“And so your memories may not hold true. I’m hoping the Chalice will stop you, if you venture into a memory that might be false. If it proves unsuccessful, there are other Cards in my father’s vault that may help us narrow our search.”
“If it’s my memories you want, why not use the bloody Nightmare Card my father gifted the King?”
Elm pulled the Chalice Card from his pocket. “This,” he said, waving it in her face, “was in the armory, left over from yesterday. The Nightmare Card is currently being used in Hauth’s chamber by the Physicians attempting to revive him. Would you like to go there and ask them for it?”
Her mouth drew into a fine line.
“Neither would I. And so, we begin with the damn Chalice.”
Ione ran a finger over the curved shape of the hourglass, tilting it so that a few grains spilled into the second half. “It feels rather unfair, seeing as I’ve already endured an inquest, to be the only one put under the Chalice.”
“You won’t be. I’ll be joining you.” When the corners of Ione’s mouth twitched, a smile slid over Elm’s mouth. “How else am I to prove I remember you and win our little wager?”
“Then let us be equal. For every question I answer about Equinox, you must answer one of your own.”
Elm was aware, somewhere in the back of his head, that this was a terrible idea. He had far too many secrets, and none of them pleasant. But the cellar was warm, and the wine he’d consumed in the yard had settled into him. He didn’t want to break anything anymore. This terrible idea felt unreasonably good.
“All right.”
“Any topics you wish me to avoid, Prince?”
Ravyn. Emory. The Shepherd King. His childhood. His brother. His father. The impending doom of his life, should he be forced to marry a stranger, forced to become King—
Elm swallowed. “Nothing is off-limits.”
Ione tapped her fingers on the stone floor. “And our wager? When do I get my minute with your Scythe?”
“That,” Elm said, a low laugh humming in his throat, “we can save for last.” He dipped the flagon, filling the cup with wine. “Think of it as a reward.”
That seemed to please her—not that her face showed it. But she lifted her chin and stretched her arms over her head, loosening herself. Then she turned the hourglass over and placed it on the stone floor between them.
The sand began to fall. Elm took the turquoise Card into his palm and kept his eyes on Ione. “Ready?”
She nodded. He tapped the Chalice, watching Ione’s throat as she tipped her head back and drank from the cup. When she winced down the wine, she passed it to him.
Elm hesitated only a moment, partially because the Chalice always turned the wine sour, partially because of the low, hot twinge in his gut that told him, after this, there was no going back. Once laid bare to Ione Hawthorn, he would forever be laid bare, just as Ravyn had laid himself bare to Elspeth.
And look where that had gotten him.
Elm winced at the thought. Then, before Ione could note his hesitation, he threw his head back and drained the cup. The wine coated his tongue, so bitter he coughed. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I hate that part.”
“Under a Chalice often, Prince?”
“Mercifully, no. And that,” he said, pointing a finger in her face, “was your first question. Now it’s my turn.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Where’s your Maiden Card?”
Her sigh came out a low, irritated hiss. “You’ll have to do better than that, Prince. I simply don’t know.”
Elm crossed his arms, feeling like a sullen boy under her withering stare. “How is that possible?”
“It’s my turn.” Eyes never leaving his, Ione pressed a finger into her bottom lip. Weighing. Measuring. “Why didn’t you go with your cousin Ravyn and the others this morning?”
“Straight for the throat, then.” Elm ran a hand over his face. “I wasn’t invited to join them. Forbade, actually.”
“Why—”
“My turn, Hawthorn.” This time, he chose his words well. “What can you remember from Equinox?”
Ione’s expression remained smooth, though her shoulders stiffened. “I remember sitting on the dais, just as I did tonight. Everyone was coming up to offer Hauth and me congratulations on the engagement. There was talk of my father’s Nightmare Card. I was trying to speak to Hauth—trying to know him. But for every question I asked him, every bit of exuberance or enthusiasm I tended, I gained a bit of his scorn.”
Her voice quieted. “I saw it, plain on his face, that he didn’t know how to talk to me, merely look at me—and only after I was using the Maiden Card. He said, like I’d surprised him in an unpleasant way, ‘You are very animated, Miss Hawthorn.’”
“He’s a bloody idiot.”
Ione didn’t seem to hear him. “I was nervous, and Hauth kept signaling servants to fill my goblet. I drank, and the rest of the night is fuzzy, measured only in glimpses. I remember I was cold—that there was cracked stone beneath my hand.” Her voice softened. “Mostly, I remember the sharp feeling of salt in my nose.”
Elm’s gaze snapped to her face. “From the mist? Or something else?”
Ione lifted an idle finger to her torn collar, tracing the frayed edge. Just like in the corridor last night, when the subject of losing her Maiden Card on Equinox was broached, she didn’t meet Elm’s eye.
He’d assumed she’d misplaced it in a state of celebratory folly. But the salt, and this—this reluctance to look at him—
Something felt wrong. Very wrong. Like Elm had opened a door he shouldn’t have. A door that kept dark, unspoken things tucked away.
He had a door of his own just like it.
“Hauth,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “Hauth used his Scythe on you, didn’t he?”
Slowly, Ione nodded. “He made sure I was drunk first.” She refilled the cup and took a deep drink. “I woke the next morning in his room, still wearing my Equinox dress. And the Maiden your father gave me—I was still under its influence. But the Card itself,” she opened an empty palm, “was gone.”
Elm’s jaw ached with strain. “Did he—”
“He didn’t touch me. He made a point to tell me he hadn’t. Not to show restraint or respect—merely to let me know he could have, had he wanted to. And would, whenever he liked.” Ione drew in a long, tired breath. “He wouldn’t tell me where he’d made me hide my Maiden Card. I pleaded, but he didn’t relent. He said it would be easier, being his betrothed, if I didn’t feel things so keenly.”
Her eyes returned to Elm. “Your brother seemed to understand, better than I’d realized, that he was a brute, and that I, his future wife, carried my heart upon my sleeve. He decided, without hesitation, that I should be the one to change and not him. That life would be infinitely better for the both of us if I simply felt nothing at all.”