Two Twisted Crowns

“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.”

Does it cost you—showing a fraction of remorse, Shepherd King?”

“Yes. And I require recompense.” Those yellow eyes turned hard. “It’s taking me centuries of restraint not to rip your head from your body after that outburst about Elspeth.” A flash of teeth. “About my children.”

“I didn’t mean to say it. That smoke—that magic—”

“Rage and hate. Two things I know well enough.”

Ravyn bit down. “I don’t know what happened to your children. But I know you would not want to see Elspeth harmed. It is perhaps the only thing I understand about you.”

“Elspeth says you look terrible.”

Ravyn’s gaze shot up. “She didn’t say that.”

“No. She didn’t.” He cleared his throat. “It seems I owe you an apology.”

“You mean Elspeth wants you to apologize.”

“Annoyingly, yes.”