Chapter Twelve #2
Ravyn said nothing, watching me. He lowered himself to a seat, rubbing his eyes. For a moment he seemed spent, tired to the bone. It was the first time I considered that someone else’s day had been as grueling as mine.
Eyes red from rubbing them, Ravyn looked up at me. “I assume being under the Scythe is not a pleasant sensation. Are you all right?”
I kicked my foot against the stone floor. “Your cousin is a complete—”
“Ass. I know. But it was either the Scythe or the Chalice, considering the Nightmare is off the table.”
I did not miss the edge in his voice. My lips sealed in a tight line as the Captain of the Destriers watched me. When I offered no explanation, he continued. “Finding the Cards will be dangerous, Miss Spindle. You realize that.”
I tried to shrug, but there was no hiding the apprehension pooling in my stomach.
“Fortunately, we’ve been toeing this line of lawlessness for some time now. We know how to keep you safe.”
“And if I’m caught? If your uncle finds out I’m infected?”
He rose to his feet. “Then you’re back in the situation I found you in this morning. The difference is, you’ve gained some considerable allies.”
I stared at the King’s nephew, searching for something I could not find. Fear—apprehension—anything I might relate to my own disquiet. But Ravyn Yew was still, smooth as glass, untouched by the horrendous risk he’d thrust upon me.
My voice faltered. “And if I should like to leave?”
He held my gaze. “You’re not a prisoner.”
There are many different kinds of cages , the Nightmare said.
I tried to ignore him. “I’m free to go—back to my aunt’s house—should I wish to?”
“Of course,” Ravyn said. “Only, I thought you wanted to find a cure.”
“I do.”
“Then help us. Help us, so we might help you.”
I reached into the darkness, my mind snagging the gristly hair along the Nightmare’s spine. I won’t get out of this unscathed without your help.
He twisted, his ears perked. You’re giving me a free hand?
I gritted my teeth. I’m asking you to keep me alive, Nightmare. If only long enough so that I can finally get rid of you.
His laughter twisted through my mind like a ghost combing a corridor, near and far at the same time.
I looked up at Ravyn. For eleven years, the infection had been a leash around my throat. I had cowed under that leash, the hope for a cure beyond the scope of my imagination.
But as I gazed into the Captain’s gray eyes—a man who, by law, should see me dragged to the dungeon—the leash around my throat loosened.
He had opened a door—taken a key from his belt and unlocked a part of Blunder I had not allowed myself to believe in.
I was a child again, wrapped up in The Old Book of Alders .
There was magic in the world. Terrible, wonderful magic.
Magic great enough to undo magic. A cure for the infection.
And a way to get the Nightmare out of my head.
“When do we start?” I asked.
The Captain of the Destriers took a step up. We stood toe to toe, his shadow swallowing me whole. “I’d say we’ve already begun.”
With that, he strode up the steps two at a time, the Cards in his pocket casting eerie light along the dark stone walls. When I didn’t follow, he turned and said, “An hour, Miss Spindle. Just so we’re seen. After that, we can be free of this wretched castle.”
The drinking and dancing had moved into the gardens. The clamor of dozens of families echoed across the castle grounds, cloistered by mist that rested just beyond the hedges.
Ravyn led us through the great hall, back up the main stairwell.
“The celebration is that way,” I said gesturing to the wide gilded door that led out into the gardens.
“I want you to see why we’ve gone down this path, Miss Spindle,” Ravyn said. “Why we’re risking everything to get the last three Cards.” He glanced over his shoulder at me. “Emory,” he said. “We’re going to see Emory.”
Dread coiled with curiosity in my stomach. It seemed too dark and cruel that the King would sacrifice his own nephew—even if the outcome could forever change Blunder for good.
A King’s reign is wrought with burden , the Nightmare whispered, his voice uncharacteristically heavy. Weighty decisions ripple through centuries. Still, decisions must be made.
“Why Emory?” I asked. “I know the infection is rare… but surely there is someone else…”
“Blood must be spilled,” Ravyn said, his voice far away. “Could there ever be an easy choice?”
We were already a flight higher than the rooms I shared with my father, stepmother, and half sisters.
So steep my knees ached, Stone felt like one long, endless staircase.
I heaved my dress and tried to keep from panting.
Anything to avoid another scrutinous look down Ravyn Yew’s narrow nose.
When we reached the fourth floor, I rested a hand on the banister, pretending to admire a Golden Egg tapestry as I sucked in lungful after lungful of air.
If Ravyn noticed my breathlessness, he was decent enough not to mention it. “This is the royal wing,” he said. “Emory’s kept comfortable. As comfortable as he can be.” When I said nothing, he lowered his voice. “But he’s dying.”
My gaze jerked to his face, my breathlessness forgotten.
Ravyn continued. “That’s why the King has chosen Emory’s blood to unite the Deck.
He thinks he’s saving my brother from a long, painful degeneration.
A mercy killing.” He ground his boots into the carpet beneath our feet.
“My uncle could have sent him to the Physicians—killed him outright as soon as he learned of Emory’s infection.
But he didn’t. He bent the rules—let Emory live.
” He ran a hand over his brow. “And I’ve repaid him with lies. ”
I felt the sudden urge to reach out and touch his arm. But the gesture seemed far too intimate. “You wouldn’t have to lie if the King withdrew his Physicians and let people like Emory and me walk free,” I said.
“I’ve tried to work it out a hundred ways.
But the King will brook no argument. Emory has been conspicuous with his magic—too many people have guessed at his infection.
” He gritted his teeth. “My uncle is bound to his Rowan lineage. Everyone infected by magic must die.” Ravyn ran his hand over his face.
“And so we have no choice. If we want to save Emory, we must collect the Deck ourselves. By winter Solstice.”
“Why Solstice?”
“Emory’s magic flares at the shift of seasons.
And The Old Book of Alders states the Cards should be joined at the darkest part of the year .
” He took a deep breath. “Emory may not survive another turn of the year. I may be a liar and a traitor,” he said, “but at least I can say there is nothing I would not do to save my brother.”
We walked on through a brightly lit corridor. The rug beneath my feet was a heavy wool, richly embroidered and dyed a crimson red.
Two guards stood beneath the torches on either side of a tall, narrow door. They were armed with swords and a long, ominous cord of rope. When they saw Ravyn, they shrank back into shadow.
Ravyn ignored them and opened the door. By its groan, I could tell it was heavy—fortified. I filed into the chamber behind the Captain of the Destriers, my eyes wide as I took in my surroundings.
The candles in the room were not lit. They’d been blown out by the strong wind that caught just below the window. Ravyn sealed the shutters as I stepped to the old oak table in the center of the room, my eyes wide.
The hearth was lit. The smell of wine and the must from the hundreds of books atop mahogany shelves filled my nose. Across from the table along the far wall was a large bed, covered with blankets and more books.
But for its warmth and rich furnishings, the room was still—lifeless. Empty.
Emory Yew, the King’s captive, was gone.