One Dark Window
: Part 3 – Chapter 30

THE WELL

Be wary the blue,

Be wary the stone.

Be wary of shadows the water hath shown.

Your enemies wait.

The wolves stalk the gate.

Be wary of shadows the water hath shown.

Everyone was in the great hall. No one saw me slip up the stairs with the Captain of the Destriers. Or, if they did, I was just a maiden, headed into shadow with a tall, handsome man. Not the first, nor the last, of my kind.

A moment later, Jespyr and Elm joined us, taking the stairs in shifts.

“We need to split up,” Jespyr said, her eyes turned upward to the long, winding stairwell. “Each of us should take a floor.”

Ravyn shook his head. “Better we go in pairs. It’ll look less suspicious if anyone catches us snooping.”

“Will it?” Elm tapped his finger on the banisters. His green eyes landed on me. “Fine. Spindle. You’re with me.”

I blinked. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, but I am.”

Ravyn’s voice was low. “She should come with me.”

“Trees, Ravyn, you’ll survive a moment without her.” To his cousin’s glare, Elm crossed his arms. “Unless, of course, your priorities lie somewhere beyond finding the Well Card.”

Ravyn said nothing, his fingers flexing against mine.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. You have a Mirror, and Jes is our best lockpick. Out of the two of us, you’re getting the bargain.”

“I don’t think it was lock picking that appealed to him,” Jespyr murmured through her fingers. “Or, perhaps, that’s exactly what—”

“All of you, shut up, we’re wasting time.” I slipped my hand out of Ravyn’s. “Elm and I will search the library, then head up to the guest rooms on the third floor. You two start with my father’s bedchamber—it’s on the fourth landing—then go to the fifth.” I glanced back at Ravyn. “If we don’t find it, we meet back in the great hall and search the bottom floor.”

Elm saluted me. “Yes, Captain.”

“And if someone asks what you and the Prince are doing?” Ravyn said pointedly.

Elm flashed his Scythe in his cousin’s face. “I’ll send them on their merry way.”

“What about the sixth landing?” Jespyr said, her eyes raised once more to the tall, spiraling stairs.

I shook my head. “My father doesn’t go up there anymore.”

“How do you know?”

“Because that’s where my room is.”

We didn’t find the Well Card in the library. I’d have seen the blue light right away. But Elm insisted on digging through several old tomes and flinging open every drawer of my father’s desk. I shadowed him, taming his chaos, making sure everything was put back where it belonged.

We moved to the next room, then the next. When there were no more rooms on the third floor, we hid in shadows, waiting for the stairwell to be clear above and below us.

What little patience Elm had, he was rapidly losing. He ran a hand through his unruly hair. “You sure you haven’t missed it?”

I shot him a narrow glance. “If there’s a Well Card here, I’d have seen it.”

“Perhaps it’s not here because your father used it.” His voice lowered. “And saw us in it.”

I chewed my bottom lip, nerves twisting my stomach. To see one’s enemies, the Nightmare called. Betrayed by a friend. Or in this case, his daughter, his successor, a Destrier, and a Prince.

“Can I help you with anything, Miss Spindle?”

We both jumped, which made my father’s steward jump in turn. Balian let out a small cough. “My apologies,” he said. “Your father wishes to show the King one of his books—he asked me to retrieve it. I did not think anyone would be up here.” He glanced over my shoulder, his eyes widening when he recognized Elm.

I did not often take pleasure in other people’s turmoil. But in that moment, I relished Balian’s utter shock as he surveyed me, the eldest Spindle—upon whom he had cast so much indifference and distrust—standing, chin high, in a fine black dress next to the King’s son.

“Will you be joining us downstairs, Your Grace?” Balian asked, bowing low.

“Shortly,” Elm said, gnawing at a fingernail, looking decidedly un-Princely.

“You may go, Balian,” I said under a false smile. “I’m sure you have much to attend to.”

When I spoke, Balian’s eyes narrowed a moment, the pretense of civility dropped. It seemed it did not matter that I was with a Prince; he did not like taking orders from the eldest child—the infected child.

“Very good,” he said, brushing past me.

Elm’s hand lowered to his pocket, bathed in red light. “What, no bow for her?”

Balian hesitated. He looked at me, the lines in his face knit. Suddenly his eyes went bleary and he gave a low, stooping bow. A moment later he snapped upright, his eyes clearer, wider. He shot Elm a frightened glance and then hurried through the hallway before disappearing down the stairs.

Next to me, Elm chuckled, tapping the Scythe three times and twirling it between his long fingers.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I said, mounting the stairwell. “He’s just a pompous little man.”

The Prince’s steps echoed behind mine. “What’s the point of owning a Scythe if you can’t have a little fun now and then?”

I had to lift the front of my dress, the stairs at Spindle House treacherously steep. “It doesn’t always look fun. You seemed like you might fall over after the Market Day bedlam.”

Elm’s voice was dispassionate. “Everything has a cost.”

“The Scythe Card higher than most,” I said. “I’ve heard, if used too long, the pain is excruciating.”

Elm feigned a gasp. “No one told me—I’ll stop using it at once!”

I scowled. “It’s a risk.”

“So is treason,” the Prince bit back. “And yet, here we are.”

We reached the fourth landing off the main stairwell and took a sharp right, following a long, chilly corridor before reaching a spiral staircase, a servants’ corridor to the fourth-floor bedrooms.

The Nightmare’s gaze lightened the dimly lit stairs, and though he did not speak, I could hear his breath in my ears.

“What made you do it?” I asked Elm, winded as I climbed the stairs. “You’re a Destrier—a Prince, second in line for the crown. Why risk it at all?”

“Emory’s dying. I do what I have to do to save him. That’s what family does.”

“Aren’t the Rowans your family, too?”

“Aren’t they yours?” he said, gesturing to the walls of Spindle House.

I slowed my step. “My father could have turned me in when I caught the fever. But he didn’t.” I wrinkled my nose. “He broke the rules for me. And that’s what he sees when he looks at me—a broken rule.”

“What if he didn’t?” Elm countered. “Suppose he, or someone else, risked their title—their life—for yours freely? Someone who saw all your secrets and sicknesses and did not fear you. Wouldn’t you choose them over all the others?”

I tried not to think about Ione. I pictured my aunt—her tight, warm hugs, her wisdom. I thought of how she’d stayed up late with me those first few weeks, when the fever held me in its grip. I thought of her letter and how, should I come home, she’d embrace me once again.

I thought of the Yews, steadfast, loyal. Fenir, Morette, Jespyr—even Jon Thistle—who looked at me without fear and offered nothing but kindness.

And Ravyn.

Just like the bird of his namesake, there was pronounced intelligence in Ravyn Yew’s gray eyes. When he looked at me, I felt seen, known. There was a line between us, drawn by fate and magic, that stretched out over space and time. Ravyn and I had walked that line our entire lives, unaware we were headed straight for each other. I saw myself in his cautious eyes and in the darkness that swam in my veins, and though I had not realized it until that very moment, there was magic between us that had nothing to do with blood or Providence Cards or anything in between.

“I think I understand,” I said as we reached the top of the winding staircase. “And yes, I think I would do anything for someone like that. I truly would.”

“And wouldn’t you do anything to protect them?” Elm said, his words trailing me like a shadow.

I turned, caught by something in his voice. When our gaze met, the Nightmare stirred, watching Elm through my eyes. “You’re worried about Ravyn,” I said, already knowing the truth. “You think, because I have secrets, that I will betray him—betray all of you.”

Elm did not deny it. Had I not been assured he carried only his Scythe, I might have thought there existed a Nightmare Card between us—a knowing, a reading of my mind. Just like in Ravyn, there lived a great intelligence behind the young Prince’s gaze, and though they shone Rowan green, they were just as seeing, just as comprehending.

Only, Elm’s eyes were filled with distrust.

“I would never betray you.” When the Nightmare’s laugh filled my mind like smoke, I flinched. “At least, not knowingly.”

Elm raised his brows. “What does that mean?”

I turned away, a cool tear falling from my chin to the top stair below my feet. “Time will tell,” I said, stepping into the first of several bedchambers. “One way or another, the truth will out.”

An hour later we met Ravyn and Jespyr at the bottom of the stairwell at the lip of the great hall. My chest sank—there was no blue light coming from either of them.

Jespyr was gnawing at the hem of her sleeve. When she saw us, her voice was tight. “Please, tell me you found it.”

I shook my head. Jespyr swore under her breath.

Elm ran a hand over his face. “What time is it?”

Ravyn turned toward the great hall, the muscles tense along his jaw. “They just sounded the ninth gong.”

“The festivities won’t end until late tomorrow night—we still have another day to search.”

I could feel panic knitting itself into me. My jaw ached from clenching, my shoulders rigid, my hands locked in fists. “You three should go in—let the King and his court see you.” Ravyn opened his mouth to disagree, but I cut him off, brushing against him. “I’ll find you once I’ve spotted the Well.”

Jespyr and Elm exchanged glances. “You sure?” Jespyr said.

“Yes.” I gave a low laugh. “Trust me, no one in there is going to notice my absence.”

Something shifted in my periphery, accompanied by the swell of a soft, birdlike voice. “Come now, Bess,” it called. “You give me so little credit.”

When I turned, Ione was there, clad in a deep violet dress I had never seen before. Its embroidered neckline was low, revealing her porcelain neck and the top swell of her breasts. She wore her hair in a loose braid, unadorned but for a single gold ribbon woven into her plait.

She looked like a moonbeam, mistress of the night, beautiful beyond measure. I stared at her, slack-jawed, captivated by every curve and edge of her. All but for her hazel eyes, which, even before the Maiden Card, had shone with their own special light, as if lit from within.

Only now they were clouded. Unfocused. Lost.

“Come sit with me,” she said, nodding toward the great hall. She waved at Ravyn and Jespyr and Elm. “You too.”

When she turned, I shot Ravyn a desperate glance. The Well, I mouthed.

He watched Ione turn into the great hall. When she glanced over her shoulder, he put his arm around me, and together we followed her. “Ten minutes,” he said into my hair, nodding at Jespyr and Elm to follow suit. “Then you can continue your search.”

Ione led us up the aisle of tables, the great hall clamorous, laughter and music warring for dominance as they bounced off the hall’s looming ceiling. The King sat next to my father at the main table, their heads bent low in conversation. Down the line was Nerium, her lips tight as she surveyed her guests, and next to her, the twins, their cheeks rosy with drink.

Ione steered us past them to an empty table along the east wall. There, waiting on a silver tray, were six goblets of wine.

“Please, sit,” she said, gesturing to the table. “Shall we make a toast?”

We lowered ourselves to the table, slow and rigid, as if our joints had all rusted over. I sat between Ravyn and Ione, Jespyr and Elm opposite us. Each of us took a goblet from the tray and held it up. “To Nya and Dimia,” Ione said, taking a long, deep swill. “Many happy returns.”

“Many happy returns,” the rest of us repeated, our voices small. I drank from my cup and winced, the wine more bitter than I’d expected.

No one spoke. I shot Jespyr a glance and she shrugged, eyes wide. I turned to Elm—counting on him to say something—anything—to break the unbearable quiet.

But Elm was silent, leaning forward in his seat, his gaze honed entirely on Ione. A moment later he reached across the table and gripped her face, his fingers pressing into her cheeks.

“Elm, what—”

“Shut up.” He searched my cousin’s face. “Miss Hawthorn,” he said, his voice unusually soft. “Ione.”

She did not respond, did not move his hand away, did not blink, her eyes just as unfocused as before.

Something was wrong. I gripped the table. “What’s going on?”

“Look at her eyes,” Elm murmured. “Someone’s used a Scythe on her.” He reached into his pocket, his eyes never leaving Ione’s face. He tapped his Scythe three times, his voice gentle. “Tell me what you’ve done, Hawthorn.”

She blinked. When she spoke, her voice sounded strangled. “Only what he bade me,” she said.

I went cold. That’s when I realized that there were five of us seated at the table. Five of us.

And six goblets.

I turned to Ravyn. But the Captain of the Destriers had gone still, his hand so tight in mine it felt like a vise.

Then, mouth twisted in a cruel smile, cloaked in Scythe red and the turquoise light of a Chalice Card, Hauth Rowan took his seat at the end of the table. He cast his gaze across the table and barked a laugh. “Come now,” he said. “It’s a nameday tradition. Surely you won’t begrudge me a little fun.”

He pulled his Scythe from his pocket and tapped it three times. “Thank you, my dear.”

The light in Ione’s eyes returned. Her gaze jerked from Elm to Hauth to her empty goblet. Not even the glamour of the Maiden could hide the pale in her cheeks.

Elm’s fingers slipped from her face, his eyes burning as he turned to his brother. “You didn’t,” he snapped. He threw his empty goblet to the floor, rage broiling in the low notes of his voice.

“I did.” Hauth smiled, draining the sixth goblet. “Now I have, too. Fair enough for you, brother?”

The Nightmare understood before I did. His anger burned through me, filling my thoughts with smoke.

I called out for him. What’s happening?

The wine sat on my tongue, bitter, sour, unlike any drink I’d had before. The turquoise light in his pocket. The Chalice.

I stared open-mouthed at my goblet, my face reflected grotesquely in the last dregs of wine at the bottom of the cup.

No. My fingers shook. He wouldn’t.

But it was written all over the High Prince’s face, a smug, triumphant smile sewn across his lips as he slid the Chalice Card onto the table for us to see. “Only a few moments now,” he said, his eyes turning to Ravyn. “Who wants to tell the truth first?”

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