Just like Tilly did, waiting for her father.
Breath bloomed out of Ravyn’s mouth in the cool air. So often was he fixed on going forward—always forward—that he hadn’t let himself look back. But the past had been shown to him. Written out for him. Laid bare at his feet.
The branches carved into the Shepherd King’s crown—his hilt. The blade, swinging through the air, rearranging the wood. A name, whispered against a yew’s gnarled trunk.
And old name. For an old, twisted tree.
The Shepherd King’s face. His son Bennett’s gray eyes.
The Scythe had not worked on Bennett. Just as it did not work on Ravyn.
I’m nothing like you.
But you are. More than you know.
Ravyn met the Spirit of the Wood’s silver gaze. When he finally said the words, he knew, with every piece of himself, that they were true. “Taxus. My name is Taxus.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Elm
Of all the people in the great hall, the monster was the most pleasing to look at.
Hauth sat in his rightful chair in a gold doublet trimmed with white fox fur. He played with the horsehair charm on his wrist and didn’t smile, but his laughter echoed as he accepted compliments from courtiers. He didn’t mention the Maiden Card he’d taken back from Ione—didn’t attribute his sudden recovery to anything but himself. But he was undeniably using it. His face was too perfect—his features too steady.
He held his goblet up for the fifth time, a false toast to Rowan stamina and health, and drank.
All the while, he kept Elm tight under his Scythe’s leash.
Shoved into the corner of the dais, no one paid Elm any mind. Now that Hauth was back, he was of little interest to Blunder’s court, the fresh bruises on his face just another reason for them not to look at him.
Hauth sat next to the red-eyed King, Ione in her customary chair on his other side. Linden hovered nearby, arms clasped behind his back, satisfaction in the newly unblemished lines of his face.
Elm’s pulse pounded in his head. He could not hear what Hauth told the King in a low voice. But by the way the King’s eyes widened, it was clear he was riveted. Tales of the pink Card’s unforetold magic, perhaps.
Elm didn’t glace at them long. His eyes belonged to Ione. She was in one of those horrid gray dresses again. This time, it had been Hauth who’d compelled her to wear it. He hadn’t given her time to fully wash away the blood from the wound he’d dealt her, and the gown’s collar was the only one high enough to conceal the red stain upon her skin.
Ione sat rigid in her chair, her hazel eyes clouded by whatever command Hauth had bade her with his Scythe. To sit still and keep silent, most likely. No one asked after her, or why she was so pale—why some of the yellow hair knotted at the nape of her neck had blood in it. Like Elm, Ione received few looks at all.
When the line of well-wishers along the dais eased, Hauth took his goblet and stood. Baldwyn’s voice boomed. “His Second Royalty, Hauth Rowan, High Prince, Heir to Blunder, Destrier, and Keeper of Laws.”
The echo of scraping chairs filled the hall, and then the court was on its feet, eyes trained on their perfect Rowan Prince.
Hauth’s smile did not touch his eyes. “As your High Prince and Destrier, my days are parceled by duty. I am proud to say I protect Blunder well from the infection. I uphold my father’s laws, his commands.” He put a hand on the back of Ione’s chair. “I even agreed to marry, so that my father could add the elusive Nightmare Card to his collection. That he, one day, might be the Rowan King to finally collect the Deck and lift the mist.”
Hauth drew a finger along the back of Ione’s neck. It looked like a gesture of affection, but Elm saw it for what it was.
A threat.
“But I was injured,” Hauth continued. “Gravely. I didn’t know how full my life was until I’d nearly lost it.” He turned to the King, who was watching his son with captivated focus. “And now that I am healed, there are things besides duty and honor I no longer wish to take for granted.” He put a hand on his father’s shoulder. “The bonds of family, for one.”
An appreciative murmur sounded in the hall.
“It makes me glad,” Hauth said, something darker hiding in the low notes of his voice, “to hear how well you accepted my brother in my absence.” His eyes jutted to Elm. When blood hinted beneath his nostril, he wiped it away before anyone could see. “Come join us, Renelm. Refill our goblets. Drink with us.”
Salt stung Elm anew. Linden came beside him, thrusting a cup and a flagon of wine into his hands. Elm tried to look at Ione, but the Scythe kept him rigid, compelling him forward, marching him onto the center of the dais.
Hauth pulled his own goblet close and looked down at the King’s empty one. “Fill it.”
Elm tipped the flagon, and wine flowed into his father’s cup. Hauth’s mouth quirked. “To family,” he called, raising his goblet.
The great hall answered in kind. “To family.”
Elm didn’t drink, helpless to do anything but stand still and breathe. When the King drained his cup, the smile teasing Hauth’s mouth widened. He turned his back to the hall, facing Elm and the King. “On the subject of family,” he said in a low voice only they could hear, “I understand Ravyn and his party will return shortly. Along with the woman who attacked me.” His eyes lowered to the King. “A woman who should be dead. Or rotting in a cell.”
King Rowan straightened in his chair, a flush coloring his neck. “Elspeth Spindle has old knowledge. I need her to find the Twin Alders.”
“Old knowledge indeed,” Hauth murmured into the rim of his cup. “You’re a brute and a drunk, Father. But I never took you for a fool.”
The King’s flush crawled into his face. His voice was a growl—a warning. “Hauth.”
He kept going, quiet at he leaned forward. “All your life, you’ve fretted over the Twin Alders Card, lifting the mist, healing the infection. When in truth, it is the mist—the infection—that feeds the throne. People fear the mist. They fear the Physicians and Destriers who come to their doors to root out the infection. No one has challenged a Rowan in five hundred years because of fear. And now you’ve gone and given Ravyn Yew a way to undo all of that. What’s more, your beloved, infected Captain is coming back with more than the Twin Alders Card.” Hauth’s mouth drew into a tight line. “He’s coming back with the goddamn Shepherd King.”
The King’s cough was a loud, barking strangle.
“And it will be you, brother,” Elm said through his teeth, “who will have to face them when they return.”