Page 35 of The Last Wish of Bristol Keats
“Stop!” Cully yelled, and stepped between them. “Now is not the time to settle your past squabbles! What’s the matter with you two? One of our own has fallen and is waiting to be sent into Paradise. Her burial is only hours away. Stuff it for now! No one has time to be healing your broken faces!” He turned and stormed out.
Tyghan stared at the open door.Stuff it?A phrase he learned from the recruits?
He turned toward Sloan, and their gazes locked once again. Had they both just been reprimanded by a junior officer?
Sloan left, still seething, no doubt on his way to see Cael. Tyghan turned, looking at the large empty room, the gleaming swords still on the table, and at the overturned chair beside it. He returned it to its feet, but one of the legs was broken, and it wobbled unsteadily.
Cully was right. Now was not the time.
He lifted one of the swords, turning it in the light. There wasn’t time for the usual ceremonies either. He sheathed it in its scabbard and did the same with the other swords before gathering them up and leaving to distribute them. The new knights should all be fully suited for Glennis. She helped get them to this point.
CHAPTER 26
The tray bobbed in the servant’s hands, tea spilling from the pot and soaking the lace napkin beneath it. That, and the rattling teacups, drew the attention of two passing hobs who didn’t recognize the urisk, but his glare effectively silenced their questions.
He worked to keep his hands steady. The more he faded into the background, the better. Perhaps he should have just used an invisibility cloak, but he had to gain access to Bristol’s room in the quietest manner possible. He couldn’t just barge his way in. She might put up a fight. Tea and sweet biscuits, on the other hand, were always a welcome gift. It hadn’t been easy to find out which room belonged to her, but he managed to pry it from a sprite in the garden for the price of a sugar cube. Of all the rooms in the whole sprawling palace, Bristol’s was conveniently close to Tyghan’s. He wasn’t surprised.
Reggie curled on the chaise next to Bristol. She had given her fox a name after learning from Tyghan that he was a real fox from a real forest somewhere in Elphame. Woven from the mind’s eye of the artist, some clever creatures, like Reggie, managed to breach the veil of the artist’s imagination, burrowing into the carpet that was the artist’s canvas.Freeloader, Tyghan had called him. Bristol thought he deserved a more dignified name, like Reggie. He nudged her hand—not for food but for more scratches behind his tufted red ears. He had adopted Bristol, and maybe she had adopted him too, both of them adapting to a foreign world. She brushed her hand over his soft fur, and he nuzzled closer. Angus was amusing, but their ferret had never been a cuddler, and she had never had any other pets. She liked the comfort of this creature who had barged into her life, and she mused about getting Harper a dog when she got home. Or could she bring Reggie?
“I need to finish getting ready,” she warned him, gently easing his sleepy head aside. She went to the bath chamber, tidying up her towels and bath balms, and spotted her pills, which she hadn’t put away the night before. She may have told Tyghan she was the goddess of birth control, but Harper was the brilliant one who made it so. She still had three weeks of pills left, just enough to hold her over until she got home. She remembered when Harper frantically brought them to her, trying to think of everything she might need for her trip to faerie. She smiled. The sardines and rock-hard raisins had been tossed long ago—the aspirin too, since it was no longer effective on her—but it was nice having her own familiar toothbrush with the swirl of blue and white bristles. She saw Harper every time she used it. It was pretty much all she had from home now, except for her old jeans and tank top stuffed on the top shelf of the wardrobe.
She began brushing her hair and had just swept it over her shoulder to braid when she heard a knock. She wasn’t expecting anyone, and had agreed to meet her fellow recruits at the barn for the short walk to the funeral site. But then she remembered the message she had sent. Maybe this was a reply from the Lumessa? She eagerly opened the door, but it was only a hunched servant with a tray, a urisk she had never seen before. Reggie scurried away and hid in his burrow, transforming from full-bodied back into art. He was always shy with visitors—he only recently warmed up to Tyghan—but he was usually bold with servants bearing trays of food.
“My lunch was already delivered this afternoon,” she said.
“This one was ordered by the king.” He brushed past her toward the table, the dishes rattling unsteadily in his hands.
“Tyghan ordered this?” she asked as he set the tray down.
“No,” he answered. “The real king of Danu ordered it. King Cael Trénallis.” As he turned, his hunched back straightened, and his haunches and horns disappeared, along with the rest of his glamour. It was Cael, standing taller and stronger than he had yesterday—and far more imposing in the confines of her room.
Bristol reached for her knife.
“I’m only here to apologize,” he said.
“Gaining entry disguised as a urisk?”
“I’ve been told that my return to Danu must be kept quiet, and with palace gossips—” He raised his brows. “I’m forced to be discreet. I’m only here to express my regret for my behavior yesterday.”
“Under threat from Tyghan?”
He chuckled. “You know him well. Yes, he provided inspired prompting that included wrapping his hands around my throat. But I do wish to apologize on my own initiative as well. Really, I am not a total boor. You need to understand that yesterday, after months of only savage brutes for company, I responded in kind.”
“As I understand it, you’ve always been a demanding pain in the ass.”
He smiled. “Ah. That came from my brother too, no doubt. He’s right. I am a pain in the ass. And I demand a lot of him. Sometimes probably too much. The thing is, there is no manual on how a king should behave, especially when the role is foisted on you when you’re only twelve. I didn’t have a parent to study. I’m not making excuses, but early on, you learn that shouting covers a lot of ignorance and insecurities. May I?” he asked, lifting the teapot.
Bristol eyed the pot and the two teacups.He came for tea?She cautiously nodded. “Does Tyghan know you’re here?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. By now, perhaps. He’s busy with duties. But as I mentioned, he bade me to take care of this matter.”
He poured them each a cup and added a cube of sugar to the deep pink brew, then motioned to her chair. She sat opposite him at the small table, always aware of how far her hand was from the hilt of her knife. Or if need be, with the flick of her fingers, she could set his hair on fire. Though she was leery of summoning even the smallest spark now, after her disastrous results with her bathtub and singed ceiling. It seemed she had developed an unreliable kinship with fire.
She noted that Cael had been groomed since yesterday, his hair freshly cut and his face clean-shaven, hardly looking like the same man at all. He bore the same strong Trénallis jawline and searing eyes, though his were a deep brown. The split lip he had acquired on the ride back was gone, and the dark smudges beneath his eyes had nearly faded. The scars on his chin and neck were gone too. Madame Chastain had apparently been hard at work restoring his health and appearance, but he still had weight and strength to regain. She noticed his hand tremble as he lifted the small teapot.
He took a sip of the floral tea, looking over the rim of his cup at her. His eyes were warm and arresting, unlike the bloodshot, unfocused ones from yesterday. His gaze moved to her untouched tea. “It’s not poisoned. I promise.”
“You did order my execution.”
