Two Twisted Crowns (The Shepherd King #2)

The moment the Nightmare lost consciousness to the sweet smell of smoke, I was propelled deeper into his mind, his memories swaddling me once more.

I sat in the meadow beneath a starry sky, listening to the trees whisper.

Your people come to the wood. They ask for blessings. The Spirit is pleased, young King.

My hands were busy. I’d pulled nimble branches from a nearby willow tree and woven them into a small circle—and was now adorning it with mayweed and tansy. A flower crown for my sister Ayris. “But the blessings the Spirit gives,” I said to the trees, “the gifts that come with the fever—they always carry a price.”

Nothing is free, the trees replied.

“The magic she offers is degenerative. Some grow addled with it—or sick.” My fingers paused on the flower crown. “Surely there is another way for the people of Blunder to know her magic. A safer way.”

Nothing is free. Nothing is safe.

“Trees,” I said, my voice firmer. “The sword the Spirit gave me has been my crook. I have moved forests to make a bountiful kingdom—shepherded the land. Now it’s time for me to shepherd Blunder’s people. You are the Spirit’s eyes—her ears and mouth. You know her mind. Tell me, what must I do to make magic safer?”

The trees surrounding the meadow groaned. Go to the stone she left for you, they whispered. Drop blood.

I set the flower crown onto grass and hurried to the stone near the yew trees. I dragged my finger over the edge of my sword, wincing. When blood beaded to the surface, I held it over the stone, crimson droplets falling—once, twice, thrice.

A chasm opened in the stone, and the voices of trees echoed louder in my mind.

To bleed is the first step—drop your blood on the stone.

The next is to barter—match her price with your own.

The last is to bend—for magic does twist. You’ll lose your old self, like getting lost in a mist. The Spirit will guide you, but she keeps a long score. She’ll grant what you ask…

But you’ll always want more.

I swallowed. “I want a way to keep magic from degenerating. To heal the fever.”

The trees swayed. There will be a way. But there are many barters to make before that day comes.

I paused. “Then I want to be strong. Give me great strength.”

The wind picked up, smelling of salt. Bring a black horse from your stable, young Taxus.

My vision winked. It was another night. I was not in the meadow, but in a wood. I clutched my sword, the shepherd’s crook imprinting into my palms. My eyes had always been quick to adjust to darkness—I honed them on the wood, searching for movement.

When a shadow shifted beneath a juniper tree, a smile snaked over my mouth. The shadow grew to a plume of darkness.

And then I was upon him.

The clash of our swords echoed through the trees. Owls took to the sky, screeching in complaint. I paid them no mind and kept my focus on my combatant.

His steps were sure. With each blow, my teeth rattled. We parried through the wood, matching blow for blow. His sword hit my golden breastplate, and I sent my elbow into his jaw. He flinched, and it was all the time I needed. My foot swept his ankle. He fell with a curse, dropping his sword.

I stood above him, my smile widening. “Do you acquiesce?”

It was difficult to discern his features beneath the plume of darkness. But when he reached into his pocket, retrieving the source of the plume—a Black Horse Providence Card—and tapped it three times, I finally saw his face.

Young, handsome, with an angular brow. Even in the dark, I could see the green of his eyes. “You were right,” he said, studying the Black Horse in his hand. “This Card lends incredible strength. I might have snuck up on you and won—if you weren’t such an accomplished cheat and could see it by color.”

“Magic against magic.” I pulled him to his feet. “What’s unfair about that?”

We walked out of the wood together. When we reached my castle, he offered me back the Black Horse. “Thank you for another eventful training.”

“Keep the Card,” I said. “There are more. And I will make others that offer different magic. As providence would have it, I have a knack for bartering with the Spirit of the Wood.”

“And you’d give one of your precious Cards to a lowly guard?”

“No. But I would to the Captain of my Guard.”

His green eyes widened.

My laugh sounded into the night. “Magic isn’t just for those to whom the Spirit lends her favor.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Besides, you’ll need something to your name if you’re going to continue batting your eyes at my sister.”

He had the grace to look embarrassed. “Ayris told you about us, then?” he said, rubbing his jaw.

“No. But I can read her well enough.” I titled my head to the side, hawklike. “Perhaps one day I’ll make a Card to read your mind, too, Brutus Rowan.”

Memories wove together, stringing me through time.

There were more Providence Cards. More colors—gold and white and gray—in my pocket. For each, I bled into the stone, and bartered with the Spirit of the Wood.

Then, there was a woman. With a kind face and gray eyes. Petra.

We stood together beneath the same stained-glass windows where I’d become King and embraced in front of Blunder’s lords and ladies. Ayris and Brutus stood from their seats, hands clasped, echoing a cheer of jubilation.

Wife. Queen. Petra looked up at me and I kissed her mouth. The softness of her lips reminded me of velvet.

Nine months later, Petra looked up at me once more. She was on a bed in a vast chamber, men with willow trees woven into their white robes tending to her. A newborn boy rested in her arms. He had her gray eyes.

“Bennett,” she murmured, her brow damp from labor. “I’d like to call him Bennett.”

She held the babe out to me, and I rocked him. But even as I did, my hands itched to hold something else. When I passed Bennett back to Petra, I slipped my fingers into my pocket for the Providence Cards I kept there. Only then did I smile.

I took Bennett to the wood. Asked the Spirit to bless him with her magic. A day later, his infant veins were dark as ink. His magic was the antithesis of mine, the trees told me. My heir, my counterweight.

But that was our secret, his and mine. Our fond, silent riddle.

More children were born. Boys—all yellow of eye like me. Lenor. Fenly. A pair of twins, Afton and Ilyc, so alike I could hardly tell them apart even when I took the time to try. I visited their nurseries, their rooms and tutor sessions, but often I was in another chamber, one I had built around the stone in the meadow.

I brought my sons to the wood—asked the Spirit to bless them with magic. But for all four, she kept her gifts to herself.

Then, a little girl was born. Tilly. Full of whim and a deviousness that reminded me of Ayris. Only, unlike my sister, the Spirit christened Tilly with the fever, and she was granted strange, wonderful magic.

She could heal. With a single touch of her little hand, Tilly could wipe away any wound—and often did so without intention. The cuts I’d dealt myself, bartering for Providence Cards, vanished whenever Tilly reached for me. It hurt, feeling her touch. But when the pain was gone, I was left with nary a scar.

But it cost her, little Tilly, to heal. Every time she did, her own body grew more frail. And so, for my next Providence Card, I asked the trees, the Spirit, for magic that healed. Magic that made its user as beautiful and unblemished as a pink rose—Tilly’s favorite flower.

Petra passed through the veil before Tilly’s fourth nameday. I buried her on the west side of the meadow, near the willow tree, not knowing I would dig her up soon enough to forge the Mirror.

But before that, I made a different Card. One that would make others bend their wills to me, just as I bent to the Spirit of the Wood.

Brutus Rowan came with me. He kept a hand on the pommel of his sword as I staggered into the chamber. “What was her price this time?”

“My sleep.”

His green eyes narrowed. “Do you ever wonder if the Spirit asks for too much for these Cards of yours, Taxus?”

Upon the edge of my sword, I split a seam in my palm. Droplets of red fell over the stone. “Providence Cards are a gift, Brutus. Their magic is measured. Neither they, nor those who wield them, risk degeneration.”

“Gifts are free, Taxus.”

My words came out a hiss. “Nothing is free.”

The stone opened to a chasm. My blood fell into it. I reached into my pocket—tapped the Maiden Card. By the time the cut in my palm began to knit, four Providence Cards rested within the stone, red as the blood I’d dropped. A scythe was fixed upon them.

I winked at Brutus and handed him one.

He stared down at it. “What would you have me do with this?”

“Keep my kingdom in order. My time is better spent here,” I said gesturing to the chamber. “Only be wary, Brutus. To command this Card is to command pain.”

Brutus turned the Scythe through lithe fingers. “It is you who should be wary, my clever friend. With Cards such as these, people will come to you, not the Spirit of the Wood, for magic. She will not thank you for it.”

“You sound like Ayris.”

“She’s rubbed off on me. Despite my best intentions.”

I shot him the same practiced smile I tended my children. Only lately, I wore it when the subject of Providence Cards came up with my sister. “It is the Spirit who gave me the means to forge Providence Cards.” I patted the stone. “She knows I use them for good.”

“Even so, be wary, Taxus. Be wary, clever, and good.”

“So says a Rowan, who is none of the three.”

Brutus shot me a grin. “Which is precisely why your sister married me.”

We traded false punches. When the chamber faded, it was to the sound of our laughter.

On a brisk autumn day, grass brown and dying, I walked through the wood I so often tarried in as a boy with Blunder’s reverent—where we had asked the Spirit of the Wood for her blessings. The wood was empty now. No prayers echoed, the air stagnant, bereft of salt, as if starved.

Behind me, I could hear the castle bells. My children were being called to dinner, where they’d sit at the table in my hall, waiting for me.

But I was not hungry for food or company, only for velvet. For more.

I crept into the chamber. Spoke to the trees. Asked for an eleventh Providence Card.

What power do you ask this time, Shepherd King?

I ran a hand over my face. “I am not a stately ruler. It is a thorn in my side, sitting at court—listening to woe or flattery. I would rather know the truth of someone’s thoughts outright and save myself aggravation. Grant me a Card for entering a person’s mind.” I cleared my throat. “Besides. My Captain has been distant of late. I would like to know his thoughts.”

Have you considered asking Brutus Rowan what draws him away from you?

“I am his King. He is not as blunt with me, nor as nettlesome, as you, trees.”

The wind stirred their branches. To enter a mind is a treacherous walk. There are doors that are meant to remain behind lock. If you wish for that nightmare, give yourself to her, whole. For an eleventh Providence Card—

The Spirit demands your soul.

I left the chamber, two burgundy Cards nestled in my palm, my fingers curling like claws around them. The castle bells were quieter—muffled. When I looked up, evening light was smothered behind grayness. It cloistered around the chamber like a wool blanket, seeping into the meadow, reeking of salt.

Mist.