Two Twisted Crowns by Rachel Gillig

Author:Rachel Gillig [GILLIG, RACHEL]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Orbit
Published: 2023-10-17T00:00:00+00:00

The afternoon slipped away, tending to the King’s paperwork. Elm’s fingertips were ink stained for all the times he had signed his name, each Renelm less formal than the one before it.

Ione sat through it all, eyes vacant. Elm reached under the table more than once, pinched her leg, tugged her skirt—searched for a sign of life. Her eyes would flare a moment and the corners of her mouth twitch, but beyond that, nothing.

When the title was finally finished and Elm named heir to the throne of Blunder, the only observance was the snapping shut of Baldwyn’s ledger. He bowed. “I shall see you at the feast in an hour, sire.”

Ione and Elm lingered at the table. “How does it feel, knowing you will wear the crown?”

“Like falling off a horse.” Elm reached into his pocket and pulled out the three Providence Cards he’d taken from the vaults, anxious to be rid of the subject of kingship. He put the Cards on the table—Scythe, Mirror, Prophet.

Ione glanced down at them. “Why did you take the Mirror?”

“If the Prophet Card does nothing to help us find your Maiden, combing your mind with a Nightmare Card is the next obvious choice.” He shifted in his seat. “And I have no intention of waltzing into Hauth’s room and asking for it.”

“You’d steal it?”

Elm’s eyes dropped to her mouth. He imagined whispering all sorts of things into it—telling Ione Hawthorn that it put him more at ease to be a highwayman than a Rowan Prince. “I think I can manage it.” He slid the Prophet Card in front of her. “Have you used one of these before?”

She nodded, tracing the image upon the Card—an old man obscured by a gray hood. “My mother has one.”

Had, Elm thought, a pinch in his gut. “They are not always literal, the visions of the future.”

“I’m aware.” Ione tapped the Prophet three times and shut her eyes.

She held still but for the rise and fall of her chest. A moment later Ione’s eyes snapped open, her fingers rigid as she tapped the Prophet, freeing herself from its magic. Had Elm not become a student of her face, he might have missed the faint line that drew between her brows. “Did you see your Maiden?”

“I don’t know. I—” She pulled her bottom lip into her mouth. “I don’t know what I saw.”

“Tell me.”

“I was in a meadow. There was snow on the ground outside a small stone chamber. The Yew family was there, carrying a frail boy in their arms.” Her voice quieted. “You were there, too, Prince. As were my father and Uncle Erik.”

Elm went cold. “Was the boy Emory?”

“Yes. A tall man I’ve never seen before guarded me with a sword. He had yellow eyes, just as Elspeth does now. He took my hand, unfurled my fingers. There were three Cards, nestled in my palm. The Maiden, the Scythe—”

Her hazel eyes lifted. “And the Twin Alders.”

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