Nothing comes for free,” I said, forcing firmness into my voice. “I don’t take risks. Not even with Cards. Please, Captain. I cannot.”
After a severe pause, his eyes lingering a moment too long on my face, Ravyn cleared his throat. “Very well. You won’t mind if I do, will you?”
Hallway light flooded the dark room when I opened the door. I turned, waiting to follow Ravyn’s lead, but he was suddenly gone—vanished.
Eyes wide, I yelped.
Faint laughter sounded from the space the Captain of the Destriers had stood.
“How—Are you still—”
“I’m right here,” Ravyn said, making me jump.
I reached out, expecting nothing. But my fingers collided with the silk of his tunic, pressing into Ravyn’s taut stomach muscles.
I retracted my hand immediately. “Right. Erm, sorry.”
“Better if I’m not seen,” he explained. “I’m supposed to be monitoring the crowd this evening. Can you see the Card?”
The purple light floated seemingly on its own accord—like an amethyst fairy on the wind. “Yes.”
“Good. Now pick your jaw up off the floor and follow me.”
“Providence Cards,” I muttered as I followed the purple and burgundy lights through Stone.
It had taken only three touches for the Mirror Card to work.
And while my own ability to absorb Providence Cards made such close proximity to any Card churn my stomach with dread, I could not help but feel a thimbleful of fascination for the power they held.
But I did not feed that fascination. Better let it starve, knowing I would never touch another Providence Card as long as I lived.
The Nightmare’s voice echoed through my mind. Nothing is free , he murmured. 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—
Will you just stop? I snapped. Just for a night—for one bloody night—can we give The Old Book of Alders a rest?
But my frustration only seemed to please him, and for the next few minutes as I tarried after Ravyn Yew through the castle, it was to the sound of the Nightmare’s laughter.
When we reached the bottom of the main stairwell, I heard the clamor of the great hall. The purple light bobbed in midair, then abruptly stopped.
I plowed into Ravyn, smashing my face against his shoulder blade. “What are you—”
“Elspeth,” a voice called.
I knew the voice too well—the chill, haughty lilt of Nerium’s voice.
My insides felt watery, every clack of her shoes a nail in my coffin. “Nerium,” I said, rubbing my nose, aware I was seeing my stepmother through Ravyn’s invisible body. “How are you enjoying Equinox?”
“Quite well,” Nerium said, coming so close that Ravyn was forced to step out from between us, his Card now glowing at my side. My stepmother’s voice grew eerily soft. “Until I saw you leave the King’s table with Ravyn Yew.”
“He was just escorting me—”
“Save it,” she said, lowering her voice as Wayland Pine and his three daughters moved past us.
“I don’t care who you sully your reputation with, you little fool,” she said.
“So long as it’s not the Captain of the Destriers.
Have you even considered what might happen to us if he”—she looked around, her blue eyes narrowing—“found out what you really are?”
I let out a slow breath. “And what am I, Nerium?”
Her icy blue eyes narrowed. “The same thing your mother was. Strange, fevered.” She whispered through her teeth. “Infected.”
I had never heard her say the word before. She hadn’t dared, not in front of my father. But the King’s wine had emboldened her, uncaging the quiet loathing she carried for me, long held at bay.
Her hatred stung, but it did not startle me. If anything, I felt a small relief, the veil between us finally falling. But she had evoked my mother. And for that, she would not get away unscathed. Too long had I let her mistake my silence for weakness.
“It doesn’t matter what my mother was—what I am. There will always be someone who cares for people like us, Nerium.”
“Like who? Your father?” Her laugh was sharp, meant to injure. “But he sent you away, my dear. Your father sent you away. How can you be certain he cares for you at all?”
I bit my cheek, heat boiling up my neck into my face.
“He keeps the rooms the way she made them, Nerium. That is why he refuses to let you remake Spindle House. He keeps them exactly as they were when she was alive. He orders irises for the parlor.” I clenched my jaw to keep the angry tears at bay.
“I can’t say if he cares for me or not. But I am certain that, long after you and I are gone, when the house falls to ruin, only two things will remain at Spindle House.
The spindle tree at the heart of the courtyard,” I said, my gaze unflinching, “and the whitebeam tree my father planted next to it the day my mother died.”
Glass formed over Nerium’s eyes. Lips pursed, hands tightening to fists. For a moment I thought she might hit me. But she said nothing, freezing me out.
She turned, rejoining the festivities as quickly as she’d left. I watched her go and tried not to look at the purple light hovering nearby.
“Have you met my stepmother, Captain?” I whispered, the remnants of my anger distilled in a single tear that fell to my cheek. “Lovely woman.”
The same calloused thumb that had slid over my knuckles in Ravyn’s chamber caught the tear on my cheek—dragged it away. It was gone in a moment. His voice drifted past my ear. “Come.”
The corridors below the stairs were poorly lit. Only the light from Ravyn’s Cards kept me from tripping over myself. How he saw in the dark, I did not know. Perhaps he’d grown used to the path.
I recognized the way just before we got to the door with the stags, the same room we’d been in only hours ago. A moment later I jumped, startled by the sudden reappearance of the Captain of the Destriers at my side.
“You did well,” he said, glancing down at me. “With your stepmother.”
I ran a hand over my face. “We don’t get along, she and I.”
“Does she always talk to you that way?”
“If she talks to me at all. Though I imagine she might have chosen her words more carefully had she known we were not alone.”
Ravyn slid his Mirror Card into his pocket, its violet light joining the Nightmare’s burgundy. “I should warn you,” he said, nodding to the door. “It’s not going to be pleasant in there, either.”
“What do you mean?”
“You said you wanted to know everything. It’s a double-edged sword, Miss Spindle.” He knocked three times on the door, then a fourth, then a fifth.
The door opened from the inside, the distinct growl of hounds meeting us at the threshold. I stepped in after Ravyn, my hands knotted in my skirt—my heart in my throat.
They sat at the rounded table, five of them: Jespyr Yew, Elm Rowan, Filick Willow, and two others I had not met but knew by the Yew insignia upon their clothes—Fenir and Morette Yew. Ravyn’s parents.
A single chair was situated in the middle of the room, the light from the hearth casting long, ominous shadows across it.
Ravyn gestured to it, offering me a seat.
The Nightmare slithered to the forefront of my mind, acute—aware. Let the inquest begin.