Chapter Nineteen #3
Get up , the Nightmare called. Get up, Elspeth.
I rolled, listening to the wood. Footsteps sounded through the mist, but this time when I looked up, I saw the faintest hints of color in the distance—burgundy, violet, and mossy green. The Nightmare, the Mirror, and the Iron Gate.
Ravyn.
He must have heard me coming, because when I came crashing through the mist, he was gone—vanished with three taps of the Mirror Card.
I ran into him with a bang, my lungs swelling with relief. I heard him exhale, and suddenly the shroud of magic was lifted. The Captain of the Destriers reappeared in front of me. “Elspeth.” His eyes widened above his mask as he took me in. “What—”
“Shhh!” I said, pulling him behind a tree and covering his mouth with my hand. “The High Prince is behind me.”
Ravyn’s breath caught in his throat. He reached down to his belt and pulled a dagger. My fingers slid off his mouth. But before they could fall, he caught them, lacing our fingers together. A screech owl called nearby and I jumped, my face cold with tears I hadn’t realized I’d shed.
Ravyn watched me, listening to the mist. When stillness crept over us, I peered around the tree, looking for any sign of Hauth Rowan’s black and red lights.
But there was nothing. The High Prince was gone—retreated back to the road to lick his wounds.
“I can’t see his Cards anymore,” I whispered.
Ravyn slid his knife back into its sheath. “Pine and his party fled in their carriage the moment we retreated. The second carriage followed, but the Destriers remained, so we scattered. I doubt they’ll stray too far into the mist.”
“I saw them heading back to the road.”
“Did Hauth see you?”
I nodded. “I think he broke my wrist.”
The Captain’s eyes flashed. He reached for my injured arm, but I flinched away. “We don’t have time. Jespyr—she’s lost her charm.” My boots dug into the dirt as I pulled him away from the tree. “We have to go back. Now.”
We found Jon Thistle and ran deeper into the wood, wary of Destriers. But the black and red lights were nowhere in sight. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to recognize the path, but my frantic flight from Hauth was easy to follow, and from there, we found the ravine that led us back to Jespyr.
She hadn’t gotten far, her ankle too weak to support her. Ravyn kneeled over his sister and pulled a charm wrapped in linen from his pocket. He placed it in Jespyr’s rigid fingers and pressed his forehead to hers, whispering something I could not hear.
I watched, my heart racing. After a time, life reentered Jespyr’s glassy eyes and she stopped fidgeting, no longer straining to crawl deeper into the mist.
She winced and sat up. “What the hell happened?”
“You dropped your charm,” Ravyn said, brushing his sister’s hair out of her eyes. “You hurt your ankle. But everything’s all right, Jes. You’re safe.”
I exhaled, relief melding with nauseous pain. Behind us, the trees rustled and the noise of bickering echoed through the wood. The Ivys had returned.
“All right, boys?” Thistle called.
Petyr’s profanity filled the air. “Royce Linden broke my goddamn nose.”
“It’s your own fault for not bashing him,” Wik hollered.
“Captain said not to kill ’em, didn’t he?”
“Did anyone see your face?” Thistle demanded. “Did anyone recognize you?”
“Course not.”
“You sure?”
“Don’t I look bloody sure, Jon?”
The crunch of leaves sounded. Someone was running toward us, a dark, bottomless shadow cutting through the trees. I grabbed at Thistle’s arm, to warn him, but before I could speak, a head of tousled auburn hair shot through the darkness.
Elm.
“Oi!” Petyr called. “Took you long enough.”
The Prince was in no easy mood. “Said the dimwit who thought he could take on a Destrier without a Black Horse. You’d be bleeding out on the road if I hadn’t stepped in to save your flat-footed ass.” His green eyes shot to Ravyn, then Jespyr, still seated on the forest floor. “What’s wrong?”
“Dropped her charm,” Thistle said. “Strong as salt, that one. She’ll be right in a minute.”
Elm’s gaze returned to Ravyn. “You better have gotten that damn Card.”
“He’s got it.” Wik laughed. “Look at that smug face.”
“Let’s see it, then,” Petyr demanded.
Ravyn pulled the green light from his pocket, the light flickering to nothing as he twirled it between his bare fingers, the corners of his lips curled by a devilish arrogance. Something tightened deep in my stomach, watching him gloat.
The party passed the Iron Gate among themselves, voices shedding strain, breaths of relief filling the air like smoke. They returned the Card to Ravyn, who placed it back in his pocket, the green light, free of his touch, vibrant once more.
Tension slowly eased, laughter perforating our small corner of the wood. I moved a few paces away, suddenly aware of just how sore my body was. I found a log and lowered myself onto it with an unceremonious thud.
Elm approached me, his eyes tight on my face. “Still alive, then?”
I managed to nod before another wave of pain hit my wrist. My skin felt hot, swollen, and angry.
“Did he recognize you?” Elm asked.
“Who?” Ravyn called, watching us.
“Her father.”
Thistle’s eyebrows disappeared beneath his hairline. “Erik Spindle was there?”
“In the second carriage,” Elm said, wiping blood from his nostrils. “The bastard caught me off guard—practically ran me through.”
“What happened?” Jespyr said, wincing as she stood, leaning on Petyr for support.
“I’m still in one piece, aren’t I?” Elm glanced at me, his brows drawn together. “She fought him off.”
The others quieted, their eyes falling on me. I cradled my arm and kept my eyes low as I let out a long, tired breath. “He didn’t recognize me.”
“You’re sure? Because if he did, we’re royally f—”
“Do you really think he’d try to kill his own daughter?”
Ravyn approached, kneeling at my side. He took my injured wrist and made a crude wrap with his cloth mask, supporting the joint until I could no longer move it. I clenched my teeth but did not look away, a few stray tears falling down my cheeks.
Elm watched us. “Who did that?” he said.
Ravyn’s voice was cold. “Hauth,” he said, tying off the makeshift bandage, his eyes raising to my face. “You never said how you got away from him.”
I stiffened, the Nightmare’s wicked laugh resonating in the din. When I spoke, the low notes of my voice were slick, as if dipped in oil. “Perhaps it was he who got away from me.”