Page 10 of The Last Wish of Bristol Keats
CHAPTER 9
Kierus trudged through the forest. It was a miracle he had made it this far. He had thought his quest to find Maire was over in the barn, when he was surrounded by Kasta and the other knights, but then he felt something tight around his waist, and he was flying through complete darkness. A nightjump. He landed hard in the arms of a woman. He barely had time to take a breath before she was doing another nightjump, and then another.
“There,” she said on their last landing. “This should keep you out of their reach long enough to escape. Go, Mr. Keats, preferably home, like Bristol asked, but I doubt that you’ll listen to me either.”
“Who are you?” he asked.
“A friend of Bristol’s. I’m only doing this because of her concern for you. That’s all you need to know.” She refused to tell him more. He eyed her suspiciously, because Bristol hadn’t ever been the friend-making type. She turned and ran into the woods, leaping into the air and transforming into a large white lion just before she disappeared into the shadows. A shape-shifter.
Whoever she was, he was grateful to her—but she was right. He wasn’t going home.
Fritz was there, watching over Cat and Harper, keeping the wards fresh over the doors and windows. Fritz was faithful. He would keep them safe.
Kierus reached the narrow river and navigated along its edge for several miles. The languid, smooth surface reflected the leafy greens and yellows above. Drooping limbs reached down, nearly touching the river.Like curious fingers. That was how Maire described it. He felt it in his bones—he was getting close. And then he saw it, peeking out of the trees as he rounded a bend.
The old water mill was broken and tufts of moss grew in its wooden wells. It creaked back and forth in small increments, the only proof that there was a current at all. Abandoned, peaceful, isolated. No wonder Maire loved to go there. The cottage alongside the mill appeared sturdy enough, but the window shutters were askew, like crooked spectacles on a nose.
Kierus climbed the steps. The wooden porch moaned under his weight. As soon as he eased open the door and stepped into the cottage, heat sprang to his temples.Her loom. It was perched in the middle of the room, as regal and important as a queen’s throne, but the weft, a good ten inches of already finished blanket, was frosted with a thick layer of dust. The warp just behind it sagged, rotten yarn dangling loose. The loom was as abandoned as the rest of the mill. Maire hadn’t been here since her return to Elphame. Was that Kormick’s punishment, or had she forgotten this place? Had she forgotten him and their daughters?
He stepped closer. On the floor, neatly placed near the treadles, was a pair of soft leather slippers, the kind she liked to wear when working the loom. He knelt and clutched the dusty shoes to his chest, resisting the ache in his throat.Maire. My love. He stood quickly, refusing to let misery overtake him. He was a warrior, the wonder of Danu. He would not lose this battle. He threw the slippers across the room, choosing the anger inside him instead of the loss.
“This is not over,” he said between clenched teeth.
He paced the room. Now he would have to go deep into Fomoria. It was the only way to find Maire.How do you think you’re going to bring her home? Knock on Kormick’s door and ask to speak to her?He had never heard that mocking tone in Bristol’s voice before, at least not directed at him. The complete scorn. She had always believed in him.
Bristol knows what you did to her.
Tyghan’s condemnation hit him anew. He swallowed, his rage subsiding. He remembered the exact moment when he and Maire placed the tick on Bristol’s tender skin. She was only seven months old. Angus had retrieved the tick for them from the High Witch’s workshop of monstrosities. They’d had no choice. She was already exploring her abilities, and the scent of her magic was beginning to attract unwanted attention. A group of redcaps had circled her stroller at a seaside bazaar a full hour after she had levitated a trinket, the magic still clinging to her skin.
He and Maire probably should have removed the tick long ago, but, after so many years, it just became a part of who the Keats family was. It made it easier for Bristol, they told themselves, if her magic was suppressed.
I’m not your Brije.
But she would always be his and Maire’s Brije, theirlittle goddess. And one day she would understand the hard choices they had to make. She would remember how much they loved her more than she remembered what they had done. She would know that they were the best parents they knew how to be.
A creak pierced the room, and his gaze shot toward the door. Outside, a breeze stirred the trees, and he thought it was only the old broken mill rustling in the current, but in the next instant he felt something cold at his throat. Steel.
“This time, you won’t be making any sudden exits.”
He recognized the voice. It was colder than the long blade pressed against his neck.
Melizan.
“Let’s go, traitor,” she said. “We have some special accommodations waiting just for you back at the palace.”
CHAPTER 10
Tyghan quietly eased open Bristol’s door. It was still dark, and he was hoping not to wake her. He had slipped out well before dawn to check with the watch commander on the status of the skies and borders. It had been two days since the botched rescue, and the city continued to be surprisingly still. Morning rose quiet and calm. It didn’t bring him the ease that it should have. Something in his gut was still wary. Maybe it was just the sight of Bristol’s bloody neck that he couldn’t shake.
When he stepped into her room, he heard water running. She was already awake. He went to the bath chamber and found her in the shower, water falling from above like warm rain. She seemed strengthened by a good night’s rest. Her eyes were shut as she lazily soaked in the streams of water, her long hair clinging to her skin. She sponged her neck where the bandage had been. There was no sign of injury from the cut he had inflicted, and relief flooded his lungs. More feelings surged lower in him as the sponge skimmed her breasts.
“You could have slept longer,” he said.
Her eyes opened, and a seductive smile curled her lips. “Join me?”
He leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. “I’m enjoying the view from here.”
She shrugged and continued washing herself, but more leisurely, guiding the sponge down the length of her leg, then back up again along her inner thigh. When the sponge reached her abdomen, she squeezed it, and soap bubbles glided over her skin. His groin ached.
