Chapter Twenty #2
I nodded, his hands warm against mine. When Ravyn looked down at my injured hand, a strand of black hair fell from behind his ear over his brow.
I resisted the urge to push it back into place.
Gingerly, he loosened the white cloth Filick had tied around my wrist the night before.
I grimaced as he pulled it away, the skin hot and swollen, mottled by purple bruises.
Ravyn’s fingers traced the damaged joint. He retied the wrapping. “It’s not as frightening as it looks,” he said. “But you’re not easily frightened, are you, Miss Spindle?”
“Elspeth,” I reminded him.
His nose wrinkled, the corners of his mouth lifting. My chest constricted, watching him smile. “Some things frighten me,” I said. “The King. Physicians. Destriers.”
Ravyn tilted his head. “All Destriers?”
“I don’t know if I qualify you as a Destrier anymore.”
“What else would I be?”
My lips curled. “A highwayman.”
His smile widened. But before he could reply, the parlor door at the bottom of the stairs opened. Out came Morette Yew and, behind her, the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. When she saw me, her lips parted.
“There you are, cousin,” Ione called, her hazel eyes darting between Ravyn and me. “Finally awake.”
We sat in the parlor by the fire. Ravyn and his mother sat in high-backed chairs. Opposite, Ione and I shared a long blanketed bench. I watched my cousin over my shoulder, lost in the ethereal shine of her skin, her hair, her eyes, unsure if I was more spellbound or horrified by her new beauty.
But there was no brilliant pink light. She pulled her beauty from the Maiden Card, but for a reason I could not work out, she did not carry it on her person, a horrid risk hardly anyone practiced.
Providence Card magic was not limited by distance—a Card could be tapped and left elsewhere. But, without the Maiden a touch away, Ione could not release its magic at whim. Nor could she release herself from its negative effects when they inevitably sank in.
And for the Maiden, the negative effect was one that felt like an utter betrayal to the Ione Hawthorn I had always known.
Heartlessness.
When she caught me watching her, Ione raised her brow. “What is it, Bess? Surely you still recognize me?”
I hardly did. Even her voice was different. “You look… lovely.”
“Being engaged suits me,” she said, her eyes lingering on the bruise on my cheek. “It’s a shame your new life hasn’t done the same for you.”
And there it is , the Nightmare said, his voice so sudden I jumped. A pinch of beauty, a whit of wit, and just a touch of unabashed coldheartedness.
“Miss Hawthorn is traveling from Stone to her home and was kind enough to pay us a visit,” Morette said, her voice warm, hospitable. But, like the rest of the Yews, I was beginning to understand when she was pretending.
She was as surprised to see Ione at Castle Yew as I was.
Ione smiled, the gap in her teeth erased by the Maiden. “And how kind you are, letting me barge in on you. I haven’t been to Castle Yew since childhood.”
Despite the ache in my stomach for how much I’d missed her, I could not shake the feeling that something vital had altered between us, our disagreement at Stone and the Maiden Card’s magic making strangers of us.
But Ione said nothing of our argument. She talked about Stone and the conclusion of Equinox, of court and of the King. She spoke of wedding arrangements but little of Hauth, and nothing of why she had dropped in on Castle Yew.
Across from us, Morette played the part of hostess well, nodding and making small sounds to mirror Ione’s inflections.
Her son, however, looked as if he were being led by the collar to the executioner.
Ravyn slouched in his chair, watching Ione speak, his mouth a fine line, nothing behind his eyes.
He rested his chin against the claw of his hand, his dark hair falling over his brow.
He looked like a petulant boy, forced to endure niceties, brooding in all black. Painfully, unfairly handsome.
He must have felt me watching him, because when he raised his gaze to mine, light returned to his eyes, the elusive half smile tugging at his mouth.
Last night filled my mind. The beat of Ravyn’s heart against my ear as I leaned into his back, his warmth soaking into me. The feel of his hands on my waist.
There was a pause in the conversation. All eyes turned to me. I blinked, unfocused. “Sorry, what?”
“I asked what happened,” Ione said, her voice uncharacteristically even. Her eyes fell to my bandages. “To your arm.”
“I fell off a horse,” I replied, a touch too quickly.
Ione put a hand to her mouth, as if to guard against laughter.
But none came. “Of course you did.” She twirled a strand of her yellow hair.
“I hope they haven’t been overexerting you, Bess,” she said, an arch to her perfect brow as her gaze jumped to Ravyn.
“Men of Blunder can be so obtuse when it comes to women.”
Ravyn, too composed to appear uncomfortable, buried his hands in his pockets and stared Ione down. “You would know better than most, Miss Hawthorn. My cousin Hauth is a renowned brute, after all.”
As if summoned, another Rowan—a brute in his own right—rambled by the open doorway. When he caught a glimpse of Ravyn, Elm stuck his head of tousled auburn hair into the parlor.
“Well?” he said. “They’re here, Captain . I hope you’ve had time to wipe the stars out of your eyes—”
“Renelm,” Morette said, eyeing Elm threateningly. “We have a visitor.”
Elm turned, noticing Ione for the first time. He stared at my cousin, his green eyes wide, then, immediately, narrow. His lips drew into a tight line. “What are you doing here, Hawthorn?”
I turned to my cousin, expecting her embarrassment—a flush in her cheeks.
It’s how the old Ione would have reacted to such a blunt question from a Prince.
But this Ione was different. The Maiden had remade her.
And not just skin-deep. She stared back at Elm, ire matched with ire, defiant.
Somehow, it made her even more beautiful.
“I came to speak to your brother,” she said, her voice forged of stone. “As I understand, he and the Destriers come to train today.”
My eyes shot to Ravyn. But he remained still, his gray eyes unreadable.
“I thought you’d come to see me, Ione,” I said, forcing my expression into a dull neutrality. Hauth Rowan—the man who had tried to twist my arm off—here. Now.
She gave half a shrug, folding her hands in her lap. “Two birds, one stone. Besides, I haven’t been to Castle Yew since I was a girl—back when I was certain it was haunted.”
Elm cast me a sidelong glance. “Who says it isn’t haunted?”