Elm And Ione Quotes

It was difficult to look at her. Beneath the ache that existed between them was a thin, fragile thread. One Ione had slipped through the eye of a needle and plunged into Elm's chest, past all his bricks and barbs, though she didn't yet realize it. It was uncomfortable, pretending she was not sewn into him.

Then be angry, Ione.” Elm pressed his mouth to her forehead. “It looks well on you.

Elm twirled her away, then pulled her back into his chest. “I want you to know me very well, Ione Hawthorn. Which is”—he dipped her again, bowing over her and speaking against her throat—“a rather horrifying feeling, if I’m perfectly honest.

Elm loved games. The playing, the cheating, the winning. Mostly, he loved the measuring of his opponent, the unearthing of their limitations. Only now, he wasn’t sure who his opponent was. Ione Hawthorn—or the Maiden Card.

Who are you?” “Blunder’s reckoning.” The Shepherd King’s grin was worse than any snarl. “I am the root and the tree. I am balance.” Ione reached out in a flash, her fingers wrapping around his wrist. “I want to speak to Elspeth.” “You cannot have her. She is with me. And I am letting her rest.” “I don’t care. Give her back to me.” The Shepherd King’s teeth scraped over his lip. For a moment, Elm thought he might tear into Ione’s soft, unblemished cheek. But his grip on her face loosened, his brow easing. “She will be free. But not until my work is finished.” His eyes flashed to Elm. “And old debts settled.

Hauth turned to the side, gesturing forward someone I could not see. Two lights warred for dominance. One burgundy, the other pink, carried by a strikingly beautiful woman with yellow hair. My heart plummeted into my stomach as Hauth’s voice rattled over the din. “Tonight,” he declared, “thanks to his generous contribution, my father has knighted Tyrn Hawthorn. We are proud to offer his daughter a place in our royal family.” Applause erupted around me, glass clinking and cheers sounding, the clamor enormous. Next to me, Ravyn Yew exhaled, as if all the wind in his lungs had frozen. Across the table, Elm Rowan and Jespyr Yew had gone ghostly pale, their faces arrested in shock. Hauth took the hand of the beautiful woman. She passed him the burgundy light, a smile on her full lips. Hauth, goaded by the crowd’s uproar, held up the Providence Card trimmed by dark burgundy velvet. “I present to you,” he called, “the elusive Nightmare Providence Card, and my future wife, Ione Hawthorn.

After the Destriers had been called and Hauth, broken and bloody, carried away, Ravyn had put Erik Spindle and Tyrn Hawthorn in chains. Jespyr had ridden to Hawthorn House to warn Elspeth’s aunt, Opal Hawthorn, that the Destriers were coming. And Elm—Elm had tapped his Scythe three times and compelled what remained of Elspeth’s family to flee. Her stepmother, Nerium, her half sisters, Nya and Dimia— And her cousin, Ione Hawthorn. They had all vanished into the night, not a trace of them remaining. Until now.

What’s going on?” Elm’s throat caught, his voice rough. “Your cousin Elspeth—” No, not Elspeth anymore. He clenched his jaw. “She tore into Hauth at Spindle House. Broke his spine. He’s hardly alive. My father is out for blood. His inquest—” His eyes swept over Ione, a chill crawling over him. “I have to bring you to Stone.” Ione did not flinch. She hardly even blinked. “So do it.” “You don’t—” He took a steadying breath. “Clearly, you do not understand.” “But I do, Prince. Had you not come and offered yourself as an escort, I would have found my own way to Stone.” “I’m not your goddamn escort,” Elm bit back. “I’m arresting you.

Are you so honorable that you would marry me, a stranger who’s been nothing but cold to you, just because your father skipped a few words in a marriage contract?” His eyes glided over her mouth. “Charitable of you to think me honorable.” “You are.” “And you’re hardly a stranger.” “You don’t know the real me.” Elm softened his voice. “I know there is a warmth in you not even the Maiden can confine. No one who feels nothing would work so tirelessly to get their feelings back. I also know you love Elspeth—and not despite her infection. You simply love her.” He ran his thumb over Ione’s bottom lip. “I think, behind the Maiden, you love a great many things, Ione Hawthorn. Even this wretched kingdom.” When she let out a breath, Elm leaned forward, traced his nose over her jawline—whispered into her ear. “I’d like to know the real you. Whenever you’re ready.

Ione leaned against his chest, her eyes lost on the road. Elm glanced down at her, wondering if she understood the fate that awaited her at Stone.

His eyes traced her face—her unblemished visage. Her skin was too flawless, her face too symmetrical, her voice too even. He’d known from the start that this wasn’t the real Ione Hawthorn. This was how the Maiden Card had remade her, masking her in unearthly beauty. Caging her. Protecting her. Healing her. “The Maiden.” The words scraped out of him. So small Elm almost missed it, the tip of Ione’s brow lifted. “Seems you are clever. On occasion.

Your cousin,” he shouted. “She’s infected, isn’t she?” Ione’s voice was cold. “No.” He hit her across the face with an open palm—took her yellow hair in his fist. “Tell me the truth, Ione.” She stayed unmoving, unflinching. “Elspeth isn’t infected.” His face grew redder. “It’s disgrace enough that my own cousins carry that blight. But now my future wife’s—it is too much.” He dragged Ione by her hair to the casement window, slammed it open. “You’ll have your wish, my dear,” he said, hauling her over the sill. “I release you from our engagement.” Ione clawed at him. Screamed. But with one brutal shove— She was falling. Elm’s entire body seized, and he fell with Ione down Spindle House’s reaching tower. He heard the sickly crunch of her skull, cracking against brick. When Ione peered down at her body, jagged, red-tipped bones had torn through her clothes. Blood pulsed in Elm’s ears. He struggled to tap the Nightmare Card. When he opened his eyes, Ione was watching him. He

So formal.” She propped a shoulder against the throne. “What are we bartering, Elm?” He liked hearing his name on her lips far too well. “This terrible chair. And you in it with me.” Ione’s brows drew together, her gaze jumping between him and the throne. “You can still be Queen of Blunder, Hawthorn. If you want to.” Her voice was needle-sharp. “What are you talking about?” “Marriage contracts,” Elm said, itching to touch her. “A Kingly duty my brutish father has never tended well. The last one he penned himself—poorly, might I add—was signed on Equinox. A Nightmare Card, for a marriage.” “To Hauth. A contract that bound me to Hauth.” Elm smiled. “To the heir.

Queen,” Elm said. “We’ll find your mother and brothers—release your uncle and father, if you wish it. You can be the ruler you were supposed to be. Wanted to be.” Ione’s face was unreadable. “The King will never allow a wedding. My kin are traitors. Infected.” “So are his,” Elm bit back. “My father has always kept the infection close, so long as it served him. Ravyn, Emory—his own nephews, infected.” Elm sucked his teeth. “There are many things the King does not want made public. Should he wish them to remain quiet, he will not challenge me on this.

It’s going to hurt,” she said, “when the Maiden lets me go. When all the feelings I haven’t felt come rushing in. Are you sure you want to see that?” The moment held Elm in place. Even his breath had gone shallow. Ione dipped her hand into her bodice. When she pulled it back, the Maiden was between her fingers. “Do you?” He managed only one word. “Please.” Never breaking their gaze, Ione held a finger up to her Maiden Card. With three taps, she released herself from its magic.

Ione leaned against his chest, her eyes lost on the road. Elm glanced down at her, wondering if she understood the fate that awaited her at Stone. If she knew this was likely the last time she’d leave her family’s home and travel the forest road. If she’d look back. She didn’t.

because the Chalice always turned the wine sour, partially because of the low, hot twinge in his gut that told him, after this, there was no going back. Once laid bare to Ione Hawthorn, he would forever be laid bare, just as Ravyn had laid himself bare to Elspeth. And look where that had gotten him. Elm winced at the thought. Then, before Ione could note his hesitation, he threw his head back and drained the cup. The wine coated his tongue, so bitter he coughed. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I hate that part.

Hauth used his Scythe on you, didn’t he?” Slowly, Ione nodded. “He made sure I was drunk first.” She refilled the cup and took a deep drink. “I woke the next morning in his room, still wearing my Equinox dress. And the Maiden your father gave me—I was still under its influence. But the Card itself”—she opened an empty palm—“was gone.” Elm’s jaw ached with strain. “Did he—” “He didn’t touch me. He made a point to tell me he hadn’t. Not to show restraint or respect—merely to let me know he could have, had he wanted to. And would, whenever he liked.” Ione drew in a long, tired breath. “He wouldn’t tell me where he’d made me hide my Maiden Card. I pleaded, but he didn’t relent. He said it would be easier, being his betrothed, if I didn’t feel things so keenly.

Game’s over, Hawthorn. Any last words?” It seemed to hit her at once. What he’d said. That she’d lost their wager. “Go to hell, Prince.” Elm laughed, deep and loud enough to shake the barbs in him. “You have a wonderful mouth.” He tapped the Chalice three times, severing its hold. “And now, it’s all mine.” He hooked Ione’s chin between his thumb and index finger, the same way she’d held his in the dungeon, and leaned in, halting just before their lips grazed. When Elm whispered into her mouth, he made sure to touch her bottom lip with his thumb, where he knew she’d be warm. “You really thought I wouldn’t remember you?” She had. He could tell by the flare in her eyes. “All that talk of pleasure and warmth and that terrible, unquiet ache between your legs,” he murmured. “You painted such a pretty picture for me. And wouldn’t it be fun, denying me a kiss, had I lost our bet? To take my Scythe and render me helpless?” His top lip brushed hers. “Tell me, Hawthorn—does it make you feel something, toying with me like this?

Their eyes met, bleary and wild. Ione seemed to understand. “Tear it off,” she said. “Now.” Elm brought her bottom lip into his mouth. Pressed it with the tips of his teeth. “Beg me to.” She inhaled, to kiss or curse him— A noise in the room pulled Ione’s focus, her eyes darting to the cellar door. Which was now open. Filick Willow, with his hounds and books, stood, wide-eyed, arrested at the threshold. Elm dragged his hands off Ione and shot the Physician a murderous glare. “Are we no longer knocking, Filick?” “I—I did knock.” Filick’s gaze flew to Ione. “Apologies, Miss Hawthorn, I’ll just—” He hurried out of the room, leaving his dogs behind.

What Ravyn had suspected before the inquest hit him now like a blow. Elm. Ione. Spirit and trees. The Nightmare’s laugh drifted like smoke up the stone walls. You don’t approve, Captain? It’ll wreck him if the King decides to kill her. I imagine he thinks the same thing about you and this body I currently occupy. Ravyn tore the Mirror from his pocket and released himself. He wanted the Nightmare to see the hate in his eyes. She has a name, parasite. Say it. Or don’t speak of her at all.

Ione Hawthorn. He read the contract, his gaze running over repeated words. Providence Card, Hawthorn, marriage, heir. He froze and read it again. Then again. For every time he read it, the corners of Elm’s mouth lifted until a smile unfurled. He didn’t put the contract back with the others. He slipped it under his tunic and left the room, keys jingling. And because he was a rotten Prince, and a piss-poor Destrier at that, Elm didn’t lock the door behind him.

Ravyn, Jespyr, now Emory, gone. Elm bit the inside of his cheek and kept going, hail pelting him as he crossed back into the bailey. “I’ll expect you at court tonight,” his father called into the wind. “I won’t be there.” “You will, Renelm. You’ll resign as Destrier. And you and Ione Hawthorn will pretend all is as it ever was, until I am ready to announce your succession. And her execution.

There’s nothing you can do for her now,” he said under his breath. “She made her bed when she said yes to Hauth.” Elm’s expression went cold. “Do you really think she knew what she was saying yes to?” “She knew Elspeth was infected. And I—” Ravyn dragged a hand over his jaw. “If I’m to leave for the Twin Alders Card, I can’t afford any more of your father’s distrust. I can’t lie for Ione Hawthorn.” Something flashed in those brilliant green eyes. “Then I will.” Ravyn shook his head. “No, Elm.” “I owe her.” “She hasn’t earned your kindness.” “It’s not kindness,” he bit back. “It’s balance.” Ravyn took a deep, steadying breath. She will never leave this place, Elm. Either by the dungeon’s frost or the King’s command, she will die. He put a hand on his cousin’s shoulder. Don’t be turned by her beauty. We’ve enough on our plate already. Elm’s smile did not touch his eyes. He rolled

I wish we could have had those hundred years, Hawthorn. I wish you could have been Queen.” “I don’t care about being Queen.” She pulled him close—pressed quivering lips to his mouth. “You are not Hauth, and you are not the boy he tormented. It would be terribly unclever to die, just to prove it. Please, Elm. Come with me.” Her kiss tasted like tears. Elm was lost to it. He pulled back. “Get on the horse and ride away, Ione.” When her hazel eyes went blurry under his Scythe’s command, it took all of Elm not to look away. Ione got on his horse, spurred it, her hair catching moonlight, a dreamy yellow ribbon in the wind.

Fingers laced with Ione’s, Elm took the stairs to the royal corridor and stepped into his chamber. A shadow rose in the corner of the room. It wasn’t Ravyn waiting for him. It was Hauth.