Elspeth Spindle Quotes

But his soul carried on, buried deep in Elspeth Spindle, the only woman Ravyn had ever loved.

There you are.” He wrapped me in his arms, holding me against his armored chest like a father would a child. “One day, you will be nothing more than memory, Elspeth Spindle. But not yet.” His yellow eyes rose to the blackened sky. “Don’t leave me alone with these fools.

When he finally saw me, his gaze widened. “Elspeth Spindle,” he said, his eyes—so strange and yellow—ensnaring me. “Let me out.

You never said how you got away from him." I stiffened, the NIghtmare's wicked laugh resonating in the din. When I spoke, the low notes of my voice were slick, as if dipped in oil. "Perhaps it was he who got away from me.

I did not notice the bright red light spilling into the keyhole, nor did I expect the vivacity of the Scythe Card’s ruby-red color until it was already in the room. Prince Renelm Rowan stepped into the cellar, mud still clumped onto his boots from the hunt. When his eyes found me, they were brilliant green. “Who the hell is this?” “Elspeth Spindle,” Jespyr said. “Erik’s daughter,” Ravyn said, sharing a pointed look with his cousin. The Prince surveyed me. He looked like a fox to me, with his wild auburn hair and bright, intelligent eyes. “I’m Renelm,” he said, narrowing them. “But Elm will do.

But the thought nagged on. Let me out. I tested the words out loud. My voice sounded like tearing paper. “Let me out.” I said it over and over, briny water filling my mouth. “Let me out.” Minutes. Hours. Days. Let. Me. Out. Then, out of nothingness, a long black beach appeared. Upon it, something moved. I blinked, my eyes clouded by a film of salt. A man, clad in golden armor, stood on the dark shore just beyond the break in the tide, watching me. The tide drew me in, closer and closer. The man was aged. He bore the weight of his armor without wavering, his strength deeply rooted—like an ancient tree. I tried to call out to him, but I knew only the three words. “Let me out!” I cried. I became aware of my wool dress, the heaviness of it. It pulled me down and I slipped beneath the surface, my words cutting off. “Let me—” His hands were cold as he pulled me from the water. He carried me onto black sand. When he tried to stand me up, my legs faltered like a newborn fawn’s. I did not know his face. But he knew mine. “Elspeth Spindle,” he said quietly, his eyes—so strange and yellow—ensnaring me. “I’ve been waiting for you.

What if we tell Erik Spindle and the Hawthorns that we’ve invited Elspeth to stay at Castle Yew… so that you might court her?

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.

Stop!” his voice called through the mist. “I’m not going to hurt you—just wait a moment!” Somewhere in the distance, I heard the bay of hounds. I swerved away, but my stumble had disoriented me, leaving me directionless. Still, I was faster than the Captain. I was going to get away—going to live. I just needed to— The smell of salt hit my nose, as if someone had thrust icy seawater into my face. I felt it in my ears—my eyes—my nostrils, into the roof of my mouth. I coughed, gasping frantically for air, my mind and body suddenly gripped by something I could not fathom. Wait, Elspeth Spindle, a deep voice called in my head. I’m not going to hurt you. I screamed. My foot caught on dirt clods and I fell, flattened by gravity and the sound of Ravyn Yew’s voice in my head. I clasped my hands over my ears and screamed again, terror lashing me like the thorns in a bramble. He was upon me with a flurry of burgundy color. He slid to the ground next to me, his hand quick to cover my mouth. “Hush!” he said, winded. “They’ll hear us.

told you,” I called after him. “I’m not going to the dungeon.” “Nor am I, Elspeth Spindle.” When I still didn’t move, he crossed his arms over his chest and spoke sharply. “You are in no danger—you have my word. Your infection does not concern me. I merely wish to understand the gift you possess. And I have no intention of discussing it in an open field.” I unfurled myself from the ground slowly, my back arched like a cat’s, never taking my eyes off the Captain. “I’ll save you the trouble,” I said. “I have no magic.” I wouldn’t call the turn of his lips a smile. But it was perhaps the best he could do after the kicks I’d dealt his face. “You’re a decent liar,” he said, turning back to the mist. “You’ll fit right in.” Beast yet unknown, then, the Nightmare murmured.

In the wood, the spindle is slight. A delicate tree against hail, wind, and might. But how the tree carries, and how the roots dig. She weathers all storms, no matter their bite. I managed to move. A small but incontestable ripple in those dark waters. I opened my mouth—called out his true name. “Taxus.” A cold hand found my arm—wrenched me to the surface. I looked up into yellow eyes. “There you are.” He wrapped me in his arms, holding me against his armored chest like a father would a child. “One day, you will be nothing more than memory, Elspeth Spindle. But not yet.” His yellow eyes rose to the blackened sky. “Don’t leave me alone with these fools.

The Destriers arrived behind him and dropped from their horses. “Sire?” Wicker said. Elm opened his eyes and exhaled. He had no mind to command them. But Ravyn had made himself scarce, and Jespyr had remained at Stone to keep an eye on Emory, leaving Elm—petulant to his bones—to do the King’s bidding and look for Elspeth Spindle’s missing kin.

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

My eyes jutted open. When I looked to my side, a girl sat next to me in the sand. A child. Her hair was woven in two perfect plaits, as if a woman who loved her had taken time to braid them with care. But more than her hair, more than the tilting of her head, it was her eyes I noticed. Her brilliant, yellow eyes. “Who are you?” A grin cracked over her little mouth. “You know who I am. I’m your Tilly.” My name unraveled itself from my mouth like a long piece of string. “I’m Elspeth Spindle.” She giggled, and the sound carried up and down the beach. “Can we swing in the yew tree like you promised?

No more riddles, my friend. What is it you truly want? To keep on rewriting things, he said. Eleven years I took from you, Elspeth Spindle. When I go, I aim to leave you a better Blunder than the one I forged as King. I turned my name over in my mouth. Elspeth Spindle. I’m not sure who that is without you. You will learn. You’ll meet yourself—without me—soon enough.

No one spoke. After a severe pause, Morette’s gaze returned to me. Deeper than I expected, I could almost hear the iron in her voice—the sheer resolve. “Do you swear what we tell you does not leave this room, Elspeth Spindle?” she said. “Do you give your word?” I reached in the darkness, but the Nightmare did not speak. He, like the others, was waiting for my answer. The Scythe no longer controlled me. I was free to lie at will. But I didn’t. “Yes,” I said. “I swear.

Ravyn continued until he was at the end—the last cell. The monster waited. Flat on the floor, eyes on the ceiling—as if stargazing—what had once been Elspeth Spindle’s body lay still. Air plumed out of her—now the Shepherd King’s—mouth like dragon smoke. When Ravyn’s footsteps stilled at the foot of the cell, the Shepherd King did not turn to look, the sound of his teeth clicking together the only greeting he tendered.

Elspeth Spindle,” he said quietly, his eyes—so strange and yellow—ensnaring me. “I’ve been waiting for you.

You never said how you got away from him." I stiffened, the Nightmare's wicked laugh resonating in the din. When I spoke, the low notes of my voice were slick, as if dipped in oil. "Perhaps it was he who got away from me.

Ha! Call him what you like. But never mark him as a fool. The Nightmare exhaled. But he is a fool, dear one. Terribly, incessantly stupid. Take that back. He cleared his throat. "She says you're stupid, Ravyn Yew." Nightmare!