Page 36 of The Last Wish of Bristol Keats
He reached across the table and took her cup, taking a healthy sip, then returned it to her saucer. “Again, I was not myself then.” He sighed. “I might not be myself for some time to come, at least according to the High Witch. Having been isolated with a collar around my neck for so long left me with the impulsive mouth of a clod, but it’s important that I thank you for rescuing me—at great risk to yourself. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize that immediately. Fear and anger have ruled my small world for months now. I’ve lost all perspective. But I want you to know that what I told you yesterday about your mother is true. I never heard or saw her in any of my travels, especially not when I was twelve. I didn’t even know of her existence until years later, when the attacks began. That much I swear is true. I tried to tell her that whenever she visited, but she wouldn’t listen.”
“She visited you often?”
He nodded. “Kormick only came to Queen’s Cliff twice the whole time I was there, but she came regularly, maybe once a week. I lost track of the days in that dirty cell, but she always asked me how it felt to be trapped and know that no one was coming to rescue me. She’d watch me, waiting for me to break. Some days I thought I would. Nothing I said could appease her. I don’t know what your mother has been through or how much is a conjuring of her own imagination, but I was not part of it.”
He took another slow sip of his tea, his eyes studying her again. Bristol’s tea remained untouched.
“But your father . . . What you said about me laughing him out of the throne room, I’m afraid, is true, and for that I’m sorry. I’m not sure why I did it—selfishness, I suppose. Your father was a good knight—no, he was agreatknight. And considering he was mortal, he was a wonder. That’s what everyone called him, the wonder of Danu, and I didn’t want to lose him. I knew Tyghan wouldn’t want to lose him either.” He reached out, plucking another cube of sugar from the bowl, and stirred it into his tea, staring at a few loose leaves swirling on top. “Tyghan was closer to Kierus than he was to me.”
She heard a thread of regret in his voice, but then he perked back up, looking at her again.
“I really did think art was a passing fancy for your father. Who would want to leave such a revered position behind?” He rose, and she did at the same time, watchful of his higher advantage, but he only walked over to a painting hanging on her wall. He examined the serene pastoral scene. “I understand it was art that brought you to Danu in the first place.”
“How would you know that?”
“The Royal Counselor and High Witch told me what transpired during my absence. A da Vinci, I believe. Ironic, don’t you think, that art is what took Kierus away from Danu, but also what brought his daughter back?” His finger ran along the frame of the painting. “Although your motives were more mercenary than creative.”
Bristol’s spine stiffened.
He turned, his eyes inching over her in a leisurely, familiar fashion. He took a step closer. “I can see why Tyghan is smitten with you. You’re as alluring as your mother. But his interest surprises me too, considering who you are. He’s usually more cautious. One thing I have to ask . . . Did you cast a spell over him?”
Her fingers twitched, brushing her knife’s leather scabbard, a warning for him not to step closer. “You’ve twisted it around, I’m afraid. He’s the one who cast a spell on me. You need to work on your delivery, Your Majesty. Your apology had a convincing start but a weak finish.”
He shook his head. “I’ve insulted you. I’m a clumsy oaf. Again, I’m very sorry. I had no intention of inferring—”
“I’d stop while you’re ahead. As my parents—both of whom I know you greatly admire—always told me, read the room, and read it again before you open your mouth.”
He nodded, a hint of a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I am king of Danu. Soon to be king of Elphame,” he said, as if trying to remind her of her place. “But noted. In spite of my blunders, you and I are going to be friends, Bristol Keats.”
And with that, he slowly hunched over, his glamour back in place, and shuffled out the door.
CHAPTER 27
Wait here.”
“But it’s been a long time since—”
“If you hear me scream, you’ll know there’s a problem. I will go in alone.”
They didn’t argue further. Maire’s escort of guards knew the routine, even if it had been a while. No one entered her cottage without her permission. It was her sanctuary. A place where her mind both fogged and cleared. An in-between place where she was outside herself, where time ceased to exist. Where she was still a girl watching her mother spin, watching her father stir the stew over the fire, where she was a child playing beside the hearth with dolls made of yarn and felted sheep’s wool.
When she told Kierus about the abandoned cottage, she never thought either of them would see it again, much less return to it. The Runic River was long and twisted, and the cottage dark and dull—easy to miss, which was why she had chosen it. Had he actually been able to find his way there? But Kierus was aptly named the wonder of Danu. That was what drew her to him in the first place. She recalled another cottage, the one where they first met, his invitation impossible to refuse. She had known his intent, but she was good at killing too, and he was a challenge she couldn’t resist. But she had underestimated his golden tongue, his eagerness that disarmed her, and when it was over, his fingers still strumming her arms like . . .
If anyone could find this cottage, Kierus could.
She climbed the gentle slope up to the old mill, still broken and creaking in the current. The peace here was hypnotic. Maybe that was why she told Kierus about it. Peace. They had always chased after it.
When she reached the porch, she spied a smudged footprint of dried mud on the first step. Her heart sped up. Kierus’s boot? She sensed his presence all over the porch. She was certain of it. She walked up the steps and drew in a deep breath before giving the door a gentle nudge. It squeaked on its hinges. Light streamed in from the opposite window, illuminating her loom in the center of the room, but nothing more. She stepped inside, her gaze sweeping the dark corners of the cottage and then the open loft. Nothing. But then she spotted more footprints on the dusty floor. Smaller boots.Bristol. She had come, just as she promised. She had gathered up her father and taken him back home. She kept their bargain.That is good, Maire told herself. But nothing inside her felt good.It’s done. Over. He can’t ruin anything again, she repeated to herself.
And then she spotted her leather slippers, the ones she always placed on the floor beside the treadle, flung across the room. Maire felt the burn of Kierus’s anger, and something inside her choked. She pressed her palm to her mouth, but then caught herself.He’s angry. He’s gone. He’ll never come back. Just as I wanted.
But when she walked over to her loom, something shot out of her, something just as angry, and her fist came down, shattering the wooden crossbar. Rotted yarn rained to the floor.
“Now it is done. There is no going back.”
CHAPTER 28
Awall of tears surrounded the glade, held back by will and denial. Tears were a finality, an acceptance, and no one present had reached a place of acceptance. But beneath the strained silence, an undercurrent of music floated on the breeze, weaving into throats thick with grief, into warriors, witches, knights, and nobles, and every creature, winged or horned. A crescendo rose in their hearts—this was not an ending.
