Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-One
A man is not measured by magic alone. His scruples must extend beyond infection, beyond Providence Cards.
Rather, how he wields magic shall determine his character.
Does he keep our words? Does he bear his seal with loyal intent?
Or is his heart overgrown as the depths of the wood—full of darkness and thorns?
A man is not measured by magic alone.
I one looped her arm in mine as we stepped into the midday light, trailing behind Ravyn and Elm on our way to the yard. “Did you hear?” she said. “A group of highwaymen attacked Hauth on the road last night.”
I tried not to squirm. “How would I have heard that, Ione?”
“I assumed your new suitor told you.”
There it was again—the edge in her lullaby-soft voice. “What’s the matter, Ione?”
She bit the inside of her cheek and did not look at me. “Nothing. I was simply surprised when Father told me Morette Yew had made a match between you and her son, and that you’d been invited here to court him.” A low laugh rumbled in her chest. “I hardly believed it.”
“No more than I was surprised to hear you were betrothed to Hauth Rowan.”
“Dark horses, the pair of us,” she said, the midday light casting a glow along the apples of her cheeks. “Be careful, Elspeth. Don’t let yourself be swayed by a handsome face. There is so much you don’t know about the world. About powerful men. I worry for you. Truly, I do.”
But she didn’t sound worried. She sounded cold.
I slipped my arm out of her grasp. “You needn’t bother,” I said. “I can handle myself.”
Darkness plumed ahead. We stepped through the broad gate into the yard. There, ten men-at-arms waited, their Black Horses darkening the sky, their tunics bearing no insignia.
Destriers.
My cousin pressed a finger into her bottom lip. “Speaking of powerful men, Hauth was furious when the highwaymen got away last night.” A smile I was unfamiliar with crossed her lips. Almost wicked. “He was injured quite grotesquely by the cutpurses, you know.”
My eyes shot to the High Prince. “How terrible.”
Hauth Rowan stood with the other Destriers, his Scythe and Black Horse Cards in his pocket. Four lines of scabbing red flesh trailed down his neck, disappearing just below the collar of his tunic. It looked as if a giant cat had swiped at him, the claw marks distinct.
But it hadn’t been a cat. Not by a long shot.
I stared at the High Prince’s neck. Did I… did I really do that?
The Nightmare’s laughter filled my head, echoing eerily in the cavernous black. If you have to ask, you’re not ready to know.
Ravyn and Elm waited at the lip of the yard. Ione and I came up next to them. Ravyn said nothing, keeping his eyes on the Destriers. But he lowered his hand to his side, his knuckles dragging against mine, answering my unspoken question. “I called them,” he said.
I looked up. “Oh?”
“We train here when we’re away from Stone.
Clearly, we’re in need of training. It seems four of my men, including the High Prince, defied my orders and, instead of returning to town, prolonged their stay at Stone.
They were ambushed in the Black Forest.” His lips curled. “Hauth is rather… unnerved.”
“As he should be,” Elm said, picking dirt from beneath his fingernails. “Looks like something took a piece out of him in the wood last night.”
Hauth crossed the yard to us. With him came Royce Linden, a broad, muscular Destrier with cropped brown hair and a stern brow bone. I’d seem them together many times, Hauth and Linden, alike in their severity and loud, crude voices.
Hauth’s green eyes jumped between Ravyn and Elm. “Where’s Jespyr?”
Ravyn tilted his head, smooth as stone. “Sick in bed,” he said. “I gave her the morning off.”
“Get her up,” Hauth demanded. “We need everyone here.”
Ravyn did not move. “We’re fine as we are.”
Ione peered over my shoulder, drawn by the tension between the Captain of the Destriers and her future husband. When her gaze landed on Hauth, I thought I caught a glimpse of something in her narrowed hazel eyes—something more than coldness.
Something that looked a great deal like hatred.
But a moment later, it was gone, her eyes the shape of waning moons, eclipsed by her dark, full lashes.
Hauth barely glanced at her, his eyes lowering to me.
“Darling,” Ione said, her voice swelling like music. “You remember my cousin Elspeth. She’s visiting the Yews.”
My heart drummed in my ears. I slid my swollen wrist into my cloak and fixed my face with a vague, demure expression. I had worn a mask. Still, there was keenness behind the Prince’s green eyes—sharp, violent, intelligent.
When Hauth spoke, his voice was distant, cold—so different from his Equinox charm. “We met at Stone.” He glanced at Ravyn. “I’ve heard she’s the reason you’ve been so difficult to find of late.”
Ravyn’s composure was unflinching. “I don’t owe you a reason, cousin.”
The muscles beneath Hauth’s scabs flexed. “You heard what’s happened?”
“That four Destriers and a handful of men couldn’t withstand a pack of ruddy highwaymen?” Elm winked. “I wouldn’t broadcast that too loudly, brother. Doesn’t exactly look Princely.”
“It was an ambush,” Hauth snapped. “Wayland Pine and Erik Spindle were traveling from Stone. We happened upon them on our way to town. It was them the highwaymen were after. Three men were injured and Pine’s Iron Gate stolen.
” He ran a hand up the cuts on his jaw. “One of them did this to me,” he said.
Hauth’s jaw was lined with stubble, the skin too raw to shave. I traced the injury, the memory of him catching my arm, my scream, the Nightmare’s fury flashing across my mind.
He had felt my wrist—heard the cry of my voice. Strange, that he did not tell them it was a woman who had attacked him.
The Nightmare’s laugh was like a match struck in the dark, nearly making me jump. Pride , he said. A fool’s pride at that.
Ravyn and Elm stared at Hauth’s injury. “Get a look at who did it?” Elm said.
“I caught him in the wood,” Hauth said. “The rest were gone, but he was lost, stupid bastard.” He puffed his chest. “I broke his wrist.”
The air turned hot in my lungs, the Nightmare’s hate melding with mine.
Next to me, Ravyn and Elm had gone still. The only one who moved was Ione. Her head turned a fraction, her hazel eyes leaving her betrothed, falling to my sleeve, just above my broken wrist.
I did nothing. I didn’t even breathe. “Did you arrest him?” Ravyn asked, his voice laden with frost.
“No,” Hauth said. “He must have had blades in his gloves because the next minute he was slashing my face.”
Elm toyed with his Scythe Card, flipping it between his fingers. “I’m surprised you let someone get the best of you. And ruin your pretty face, at that.”
Ione covered her mouth, but not before I caught the edge of a smile dancing along her lips. Elm noticed, too, and his own smiled widened.
Hauth’s neck reddened. He rolled his shoulders and stretched his arms. “I’ll have my fun when we catch them and string them up in the square. The highwayman meets the hangman. If they meet him in pieces, so be it.”
The Destriers muttered their agreement. Ravyn watched them, his face unreadable but for a flex of muscle along his jaw. For the first time, I considered Ravyn Yew more than disliked pretending to uphold the King’s laws as Captain of the Destriers.
He loathed it.
“Let’s begin the training,” Ravyn said, brushing past Hauth into the yard. “How about you and I demonstrate how best to thwart a highwayman, cousin?” he called. “Unless you’re worried I’ll mark up more of that pretty face.”
Hauth hesitated. “Linden will demonstrate.”
Linden’s nostrils flared. “I’m not sparring him.” He lowered his voice. “Infected bastard.”
Elm’s hand closed in a fist around his Scythe. “What did you say?”
Linden stepped back, his eyes lowering to the red Card in Elm’s hand. “Nothing.”
Hot air shot out Elm’s nose. He crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze turning to his brother. “You’re not scared to spar him, are you?”
Corralled once more by his own pride, Hauth gritted his teeth, shot his younger brother a murderous glance, and tromped into the yard after Ravyn.
The Destriers circled their Captain and the High Prince. I stood between Elm and Ione, my wrist burning and my muscles tight. Members of the Yew household gathered, drawn by the King’s men and the promise of violence.
“Remember,” Ravyn called to the Destriers, “a highwayman does not bear the law in mind. He—or she—may even carry the infection. You cannot be too careful.” He eyed me briefly over his cousin’s shoulder. “Highwaymen can be far more formidable than the mask shows.”
“Get on with it,” Elm called.
Hauth’s Black Horse darkened the yard. He tapped it three times, then placed it back in his pocket.
The Scythe he did not touch. Ravyn’s mouth twisted into a knowing grin.
“Focus on his hands,” he called. “A highwayman may have a knife at your throat with one hand, but you can be sure he’s picking your pocket with the other. ”
He slapped Hauth’s hand. Elm snickered under his breath. Before Hauth could skirt away, Ravyn landed another slap across his face, splitting one of his scabs.
“Use your Black Horse well,” Hauth instructed the Destriers, wiping the blood from his scabs onto his sleeve. “Speed and accuracy are your greatest attack.”
The High Prince moved with unearthly quickness, jolting across the yard, striking Ravyn in the stomach with his fist.
“I thought most Providence Cards could not be used against Ravyn,” I whispered to Elm.
“Hauth can still use the Black Horse to enhance his own speed,” Elm said under his breath. “But see how he doesn’t touch his Scythe? He knows it won’t work on Ravyn.”