Page 110 of The Last Wish of Bristol Keats
She stumbled to the other side of the ring, where she had left her father, and stopped short. Her mother’s cheek was pressed to her father’s chest like she was listening to his heartbeat. One of her arms draped over his middle in a tender embrace. Her graceful form was relaxed beside him. But the back of her elegant green velvet gown had a large stain. Blood. In the middle of the stain was an arrow.
Elven arrows. They kill every time.
Cully stepped forward. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It must have been a stray.”
Bristol stared at him in disbelief. “In the middle of her back?”
A dozen Eideris archers stood by him, empty bows in hand, impossible to know who it came from. Was that the point?
“She was the Darkland monster,” one of the archers said, like it was no great loss. “All of us know someone who died at her hands.”
Bristol spun toward Tyghan. “You promised me! You promised!”
“I had just stepped away for a minute after Kierus—” His voice shook. “I’ll get to the bottom of it. I’ll find out—”
“The bottom of it? What fucking difference does the bottom make now? She’s dead. You promised me—”
Bristol stumbled, weak, waving Tyghan away when he came toward her. “Leave me alone!” Julia ran to her instead, slipping an arm around Bristol’s waist just as her knees gave out. Hollis ran to her other side.
“Where’s the High Witch?” Melizan shouted at Sashka. “I thought I told you to summon her!”
“I tried,” Sashka said, her voice shaking. “The High Witch is dead.”
CHAPTER 83
She’s here!” Deek whispered to his cadre of thugs. Deek didn’t know what a thug was, but he liked the word. It sounded important. And she had called him that once. And he likedher.
He was relieved to finally find Bristol here in Julia’s room. He had heard they had arrived back in Danu hours ago. He and his thugs had looked all over for her. The nation was celebrating, the news already buzzing from rooftops and windows, flowers raining down and covering the streets. Elphame had a new ruler. Her. The one he liked. He and his thugs had gone to her windowsill to bring her a crown of chamomile flowers, but she wasn’t there.
Deek pressed his face to the window, trying to get a better look. Bristol looked sad. He didn’t understand why.A thimble of nectar, he thought. That’s what they would bring her. Maybe it would make the dark circles beneath her eyes disappear.
“Last one,” Julia said. The worst one. It required actual stitching.
Was it a demon blade that made this gash?Bristol wondered. Not likely since those were rare and ugly, forged by demons, and Kormick’s sword had been gleaming and beautiful. But it felt every bit as ugly.
Bristol winced as Julia pushed the needle in again. Julia had offered her a potion for the pain, but Bristol refused. She wanted to come out of her numb world, not go back into it.
“Here,” Avery said, handing her a cup of tea. “Drink this. You need to get your strength back.” Her friends were gathered in Julia’s room, all of them caring for Bristol, cleaning her wounds, putting balm on her burns, bringing her food in small portions. She was propped up on Julia’s chaise. Rose brought a soft blanket for her legs when she noticed them shaking.
Julia tied off the last stitch and bandaged the wound as Bristol’s mind skated through questions, then turned away from them. As long as they were tucked in her mind, maybe they weren’t real. Finally one slipped off her tongue.
“How did Madame Chastain die?”
All eyes turned toward Sashka. “It was—” Sashka looked sick, like it was the last answer she wanted to give Bristol. “It was a demon. Eris rushed her to Olivia, but it was too late.”
Another demon released by her mother.
A sorrowful weight hung inside Bristol. She and Madame Chastain had their conflicts, but the High Witch had cared for her too, healing her wounds, healing the wounds of so many she loved. Without her, even Tyghan wouldn’t be alive. The most powerful woman in Danu was dead, just like—
Bristol remembered her last moments with her mother, the promises she made.
Sometimes you get another chance, Mother. This is yours. It’s not too late.
Come home with me.
She remembered her mother’s gaze resting in hers. The connection they made. Her mother believing Bristol. Believing the dream.
Bristol’s nails curled into her palm. The dream Bristol didn’t deliver. What was her mother thinking about just before she died? Bristol wondered.Betrayal or dreams?“Did my mother have any last words?” she asked.
