Page 33 of The Last Wish of Bristol Keats
She grinned. “The Escher piece? Yes, you did. Weeks ago.”
“Oh. Right.” But there was another question he had mused about at length and had never asked. Something he still wanted to know. “I always wondered about that first sketch you chose. The one with the dragon and lion.”
That piqued her interest. “Wondered what?”
“What made you choose that particular one? From the moment you saw it, you seemed set on having it.”
She smiled. “Ah, that notorious moment we first met? How could I forget? When you were invisible and spying on me? In close proximity, I might add.”
She was smiling, and that was all he needed, a small measure of success. “That was my plan all along, you know? To make it memorable.”
“Of course it was your plan. Just which parts of me were you secretly checking out?”
His brows rose and a devious grin pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Every part.”
Her smile turned as devious as his. “I knew it.”
“I especially checked out your hands, which were about to steal the da Vinci.”
She scoffed. “My hands? Ha. I felt the burn of your eyes more in this vicinity.” She brushed a finger across her breasts. “But I do confess, I was planning a heist. Want to arrest me?”
He swung her around, so her back was to his chest, his hand sliding up her bare throat. He kissed her behind the ear. “Absolutely,” he whispered. “But first, answer my question before I forget the topic entirely and arrest you right here on this path.” He swung her back around to his side and blew out a dramatic breath.
She laughed. More success.
“What was so special about that sketch?” he repeated.
She purred like it was a delicious memory. “Everything,” she answered as they resumed their walk. “Everything made me choose that sketch. Two beautiful, fierce animals fighting? What’s not to love? That dragon, it mesmerized me. Every delicate line. And you can’t be certain which one will win—or which will die. There’s a hidden story in every stroke. I was fascinated the first time I came across it in a dusty little shop in Austin that sold reproductions. It’s a brilliant, bloodthirsty battle in the middle of other half-finished sketches, like da Vinci was only drawing it for himself, like he was capturing something right in the heat of the moment. It was so alive and real. To me, anyway. And the surrounding sketches—the smiling faces—that’s so much like real life. Everyone going about their business, oblivious to the turmoil around them. Even when da Vinci improvised, it was a testament to his genius.”
“The title of the sketch isDragon Strikes Down Lion. Doesn’t that hint at who wins?”
She shook her head. “Artists don’t title sketches. That title was the creation of a curator or auctioneer who only assumed the dragon would win. That doesn’t mean it did.”
“Do you want to know who won?”
She stopped walking and faced him. “Wait. What are you saying? That it wasn’t from da Vinci’s imagination?”
He shook his head. “There were several patronage pieces he created from memory when he returned to your world, but the original that you received was created here in the city, just outside a pub. An argument erupted between shape-shifters. Da Vinci happened to be in the wrong place at the right time. He ended up with a gash that nearly ended him because he was more interested in capturing the moment than getting out of the way. The winner was—”
She turned away, her hands lifted in a stopping motion. “No,” she said. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”
“But—”
She whipped around to face him again. “No, Tyghan. That sketch is dear to me. It holds memories. Good ones. In that Austin shop, my father pointed out its significant features, and my mother . . .” She winced, hesitating. “My mother praised its masterful energy and the intrinsic questions it raised. Where? How? Why? It was an admiration we shared that day and many times afterward. It’s one of my warmest memories of the three of us. Sometimes it doesn’t matter who wins. I don’t want its meaning to change, for it to become something it hadn’t been before.” She hugged her arms and added, “For better or worse, there are some illusions I want to keep. Everyone needs something to hold on to, even if it’s a lie.”
His success was short-lived. Their light conversation had taken a sudden dark turn. He should have known that discussions about Kierus and Maire couldn’t end in any other way. He pulled Bristol into his arms and held her because he didn’t know what else to do. “Please,” he finally whispered. “Tell me what bargain you made with her to get Cael back. Tell me if there’s something I need to do.”
She pulled away, and her silence only made the worry in him twist tighter. “I promised her that I would leave today. That I knew where my father was and that I would take him with me and return to Bows-keep and my sisters. Without you. That was the condition. That I’d leave you behind and have nothing to do with you ever again.”
Tyghan couldn’t speak. He was floating somewhere outside himself, afraid if he moved she might disappear right that moment.Leave him?That was the condition? Maire knew exactly how to destroy him.
Bristol grabbed his arms. “I lied, Tyghan. It was a lie. I would never leave you. Not forever. But I lied to her like I’ve never lied before. I used her dreams against her the same way Kormick uses her fears. I twisted every word into something she couldn’t resist. A lost dream come true, like we would all live happily ever after in Bowskeep. At the time it seemed right, but now it feels dirty instead of victorious. And that’s not even the worst of it. There’s more.”
More?Tyghan braced himself. How much more could there be?
“The historical records are wrong. Madame Chastain is wrong. It doesn’t take days to open a portal—at least not for my mother. She opened one right in front of me in less than a minute. With very little effort. We don’t have the time we thought we did.” Her gaze shot up, locking on his. “She’s powerful, Tyghan. More powerful than any of us knew. Far more powerful than me. I have to be there at the Choosing Ceremony going head-to-head with her. I may have to seal the Abyss again and again, because she can reopen it as many times as I close it—that is,ifI can close it.” Her teeth scraped her lower lip. “I’ve already sent a message to the Lumessa asking her to remove the tick as soon as she possibly can. We can’t wait any longer, hoping my powers will somehow materialize. It’s not a chance we can take. There’s no more time.”
The tick.
