Page 120 of The Last Wish of Bristol Keats
“Hello,” she said.
“Hello.”
There was a long silent moment as they both tried to act as if seeing each other for the first time in eight years was no big deal, but she could tell he was as jolted as she was. Everything about him, from his jaw to his shoulders, became stiff like he was bracing himself against a storm.
“I wasn’t sure you were going to come,” she said.
“I was busy.”
“Everything okay in Elphame?”
“Yes. Everything is peaceful. Crops are good.”
She noted his skin had a golden cast now, and his hands were more calloused. His gaze was more intense than ever, the blue ice cutting into her, or maybe she was just feeling his scrutiny. She was thirty now. What did he see? The lines around her eyes? That she was trying to be brave but was as nervous as the first time she met him at the Willoughby Inn?
His lips rolled over his teeth like he was trying to hold back eight years’ worth of words. She was sure he had a lot more to say than hello. “You summoned me, so I’m here,” he finally said, an edge to his tone. He wanted her to get to the point.
She didn’t want to spring such big news on him before they at least had a few friendly words first. “Can we walk?” she asked. “Just to the end of the block and back?”
He looked at her cautiously, then nodded.
As they walked, their conversation continued to be stilted like they were strangers, and yet when she stole a glance at him, it was like yesterday, all her old feelings bubbling up hot and bright. She wished he would look at her too, but he seemed to purposely keep his gaze averted. The guard he kept up made the conversation pure torture. It was like every word was costing him something. He only shared the polite bare events of his life, so she did the same. He was balancing farming with lighter duties as Knight Commander. She owned a coffee shop and was an art professor at the local university. She tried to move to some deeper conversation that might engage him more—things he might find surprising.
“I shift regularly now, a long way from here of course, and I’ve increased my repertoire of magic. I’m able to—”
The corner of his mouth pulled in a frown. “Why? This is the mortal world. You don’t need that here.”
“Maybe I do. I need to be ready, just in case.”
“In case of what? No one knows you’re here but a trusted few. We faked your death. Just as you ordered.”
Was she imagining the resentment she heard in his tone?As you ordered?Or maybe he just wanted to remind her of her last tirade. She’d been so shattered and ashamed she barely remembered it—only that she begged to be left alone.
“Thank you, but I still have my reasons for wanting to keep my skills sharp.” She explained about just discovering the timemark, which was why she summoned him now.
He stopped walking and finally faced her. “Eight years and you never went through your pack?”
“There were circumstances that occupied my time. I forgot about it.”
“Those must have been some circumstances,” he said suspiciously.
“Yes, they were.”
She wondered if now was the best time to tell him about Rían, but then he blurted out, “Marriage? Was that it? Are you married?”
“No. Are you?”
“No.”
He looked different for a moment, his eyes resting in hers, questions simmering behind them. She tried to nudge him for more. “Anything else you want to know?” The distance between them seemed to be closing. He studied her and her hope spiked.
“I think I—” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away, glancing down the street like there was somewhere else he had to be—or wanted to be. “We should go back,” he said. “I don’t have a lot of time.” He was agitated for the rest of their walk, and Bristol’s spirits sank, but for Rían’s sake, she would see this through. She had to. This wasn’t about her but about her son who was still curious about his father. As soon as they arrived at the coffee shop, he said, “So I came as you asked. What’s so important for me to see, that I had to come all the way here?”
Fair enough, she thought. He owed her nothing. She braced herself, then pushed open the door of the shop and said, “Your son.”
Tyghan froze, staring past a shop full of customers, looking at a boy who unmistakably shared his likeness.His son?
“His name is Rían Trénallis Keats,” Bristol said. “He’s seven and a half. I’ve told him about you. But I need you to be—”
