Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty
Magic is the oldest paradox. The more power it gives you, the weaker you become. Be wary. Be clever. Be good.
Magic is the oldest paradox.
T he others rode ahead, triumph spurring them on. Only Elm lingered, waiting by his horse.
I gritted my teeth, dreading another jostling journey with the Prince, my wrist stiff and aching. But before I got close, Ravyn stepped between his cousin and me.
“I’ll spare you a rider,” he said to Elm. “Go on with the others.”
Elm raised a brow, his green eyes shifting between Ravyn and me. “You sure?”
“Very.”
“Suits me,” he said. “I’m bruised enough without a pair of arms belted around my ribs.” The Prince mounted and spurred his horse without a backward glance, disappearing behind the shadow of his Black Horse.
I leaned against a nearby tree, hollowed out. “What was in the wrapping?” I asked.
“What wrapping?”
“The charm you handed Jespyr.”
Ravyn fastened his saddle. “The head of a viper. I keep it covered, lest I injure myself on the fangs.”
I raised my brows. “I didn’t think you carried a charm.”
“I do.” He gave me a fleeting smile. “Just not for the same reason as everyone else.”
I shuddered and looked away. “I suppose venom is a happier death than torture in the King’s dungeon.” Then, after a pause, “You have only two Cards left. You must be pleased.”
“I am,” Ravyn said, adjusting the saddle atop his black palfrey. “Though it was harder to procure than I initially imagined.”
“Steal,” I corrected. “Harder to steal.”
He turned and leaned against his horse. “Call it what you will. We would have never succeeded against the Destriers if we didn’t know exactly where Pine held his Iron Gate.” His voice softened. “We couldn’t have done it without you.”
I gave a mock sweeping bow. “I risk my neck for a chance at your gratitude, Captain.”
Ravyn exhaled, half sigh, half something else. But he said nothing, as if I hadn’t just thrown his thanks back in his face. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest, a shadow from his distinct nose cast across his face. “You frightened me earlier.”
“What do you mean?”
“The way you came running out of the trees… I didn’t think it was you.” Ravyn paused, watching me. “It’s hard to explain.”
“Try,” I said.
He shrugged. “You’ll think me odd.”
“A bit late for that, isn’t it?”
The corners of his lips curled. “It’s just that, sometimes when I look at you, I feel like I know you—understand you. And other times…” His brow furrowed. “Your eyes flash a strange yellow color. I feel a stillness about you I do not recognize. A darkness.”
When I remained silent, cold to my bones, the Captain’s voice remained gentle.
“The truth is,” Ravyn said, patting his horse, “there is darkness in all of us. We don’t need The Old Book of Alders to tell us that.
You and I carry the infection and, with it, strange, brilliant magic.
But there’s always a price. Nothing comes for free. ”
We rode in silence, our pace slow. I dozed despite my aching wrist, sleep heavy on my brow. Above the road, the moon shone through the mist. The forest, filled to the brim with animal noises, echoed around us, owls and crickets and wildcats undeterred by our trespass.
Ravyn and I did not speak—not about magic, not about my strange yellow eyes, not about my father or Hauth. Silent and calm, peace settled behind my eyelids, and I leaned into Ravyn’s broad back, too tired to hold myself straight, the faint beat of his heart hardly discernible through his jerkin.
I cast my thoughts inward, searching for the Nightmare, who, since the mayhem in the wood, had remained still. Strange, how quiet he felt when I was with Ravyn. Almost as if he was gone altogether.
Almost.
I felt him there in the darkness. When I nudged him, he stirred but did not speak, stretching his claws like a yawning cat before retiring deeper still into blackness.
I slept until the familiar clack of cobblestones met my ears. The moon, no longer high in the sky, rested behind the eastern tower. I sat up with a jolt, light rain misted across my lashes.
We’d returned to Castle Yew.
“What time is it?”
“Some hours before dawn,” Ravyn said, his voice reverberating in his chest.
Ravyn guided us to the castle’s iron gates. He dismounted, pulling a skeleton key from the saddle. I heard the click of the bolt and yawned, wanting nothing more than my comfortable bed and a long, dreamless sleep.
Ravyn led the horse to the castle door. When I slipped from the saddle, he caught me at the waist and lowered me onto the cobblestones, his fingers flexing just above the curve of my hips. They lingered there, even when my feet were firmly on the ground.
I looked up, desperate for sleep, wide awake.
“There will be more eyes on us than just my family in the coming days,” he said, his voice low, a rumbling whisper. “Do you still wish to pretend?”
He didn’t say the word— courting . My lungs twisted, like the wings of a caged, frantic bird. I knew what I wanted to say, but something in my chest, small, delicate, resisted the yes haunting the tip of my tongue. “Do you?”
I felt resistance in his pause, he, too, lost to the world of things unsaid. “Of all the things I pretend at,” he said, his thumb drawing small, gentle circles along my waist, “courting you has proven the easiest.”
His elusiveness infuriated me. But as soon as it came, the fury was gone, leaving behind hot embers that burned low in my stomach. When I slipped away from him, my entire body was warm.
I made my way to the castle door. “How flattering.”
He paused a beat. “What’s your answer?” he called after me.
I turned. It felt good, provoking him. Better than it should. “Infuriating, isn’t it, Captain? Answers given only in halves?”
“Ravyn,” he said, his eyes tracing my face, flashing a moment to my mouth. “If we’re going to be convincing, you should call me Ravyn.”
A smile tugged at my lips. “Good night, then, Ravyn.”
He responded with a slow, satisfied grin. “I’ll take that as your answer, Elspeth.”
I tiptoed through the dark castle to my chamber and waited for Filick, my eyelids heavy. When I sat on my bed, something soft gave beneath my hand. The flower crown I’d made that morning had been placed atop my pillow. When I turned it over, a rose petal fell into my hand, red as blood.
I stood in the ancient room covered in vines. The old wooden ceiling had rotted, revealing beams of light beneath a canopy of orange and yellow. Birds chirped, rustling playfully. Only this time, it was not summer. The air had cooled, the autumn day crisp and pure.
Seated upon the dark stone in the center of the room rested the same knight I’d seen in my last dream. His gold armor that had long lost its sheen glistened dully in the autumn light. On his hip rested the same ancient sword with strange twisting branches carved into the hilt.
Clouded by thought, he did not see me.
I waited for him to look up, once again shuffling my feet on the leaf-strewn floor.
When he finally saw me, his gaze widened. “Elspeth Spindle,” he said, his eyes—so strange and yellow—ensnaring me. “Let me out.”
The room burst into flames.
I woke with a start, gasping for air. I looked around, but the fire was gone. I was alone in my chamber in Castle Yew, no fire—no flames licking the sides of my face. Bright morning light shone through my window and I blinked, unsure how long I’d slept.
Filick Willow had wrapped my wrist the night before.
But as I rolled off the bed onto my feet, white-hot pain seared my arm.
I hissed—my left wrist so sore beneath the linen binding that the hand was entirely useless.
It took me a full ten minutes to strip away yesterday’s clothes, the black fabric tattered and dusty.
My maid had left a basin of water at my night table.
I crept to it, my entire body full of aches.
I surveyed myself in my small looking glass and cringed.
My back was covered in ugly purple marks from being thrown from the horse.
A dark bruise had budded beneath my eye from the blow my father had dealt me.
I touched it and flinched, the skin angry and sore.
Even my eyes were swollen. I rubbed them, hoping to bring a little life back into my face. But when I pulled my hands away and gazed back into the mirror, my heart froze in my chest. I jolted back from the glass, choked by the scream that rose in my throat.
A creature—neither man nor animal, fur bristled along his tall, pointed ears—stared back at me, his yellow eyes wide.
But when I looked again, he was gone. The face in the mirror was mine once more. Only now, my features were contorted in fear, and my dark eyes—wide with terror—had gone glassy.
My aunt had told me once that my strange charcoal eyes were special, beautiful even—a dark window to the soul beneath. But as I glanced back into the looking glass, the reflection of my black eyes flickering to that bright, eerie yellow, I had to wonder… whose soul was it?
The Nightmare’s? Or mine?
I fumbled down the stairs, my thighs stiff from holding me so long on a horse.
I kept my gaze lowered to my feet, careful not to catch my reflection in any of the castle’s decorative suits of armor.
I hardly noticed the sound of footsteps on the stairwell until Ravyn, clad in his usual black, called my name from the flight above.
His voice stopped me in my tracks. I waited for him on the landing. When he caught up with me, his gray eyes searched my face.
“No worse for wear, then?” he asked, his gaze shifting to the bruise on my cheek. “How’s your wrist?”
“Swollen.”
“May I?” he asked.