Page 39 of The Last Wish of Bristol Keats
Ailes sat forward in his seat. “But if she is vulnerable—”
“No,” Tyghan said. “We promised Bristol not to kill Maire. We’ll rely on her thwarting her mother’s efforts.”
A disgruntled rumble rolled from Dalagorn’s chest. “It took Keats five tries and almost an hour to close the Timbercrest door. Time won’t be on our side.”
“But if Keats had more power . . .” Quin’s fingers strummed the table. “Where are we on that tick?”
That was the question that had been circling like a ravenous buzzard for weeks. Tyghan had come to a decision about it, but he had to talk to Bristol first, to tell her things she had to know, things that would only make her choice harder. “There are risks in removing it. I should have more information to share with you tomorrow. Until then, nothing has changed.”
Tyghan moved on, asking Maddox for a squad to hide and protect Cael until the last minute at the ceremony. Everyone weighed in on the logistics of that crucial moment except Cully. Tyghan noted that he had remained silent throughout the discussions. “Any thoughts, Cully?”
“How do we know that Kormick doesn’t know about Cael?” he answered. “Maybe our ignorance is what he finds amusing. He’s probably planning a retaliation right now while we’re all huddled here like frightened mice.”
The room went silent.Frightened mice?It was a hurled accusation more than it was a comment. Everyone waited for Tyghan to respond.
Tyghan briefly angled his head to the side, taking a moment before he spoke. He forced calm into his voice. “We know, because Bristol assured us that he doesn’t know. It was the deal she made with her mother.”
Cully snickered. “Based on what her mother told her? Because we all certainly know that Maire is trustworthy.”
The pulse of the room raced. Tyghan’s chest rose in a measured breath. “What are you saying, Cully?”
“I’m saying that Bristol is gullible. And biased. Her parents lied to her for her whole life, and she fell for it.”
Tyghan’s head pounded as he struggled to keep himself composed. He reminded himself that Cully was still shaken by Glennis’s death. Bitterness clouded his judgment and loosened his tongue. But every knight in that room had endured the unjust deaths of fellow knights. Bristol gullible and biased? Was Cully’s memory so short?
Tyghan cleared his throat, his words as precise as one of Cully’s arrows. “Yesterday, Bristol gave up something dear to her. For us. Do you understand that? She has risked her life, faced her own mother, who ordered me to slit her throat, and then leaned into my knife until she bled to convince her mother that my threat was real. And then two days later, she went back on her own, not knowing what kind of trap she was headed into, and fed her mother lies. Does that sound like someone who is gullible or biased? She made promises to Maire she never intended to keep. Promises about keeping her family safe. Bristolmanipulatedher. Do you think that was easy for her? She has a family, Cully. A family she loves, regardless of what we think of them. Bristol has survived this world with astounding skill, and only a few weeks ago at Beltane Eve—another time she risked her life for us—you were calling her fucking brilliant. Do you want to reevaluate your opinion of her or be dismissed from this detail entirely?”
Silence choked the room, everyone frozen in place. Waiting. Cully finally shook his head. “You’re right. I misspoke. I’m sorry.”
Tyghan bit back his anger while Cully sullenly looked into his lap. The room remained airless, the equilibrium lost. The rift and threat of dismissal had stolen their thoughts, and Tyghan couldn’t muster one more word to his lips. Seconds ticked by.
“And speaking of weddings.” Cosette spoke up cheerily. “Did you all hear that Melizan and I set a date?”
Dalagorn was quick to chuckle, and Quin nudged Cully’s shoulder, forcing a smile, and the rift was buried beneath the congratulations that ensued. Air filled the room again, everyone eager to recover the balance they thrived on as a team, the balance they desperately needed, and in that moment, Tyghan almost loved Cosette.
His sister’s eyes met his, and he nodded. Cosette was skilled and knew how to save a lot of situations.
Now he regretted complaining about the wedding at all. It was just what they needed. Something to balance the tension that was eating them all alive.
CHAPTER 31
Asoft breeze swept through Bristol’s open window, gently billowing the sheer curtains into ghostly companions. Shadows danced on the ceiling, and an occasional rumble of thunder made Bristol smile. How quickly everyone scrambled to escape summer storms, while she had always loved them. She and her sisters would rush outside to dance in summer downpours and catch the drops on their tongues, the warm water mysterious and sweet. It was one of those things that was even more magical if shared with someone else. She wondered if it was raining in Bowskeep too.Are Cat and Harper outside, dancing together in the rain?A pang of longing pinched in her chest. The rumbles grew fainter. Soon the storm would be gone.
She rolled to her back and stretched, feeling the emptiness of the bed. It was well after midnight, and she couldn’t sleep. Tyghan would sometimes skim her temples or shoulders with his fingers when she couldn’t sleep, to release her tense energies, as he called it—fae shorthand for a massage. It always worked, helping her to let go of the day and fall asleep. He used it on himself too—which explained how he slept like the living dead. But he wasn’t here now, and the night stretched on forever. A single candle burned low in the corner. She wondered if he was still entrenched in meetings at the garrison. She missed the warmth of his body beside her, the sound of his slumbering breaths, the stretch of his arm reaching out for her, even in his sleep.
For hours, her mind had jumped from one thought to the next. There was still no word from Jasmine about removing her tick, though Ivy assured Bristol the message had been delivered. She knew Jasmine’s health was delicate, but she would go to Celwyth Hall in the morning herself to make sure the Sisters understood the urgency of her request. There could be no more waiting. She had to be as powerful as her mother if this whole thing was going to work.
She turned on her side, eyeing Anastasia’s encyclopedia on the nightstand, remembering the unexpected entry she had found in it. She had been looking for more information about ticks in the chapter on fairy animals and legends when, for the first time, she found a mention of the Danu Nation, a legend about a prince turning a queen into a frog. Most of the legends seemed to be about scorned or star-crossed lovers, and a ridiculous number of the stories involved flies. Strangely, she hadn’t seen a single fly since she arrived here, but she had seen numerous frogs, holding court on giant lily pads like kings and queens on thrones.
She had skimmed the rest of the chapter in the encyclopedia and found nothing on ticks. They were, perhaps, a more shameful secret of Elphame—the creation of vermin to steal magic—and not worthy of inclusion. Anastasia’s book was a whimsical one, after all, a guide to customs and fantastical creatures, not the airing of dirty laundry. Or was it? Bristol had never read any other informational books about Faerieland, so she had nothing to compare it to. Was it completely fictional? Anastasia had certainly gotten some things wrong—like about fae not being able to lie. Just like mortals, they were quite accomplished at it. But other things seemed too precise—like the mention of the Danu Nation or her descriptions of the gossiping and idle gentry. And a door.The universe opened a door for me, and who was I to look away?Did she stumble upon a portal? Those details made it seem as if Anastasia had actually been to Elphame. It would have been decades ago, since the copyright on the inside page was 1940. Or maybe Anastasia was simply regurgitating old myths from other sources. Fairies had certainly been around for a long time.
Bristol also searched the encyclopedia for funeral and flower traditions, still wondering about the posy left at her door. All she found was a general tradition of leaving flowers on doorsteps and windowsills to ward off evil and illness, or maybe just bring a smile. She remembered the loose petals Deek and his fellow sprites often left on her windowsill. But the spray of flowers tied up with sisal? That had Willow’s fingerprints all over it. As Bristol tossed and turned, she alternated between certainty that it was Willow, and certainty it was only a fae tradition. Sisal twine, after all, was as common as field grass.
But then there was the weeping she had heard. And Willow always came to funerals. Except her father’s funeral—because she knew he wasn’t dead. Was she here looking for him too?
Tyghan opened the door gently. He pulled off his coat, boots, and then shirt, trying to be quiet.
“I’m awake,” he heard through the darkness.
