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Elm tried to ignore the way the stairs to the palace vault felt all too like the confines of the dungeons. The same cold stone and stale, underground air pressed in on him. The cold tore at him, though it was hardly frigid here with torches casting a warm light along the walls. Elm fixed his gaze straight ahead, the way he always did in the throne room. He focused on the sound of Ravyn’s steps behind him.
At the vault doors, he pulled out the keyring he had begun carrying and opened the locks. The box where the king had held his Providence Cards was exactly as Elm had left it, untouched since his last visit, but for one addition.
His father’s Scythe sat on the top of the stack. Drops of dried blood marred one edge, barely discernable against the red velvet, and Elm knew it was his own. He picked up the card and for a moment, its familiar feel was almost comforting. He twirled it between his fingers.
"You destroyed Hauth's Scythe," he said to Ravyn without looking up. "And mine was used to unite the deck. If Brutus Rowan's was destroyed-"
"This is the last one." Ravyn finished his train of thought.
Elm wavered for a moment, then held out the card.
"I want you to destroy it," he said.
Ravyn didn't move to take the card. His brow creased.
"Are you sure?" he asked, and Elm hesitated.
For so long, the Scythe had been his shield, his crutch. His protection from Hauth and from the world. It had been his armor, but also his prison: the fear of what Hauth could do to him- could make him do.
The reason for an education in pain.
Elm remembered lying in the road, in agony, praying he had held on long enough as the card took its toll.
The far greater pain of standing immobilized, utterly helpless, as Hauth drove a dagger into Ione's heart.
"I'm sure," he said firmly. “I refuse to be another Rowan to rule Blunder with fear.”
Ravyn took the card and, as easily as if it were a simple piece of parchment, tore it in two. He handed the pieces back to Elm.
Elm thought for a moment of putting the halves back in the box, or even of burning them. Instead he tucked them into his pocket; nothing more, now, than a relic- a reminder of a life past.
He closed the box, leaving the remaining cards, and turned towards the door.
Ravyn was looking at him thoughtfully.
"You're a different man than you were when I left, Elm," he said. "Confidence suits you."
"And happiness suits you," Elm replied. "It's nice to see the way you smile when you look at her. Who would have guessed that Ravyn Yew, fearsome Captain of the Destriers, was a romantic."
Color rose in Ravyn's cheeks, but his lips twitched into a sheepish smile, and Elm laughed.
"Trees, even thinking about her makes you blush," he teased. Ravyn gave him a playful shove.
"I could say the same about you," he said, and it was Elm's turn to grin.
"I suppose we're both love-struck fools," he conceded.
“Fools who have a banquet to attend,” Ravyn nodded gravely, throwing his arm around Elm’s shoulders. “I’m sure people are waiting to speak with their king.”
Elm groaned.
“Perhaps I could stay down here, say I lost track of time…”
Once, he would have done it without hesitation- to spite his father or simply because he wanted to- but they both knew that that Elm was gone. He was king now, and he had every intention of doing the job well. And of course, Elm thought as he followed Ravyn up the narrow stairs, the pageantry was infinitely more bearable with his family at his side.