Two Twisted Crowns Quotes

“That’s not an ordinary wound,” he said to Ravyn. Petyr thrashed in the mud. “Just cut the damn thing off and be done with it!” “We’re not cutting your leg off,” Ravyn snapped. He jerked his gaze to the Nightmare. “What do you know about this poison?” The Nightmare said nothing—did nothing. He stood eerily still, eyes glazed over, his gaze lost somewhere out over the lake.”
― Rachel Gillig, Two Twisted Crowns

“But no matter how hard he pressed into the wound, no matter how tight Wik tugged, they couldn’t stop the bleeding. Petyr was screaming—shaking. His eyes rolled back and the muscles in his neck and jaw bulged. Wik clung to him, muttering something that sounded like a bitter plea, and the two of them shook.”
― Rachel Gillig, Two Twisted Crowns

“Petyr’s skin had gone colorless—pale as the surface of the lake. “Nightmare!” His nostrils flared. He looked down at the Maiden Card in Ravyn’s hand. “Make him use it.” Ravyn didn’t question it. He shoved the Maiden Card into Petyr’s hand, curling his fingers to tap it once—twice—three times. Petyr’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open. He took in a ragged gasp, then another. The putrid blood stopped. Beneath Jespyr’s shaking hands, Ravyn could see Petyr’s wound… closing. Petyr took another breath, and the color in his face returned. Another, and the tension in his body eased. On the fifth breath, he opened his eyes and looked up at Wik, then Ravyn. “I—I can’t feel the pain anymore.”
― Rachel Gillig, Two Twisted Crowns

“Wik gaped at his brother. “Goddamn trees.” Petyr pushed up, blinked, turning his injured leg left, then right. He tore more of his pant leg to get a better look. The claw marks were gone—healed. Not even a scar remained. Ravyn’s voice came out a strangle. “How do you feel?” Petyr ran a hand over where the wound had been, testing the skin. His brown eyes went wide. “Like nothing happened.” He looked down at the Maiden Card in his other hand. “Did this heal me?”
― Rachel Gillig, Two Twisted Crowns

“His eyes slid over Ravyn’s hands—his pockets. Ravyn knew what he was hoping to glimpse. The Nightmare Card. Only two burgundy Nightmare Cards had been forged. Both had been missing for decades. Tyrn Hawthorn had brought one forward—traded it to King Rowan at Equinox for a marriage contract between Ione and Hauth. It was no doubt still being used at Stone by the Physicians attempting to revive Hauth. Gorse wasn’t the smartest Destrier. But the distrust coloring his face meant he had come to one of two conclusions. Either Ravyn had taken the King’s Nightmare Card— Or he, Captain of the Destriers, possessed the second one. Along with a Mirror Card he’d conveniently failed to mention.”
― Rachel Gillig, Two Twisted Crowns

“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.”
― Rachel Gillig, Two Twisted Crowns

“A flash of teeth. No. Why? I didn’t hear his answer. A loud fluttering sound blotted it out. All of our heads snapped up. “Arrows!” Jespyr shouted, pushing Ravyn off the path into the grass. Ravyn landed in a crouch, three arrows buried in the ground where he’d stood, each tipped by a small glass vial that shattered upon impact. A sweet-smelling smoke filled the air, shooting up the Nightmare’s nose and deep into his lungs. He coughed, a vicious snarl emptying out of his mouth. My vision blurred and then the world tilted. The Nightmare fell into the grass. I couldn’t see Ravyn and Jespyr anymore. But I did see the Ivy brothers. Petyr was in the grass, eyes rolling shut. Wik was next to him, unmoving— An arrow lodged in his skull. I screamed. This, my dear, the Nightmare hissed, is the sort of thing we might have seen coming, had Ravyn Yew not been poking about in our mind. The last things I saw before the Nightmare lost consciousness were two pairs of leather boots, stepping toward us through the grass. “Well, well,” came a voice from above. “Two more Destriers.”
― Rachel Gillig, Two Twisted Crowns

“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 tilted my head to the side, hawklike. “Perhaps one day I’ll make a Card to read your mind, too, Brutus Rowan.”
― Rachel Gillig, Two Twisted Crowns

“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.”
― Rachel Gillig, Two Twisted Crowns

“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.”
― Rachel Gillig, Two Twisted Crowns

“The one in the ram mask was called Otho, and her sister, with the wolf skull, Hesis.”
― Rachel Gillig, Two Twisted Crowns

“The Nightmare sprang off the post. He struck the snout of Hesis’s mask with the heel of his palm, an ugly crack echoing in the yard. She screamed, dropped her rapier. Otho bolted toward her sister, but Ravyn surged forward—caught her with a broad arm—slammed her onto the dirt. When she tried to reach for her blade, Jespyr pressed a boot onto her arm.”
― Rachel Gillig, Two Twisted Crowns

“Did you see your Maiden?” “I don’t know. I—” She pulled her bottom lip into her mouth. “I don’t know what I saw.” “Tell me.” “I was in a meadow. There was snow on the ground outside a small stone chamber. The Yew family was there, carrying a frail boy in their arms.” Her voice quieted. “You were there, too, Prince. As were my father and Uncle Erik.” Elm went cold. “Was the boy Emory?” “Yes. A tall man I’ve never seen before guarded me with a sword. He had yellow eyes, just as Elspeth does now. He took my hand, unfurled my fingers. There were three Cards, nestled in my palm. The Maiden, the Scythe—” Her hazel eyes lifted. “And the Twin Alders.”
― Rachel Gillig, Two Twisted Crowns

“As I suspected,” the Nightmare said, indifferent. “Decidedly broken.” Ravyn jerked his head back. “You’re hardly a Physician.” “No. But I’ve mended my share of noses—my own in particular.” “I hope whoever broke it enjoyed the feeling.” “I’m sure he did.” His voice caught in the mist. “He had an exacting hand, Brutus Rowan, when it came to pain.” They all went still. Slowly, Jespyr leaned forward. “Did you know him well? The first Rowan King?” “Piss on that,” Petyr said. “Tell us what everyone’s spent five hundred years guessing. Was he the one who killed you?” The Nightmare didn’t answer. His mouth was a tight line, and his eyes were on the trees. He had that faraway look he got when he was talking to Elspeth. Ravyn rolled his jaw. “Well?” Yellow eyes snapped onto him. “Yes. I knew him well.” He leaned over Ravyn. “This is going to hurt. You may wish to distract yourself.” “How do you propose I do that?” “Reach into your pocket.” Ravyn’s brow knit, and the Nightmare blew out a breath. “Not stupid indeed,” he muttered. “The Nightmare Card, Ravyn Yew. That’s as good an invitation to enter my mind as you’ll ever get.”
― Rachel Gillig, Two Twisted Crowns

“The statue groaned. The fissure in Brutus’s chest widened, spreading down his legs until one large crack became hundreds. “Shit.” Brutus Rowan’s marble legs snapped at the ankles and the statue toppled into the pond, taking Elm with it. He hit the water, pushed under by the weight of the marble, held his breath, and swam. When his back collided with the grassy embankment, he flung himself upon it, hauled in a breath— Mist rushed into him. It tasted of brine and rot. It filled Elm’s lungs, his body, his mind. He went rigid on the ground, his eyes wide as he fumbled for his wrist, for the familiar feel of horsehair— His charm was gone. Lost, somewhere in the pond.”
― Rachel Gillig, Two Twisted Crowns

“The wood that awaits you is a place of no time. A place of new barters, a hill you must climb. Betwixt ancient trees, where the mist cuts bone-deep, the Spirit safeguards, like a dragon its keep. The wood knows no road, no path through the snare. Step into the mist—it will guide your way there. Ayris and I stepped into the alderwood, and the mist homed in on my sister. It shot into her nose, her mouth. She gasped—breathed it in— And the warmth of the sun snuffed”
― Rachel Gillig, Two Twisted Crowns

“Elm looked away. “Your son,” he managed, bile in the back of this throat. “It’s worse than I thought. The damage to his body.” “My son.” The King’s green, bleary gaze found Elm’s face. “Even on his deathbed, you will not call him a brother?” “He never played the part well enough.” The King shook his head. Pressed the heel of his palm into his eye. “Your rancor is a mark upon you, Renelm. Wash it off.” “If there are marks upon me, it is because your son put them there.” He turned to leave, but the King’s voice held him back. “Have you chosen a wife?” Elm went still. “There is a contract.” “With whom?” “You’ll learn soon enough.”
― Rachel Gillig, Two Twisted Crowns

“Neither Rowan nor Yew, but somewhere between. A pale tree in winter, neither red, gold, nor green. Black hides the bloodstain, forever his mark. Alone in the castle, Prince of the dark.”
― Rachel Gillig, Two Twisted Crowns

“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”
― Rachel Gillig, Two Twisted Crowns

“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.”
― Rachel Gillig, Two Twisted Crowns

“Bound by this contract to wed the heir to the throne of Blunder, followed by Ione’s name and the King’s signature.”
― Rachel Gillig, Two Twisted Crowns

“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.”
― Rachel Gillig, Two Twisted Crowns

“Save yourself the agony of speaking with him. He’s remarkably vile.” “I might be, too, after living five hundred years,” muttered Thistle.”
― Rachel Gillig, Two Twisted Crowns

“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.”
― Rachel Gillig, Two Twisted Crowns

“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.”
― Rachel Gillig, Two Twisted Crowns

“The Nightmare paused, looming over Ravyn like a shadow. Slowly, he knelt. “Look at me.” Ravyn’s gaze seemed far and near. It crashed into my window. “A King’s reign is wrought with burden. Weighty decisions ripple through centuries. Still, decisions must be made.” The Nightmare’s whisper was like wind in the trees. “You are strong, Ravyn Yew. I have known that since the moment I clapped eyes on you. And you must keep being strong—” He turned and faced the hilltop. “For what comes next.” The hill’s crown”
― Rachel Gillig, Two Twisted Crowns

“recognized them as if they’d been scrawled over my skin. The same image lived on the cover of The Old Book of Alders. Two trees, woven together at the roots. One light, the other dark. The twin alders. Jespyr lay supine beneath them. Her eyes were closed. Ravyn ripped himself off the ground and ran to her, crouching at his sister’s side, tearing the fabric along her sleeve. Long fingers of inky darkness swept up Jespyr’s arm. A tributary of magic, settling into its new host. The infection.”
― Rachel Gillig, Two Twisted Crowns

“Ravyn swore, clawing at himself for his spare charm. He placed the viper head in Jespyr’s hand and closed her fingers around it. He held his breath, waiting. She did not stir. His voice broke. “The Maiden?” The Nightmare came up behind him. “Not for this. No Card can stop the infection, nor heal degeneration.”
― Rachel Gillig, Two Twisted Crowns

“Yew, the trees said together. The pale alder shifted closer to Ravyn. The yew tree is cunning, its shadow unknown. It bends without breaking, its secrets its own. Look past twisting branches, the dark alder called, dig deep to its bones. Is it the Twin Alders you seek—or is it the throne? The Nightmare’s hands were rigid, clawlike, at his sides. “Answer them,” he told Ravyn. Ravyn pulled in ragged breaths. “I seek the Twin Alders Card to unite the Deck.” To lift the mist, said the dark alder. To heal the infection, said the other. Ravyn nodded. Then you must ask the Spirit herself for”
― Rachel Gillig, Two Twisted Crowns

“Ravyn pulled himself to his feet. “Is that where the Twin Alders Card is?” It is where the Spirit of the Wood will speak to you. Ravyn knelt—tugged on Jespyr’s arm. The alder tree’s roots jutted over her, caging her to the ground. She stays with us. If she does not feed us with her rot, we will feed her with our magic. Ravyn’s voice trembled with loathing. “That is why people flock here when the Spirit snares them in the mist? To feed you?” The dark alder extended a branch. To feed. And to fuel. What we consume, we pour back into the mist. What you call an infection, we declare a gift. The branch traced Ravyn’s brow. I would think you, of all people, would understand that. Ravyn recoiled. “My magic is not a gift. It’s hardly anything at all.” The tree pulled back. And while it had no eyes, I was certain it had turned its glare to the Nightmare. Seems you have much to learn yet. Now go. The Spirit will not wait forever.”
― Rachel Gillig, Two Twisted Crowns