One Dark Window

THE CHALICE

Be wary the sea,

Be wary the cup.

Be wary the food and the wine that you sup.

Your stomach may sour—

Your tongue may twist dour.

Be wary the food and the wine that you sup.

This was a game they’d played before. Only then, they’d all been younger and had a great deal less to hide. I stared at Hauth and he stared back at me, twisting the Chalice between his brutish fingers.

If you’ve a secret, the Nightmare called, the Chalice will reveal it. The High Prince seeks truth. And now he will steal it.

“Fine, then,” Hauth said, opening his hands—as if to show he had nothing to hide. “I’ll go first. You can ask only one question each, so make it count. Try to lie too much…” His lips curled. “Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Jespyr. Go first.”

Jespyr looked as if she might be sick, her lips drawn so tight they seemed to disappear. “You didn’t ask,” she said, her voice low, shaking with anger. “It isn’t a game if we never consented to the Chalice, Hauth.”

Hauth leaned back in his chair. “Only someone with something to hide would refuse to play.” His gaze flickered over the table, tracing our faces. “You don’t have anything to hide, do you?”

Jespyr’s eyes narrowed. She slammed her goblet back onto the tray. “Fine. I’ll begin with an easy question, cousin,” she said, spitting the word out like it were venom. “Are you jealous of Ravyn?”

Hauth’s laugh did not touch his eyes. “N-n-n-n.” He clenched his jaw and tried again. “N-n-n.” But the wine—the Chalice—would not let him lie. “Yes,” he said.

Elm was next. Pale as death, he managed to keep his head high. “Are you trying to turn the Destriers against him?”

Again, Hauth tried to lie. The veins bulged in his thick neck, fighting against the invisible leash tethered to his tongue. Finally, he conceded, shooting Ravyn a bitter glance. “Yes.”

Ravyn held his gaze. “Will you challenge me for command?”

This time, Hauth did not try to lie. “Yes.”

Silence spread across the table. It was my turn.

Be wary, the Nightmare whispered. Be clever.

“Have you used your Scythe Card on Ione more than once?” I said, my voice somewhere between a hiss and a strangle.

Hauth smiled, unaffected by my ire. “Yes.” He turned to Ione. “Your turn, betrothed.”

Ione’s eyes, though brighter than before, conveyed nothing. “I don’t want to play.”

“You have to,” Hauth said, patting her arm, a bit too rough to be affectionate. “We all do. If you don’t, I’ll think you have something to hide, my dear.”

Ione gave him an empty glance. “I don’t care what you think.”

Something flared in Hauth’s eyes. “Ask me a question, Ione.”

I wanted to reach across the table and rip his face open again. Ravyn, sensing my rage, tightened his grip on my hand.

Ione propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin upon it, surveying Hauth as one might droppings stuck to the bottom of their shoe. “Have you been with other women since our betrothal?”

For someone who’d put up such a show, it seemed Hauth did indeed have a few things to hide. His face turned purple, as if holding his breath could seal in the lie.

But the Chalice Card held true.

“Yes,” he admitted.

Elm snorted. But Ione sat under the shield of beauty, seemingly untouched by her future husband’s infidelity.

“I’ll go next,” she said. She raised her hazel eyes up the table. “Ask me anything, Jespyr.”

Jespyr’s gaze was hard, but her voice softened. “Is Hauth treating you well, Ione?”

One of Ione’s perfect brows arched. “As well as a brute like him knows how.”

Elm leaned forward, quiet a moment too long, his green eyes measuring Ione. “Are you in love with him?”

My cousin held his intrusive gaze, measuring him in return. “No.”

Jespyr let out a low whistle. It was Ravyn’s turn. “What do you want out of your connection with the Rowans?” he asked.

“I want to be powerful,” Ione said.

Her words frightened me, as did the lifelessness of her tone. The Ione I knew cared to laugh—smile—put wildflowers in her hair—ride her father’s horse down the forest road barefoot. She drew strength from her own inner light.

A light that had been altered—darkened into something cold, hard. Unfeeling.

The Maiden had remade her.

It was my turn to ask her a question. “Is this what you really want, Ione?” I asked, my mouth downturned as my gaze drifted to Hauth. “To marry him?”

Her laugh rumbled in her chest, her perfect face smooth, her cheeks rosy pink. “You’re just like Mother, Elspeth. Head in the clouds. You don’t see how hard it is for a woman to be powerful—to be fearless—in Blunder, because you never cared about being more than exactly what you are. But I do.” She folded her hands in front of her, her hazel eyes firm. “And if it takes a cold heart to be fearless, then so be it.”

I was lost in her face. “But I did care about being more than what I was, Ione,” I said, my eyes stinging. “I wanted to be like you.”

My words didn’t seem to reach her. “It doesn’t matter now,” she said, pressing a finger to her lips. “Now we are both sheep, nestled pleasantly in a wolf den. Or is it the other way around?”

The Nightmare’s lips stretched over his jagged teeth. I like this Ione.

I thought I might be sick. I looked around, wondering if I could run, searching for an excuse that might free me from the table—from my changed cousin, from Hauth Rowan’s brutal gaze.

You can’t leave, the Nightmare said, tapping his claws with a swift, jarring rhythm. You have to stay, just like the others, and pretend. Just as you’ve always done.

“My turn,” Elm said, pulling attention away from Ione and me. “Ask me your bloody questions.”

The Nightmare Card below the table flashed in the corner of my eye. I looked at Ravyn, but he was somewhere else, his gaze focused entirely on Elm.

“Who do you think is the most talented Card user in Blunder?” Jespyr asked her cousin.

Elm propped his elbows on the table. “I am.”

“That’s his truth,” Hauth muttered under his breath.

Ione leaned forward. “Why do you not live at Stone with your father and brother?”

What little color remained in Elm’s face disappeared. His throat hitched, and I knew he was fighting to answer—trying to lie. But he could not cheat the Chalice. “I hate it there,” he said, his voice so low it almost shook. “I’d tear it down if I could, set the whole thing to flame. Watch it burn to nothingness.”

The Nightmare shifted in the darkness, flexing his claws, watching Elm.

Whatever Ione had expected him to say, it was not that. Her gaze shot to Hauth, who sat like a wall, unfeeling, unaffected. I wondered how much she knew—if Hauth had told her he’d brutalized his brother when they were children at Stone.

Ravyn broke the silence. “It’s my turn.” He looked at his cousin. Whatever was said in the silence of their minds, I could not tell. Their faces were blank but for slight shifts in their eyes. “Do you trust me, Elm?” Ravyn asked.

“Do I have a choice?” After a pause, the glass fading from his eyes, Elm sighed. “Yes. I trust you. I trust you with my life.”

It was my turn. I wanted to ask if he trusted me as well, but it was too risky. “Does it pain you to use the Scythe for too long?”

Elm stared at me for a moment. The Scythe was a Card of power—control. To show pain was to forfeit that control. Pain was weakness. And, for a Prince of Blunder, weakness was an unforgivable trait.

But unlike his brother, Elm did not pretend he was beyond weakness. This time, he did not try to lie. “Yes,” he said, straightening his back, his jaw firm. “It feels like glass cutting through my head.”

Hauth watched his younger brother. “Do you think you are more fit to be King than I am?”

Elm turned to his brother. “Yes,” he said, the depths of his green eyes and the hate behind them so strong I flinched. “But you already knew that.”

I felt the table might snap for all the tension strung between us. They play this game for fun? I seethed into the blackness. Wars have been started for less.

This game is a war, darling, the Nightmare called. And the Chalice—the truth—is the greatest weapon of all.

“I’ll go next,” Ravyn said.

Hauth sneered. “What for? We both know you’ll say whatever the hell you want, just as you always do.”

Ravyn’s features stilled—controlled. He can’t use the Chalice, I recalled. Nor can the Chalice be used against him.

So the Captain of the Destriers does what he’s best at, the Nightmare said. Lie.

Hauth made like he might object again, but Ione was already leaning in. “Do you care for Elspeth?” she asked. “Truly?”

Ravyn’s fingers flexed along my hand. “From the moment I met her.” He paused. “The second moment, perhaps.”

I shot him a narrow glance. Ione watched me from her seat, a momentary smile painted onto her flawless porcelain face. Elm rolled his eyes, and Jespyr cracked a grin.

Hauth glowered. “What do you do when you are not with the Destriers?” he asked Ravyn. “Where do you go?”

“Only one question,” Elm snapped.

Hauth slammed his hand on the table. “I could ask him a hundred questions and not get a thimble of truth. Such is his gift. Isn’t that right, Ravyn?”

No one spoke. Ravyn’s face remained even, untouched by his cousin’s ire, free to lie at will. “I’ve been busy,” he said, “with the King’s biddings. What else would I be doing?”

Hauth’s brow darkened as he sank back into his seat.

Jespyr’s voice was quiet. “Do you wish that you had not become a Destrier—that you had a normal life?”

They shared a long glance, the lines along Ravyn’s brow easing. “Only on days I don’t have my sister there to steer me in the right direction.”

It was Elm’s turn. “Trees, Ravyn, I don’t know.” He ran his hand over his brow. “Do you think I’m better looking than you?”

The corner of Ravyn’s lip twitched. “Decidedly.”

It was my turn to ask a question. I looked up at Ravyn and he repaid me with a smile, his gray eyes just as clear as they’d been when he’d taken me by the hand and brought me into the deep underground of the castle—into a world of secrets and treason and purpose. A world of highwaymen and salt.

“Are you still pretending?” I said, reveling in his gaze.

Ravyn gave a surprised laugh and, in front of everyone, leaned in and kissed me. “I never was,” he whispered into my lips.

When I looked up, Hauth’s eyes were on me. He rested his hands on the table, lacing his fingers together, trapping the Chalice’s turquoise light. “And now the one I’ve been waiting for. It’s your turn to answer our questions, Miss Spindle.”

Sweat pooled in my palms, and my breath came out in short, halting wheezes.

Easy now, the Nightmare called. The Chalice is a Card of truth. But the truth must be framed—netted—caught. The question is just as important as the answer.

I’d hardly had time to collect my thoughts before Ione began, her hazel eyes guarded, caught somewhere between curiosity and calculation. “Are you in love, Elspeth?”

I felt as if I might die. For the first time in my life, I almost hated my cousin. I wondered how a Maiden Card fared against a knocked-in tooth.

This is beastly, I groaned. Help me.

Help you?

YOU HEARD ME. Help!

The Chalice affects the blood, he said. My strength—my magic—will not deliver you. His laugh cut through the dark. Unless you’d like me to rip the Card out of the High Prince’s hand… and break all his fingers for good measure.

That is entirely unhelpful.

Then you must find your own way around the Chalice’s magic.

He was right—the Chalice’s magic was strange. I did not feel it in my veins, nor could I discern the familiar scent of salt in my nose. It sat somewhere in my body, trapped, waiting for me to answer.

When I tried to lie, I coughed, the sensation of being strangled so acute my eyes watered.

“Come off it,” Jespyr said. “She needn’t answer if she doesn’t want to.”

“The rest of us had to,” Hauth said, winking at Ravyn. “Let the girl finish.”

But I couldn’t. I wasn’t ready to say it, even if I felt it. The truth was too new, so fragile it might break. I fought to find a way around the truth—but magic blocked my tongue at every pass, strangling me until I was left gasping for air.

Breathe, the Nightmare called, his voice a candle in the darkness.

Next to me, Ravyn stirred. “Elspeth.” He squeezed my hand. “You don’t have to—”

“Yes,” I said, the word slipping out of me without resistance, so effortless it could be mistaken as nothing other than the truth.

I tried to pull my hand from Ravyn’s, but he wouldn’t let me, his thumb scraping over my knuckles. Still, I did not look at him. I cast Ione a bitter glance, her question a violation, ripping something from me I was not yet ready to say.

Hauth traced the discomfort on my face greedily, honing in on me. Hunting me. “Now, the question I’ve been longing to ask.” He leaned in. “Tell me, Miss Spindle,” he said, his voice full of false charm. “What happened to your arm?”

I did not have to glance up to know Ravyn, Jespyr, and Elm had all gone rigid in their seats. Ravyn tugged at my hand under the table, but I ignored him, frozen, grasping for words that would not betray me to the hangman.

The Chalice twisted my tongue, blocking the lies before they reached my tongue. Hauth had been smart. He could not steal secrets from Ravyn, a man immune to the Chalice.

But he could steal mine. And with them, condemn us all.

“I—” I said, choking on the word. “I—I was—”

Ione put a hand on Hauth’s arm. “I told you, she fell—”

“Shut your mouth, Ione,” Hauth snarled, swatting her hand away.

“Hasn’t she endured enough of your spite?” Elm said through his teeth.

“What’s it to you, brother?”

“Call me old-fashioned, but I don’t think you should use a Scythe on the woman you’re going to marry.”

They argued. Jespyr joined in. But I didn’t hear what they said. I felt like I was choking on my own bile.

Be calm, the Nightmare’s voice called, close and far away at the same time. Sooner or later, the truth will out, he purred. You said so yourself.

I didn’t mean like THIS!

I glanced up at Ravyn. He must have seen the fear in my eyes, because when he looked at me, there was a pain in his face I had not seen before—raw, protective. He grasped my hand, and though his lips barely moved, I discerned four words from his mouth.

“Let me help you.”

Tears filled my eyes. Next to me, Ravyn’s Nightmare Card flickered again. Salt filled my nose and I froze, understanding only too late what Ravyn had meant.

Let me help you.

“Don’t, Ravyn—” I gasped.

But it was too late. He had already broken his promise.

The intrusion into my mind felt like someone had splashed me with icy water. I felt it in my ears—my eyes—my nostrils, into the roof of my mouth. I coughed, gasping for air.

It’s all right, Elspeth, Ravyn’s voice echoed in my head. You can do this—choose your words carefully. He asked you what happened—not how it happened.

But I hardly heard him. I was too busy shouting, my fingers digging into the Captain of the Destriers’ palm. No, no, no! I told you, no, Ravyn!

Breathe, Elspeth, he said, his voice calm above the din. It’s going to be fine.

I told you NO, Ravyn, I said. Get out.

Ravyn stirred, confusion and hurt touching the corners of his face. I’m sorry, he said, I only wanted to—

The Nightmare lunged out of the darkness like a beast of prey. You heard her, he said, swiping his claws, a vicious snarl ripping up his throat. Get out, Ravyn Yew. GET. OUT.

Ravyn fell with full force out of his seat, the entire table shaking in his wake.

“Easy!” Jespyr called, jumping to her feet. The others stood as well, their gazes shifting from me to the Captain of the Destriers, who sat—dazed on the floor—his handsome face twisted in fear.

Elm rounded the table. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Ravyn’s gray eyes, wide and glassy, were tight on my face. “No… not seen.” Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ FɪndNøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“Sit down,” Hauth barked. He reached forward, pushing past Ione, grasping for me. He caught my injured arm. “It’s all right, Miss Spindle, you can tell me the truth,” he said, his thumb pressing against my sleeve, into my broken wrist. “After all, it’s just a game.”

Jespyr lunged at him. “Get off her,” she yelled, knocking him back, his fingers scraping against my wrist as he let go.

I saw stars, sick with pain. Hauth and Jespyr were at each other’s throats. Elm was pulling Ravyn off the floor. No one but me saw Ione reach for the discarded Chalice on the table and, with the delicate tip of her finger, tap it, freeing me.

We shared a glance. I opened my mouth to say something, but she was already out of her chair, slipping away through the great hall.

Ravyn was on his feet, wolflike as he turned on his cousin. “This was an ambush, not a game,” he snarled. “We’ve indulged you long enough.” He offered me his hand and I took it, then nodded to Jespyr and Elm. “We’re leaving.”

I let out a breath of relief, scrambling to my feet.

But the world all around me buckled, and my knees, suddenly weak, bent under the weight of my body.

I fell, crashing to the floor.

Nausea gripped my stomach and I choked, a thick, oozing bile climbing up my throat, strangling me. When I coughed it out onto the floor, it was dark and grainy—heavy like the soil I’d dug up that morning. It slid down my fingers, hot and viscous, leaving long, angry trails that pooled darkly in my palms.

It wasn’t until I’d coughed again that I realized it was blood.

Like a fool, I’d tried to beat the Chalice. I’d tried to lie too much.

In the brief moments before I vomited a sea of blood, I recalled the insignia of the Chalice Card: Truth Serum—the old writing hewn above an image of a cup filled with dark red liquid. On its opposite side, the cup turned on its head—the dark liquid spilling, unbidden…

Poison.