Page 70 of The Last Wish of Bristol Keats
You too, Harper. I know we’ve kept so much from you in the past. (Pretty lame because you were all over it.). But Cat and I were only trying to protect you, trying to give you a more normal childhood than what we had, but you’re old enough and smart enough—probably smarter than both of us—that you can handle this now.
I’m glad you’re both sitting now because what I’m about to say will be a lot for you to absorb.
Daddy is alive. I found him. He is as strong and healthy as ever. And still as stubborn as a brick wall. We had a long talk, but he refused to come home with me because he is still trying to find Mother.
That’s right. Mother.She is alive.He knew it all along. Mother is healthy and well too. I know this is especially shocking, but it’s true. I don’t know what’s in the urns out in the workshop, but it’s not their ashes.
Mother is different now—she is fully fae. All of our lives she used glamour to hide who she was (Harper, explain to Cat what glamour is). Mother is afraid to leave this world—she’s under a spell of sorts—but I’m confident that will change soon once we confront the man who brought her here. Don’t worry, I won’t be confronting him alone—a lot of powerful fae will be with me, including the leader here that I mentioned to you earlier. We have grown close (yes, read between the lines). This will all happen in just a couple of weeks, and then I’m bringing them both home to you. That’s why this has all taken so long. Just like our world, this world is complicated and has its problems too.
So I hope this good (but shocking) news makes the wait worth it and that you aren’t angry with me for being away for so long. As you can see, I have a good reason. (Oh! And besides Mother and Father, I have some cool fae gifts for you too. I think you’ll love them. BTW, did you get decent phones?) I wish more than anything that I was there with you, but it won’t be much longer now. While I’m gone I hope you’re putting down the deepest roots ever, because we are never going to have to run again. Take care of each other until then, and please always know, I love you both more than anything.
Your adoring sister,
Bri
Cat’s chest shook. She kissed her index finger and pressed it to Bri’s name. “I love you too, sis.”
Harper put her arm around Cat, and they both stared at the letter, reading it again and again, reading between all the lines that Bristol hadn’t intended, noting every place where she inserted cheerful remarks or breezed past events to lessen the gravity of it all.
Curves. Challenges. Confront. Powerful. Afraid. Complicated. Problems. Deal with it. Those were the words that glared at them between the lines.
They discussed the improbability of it all, that the fae world really existed, that both of their parents were still alive. It seemed too much to hope for. But Bristol said it was all so, and they trusted her.
“What is glamour?” Cat finally asked.
“It’s faking appearances.”
Cat chewed on the corner of her lip, thinking. “Then maybe we’re fae after all,” she said. “That might be the truest part of our lives.” She stood and pulled Harper to her feet too. “Our sister will be home soon, I do believe that much. Let’s get the old house cleaned up, so she’s not coming home to a dusty mess.”
CHAPTER 51
Tyghan’s meetings ended early, and he had been on his way to Bristol’s room when Eris intercepted him.
It arrived. The two words still reverberated in his head. Eris said them in passing, making Tyghan’s other thoughts scatter.
It’s large, Eris had told him.That’s why it took so long to transport. It’s in your room.
His footsteps slowed as he walked toward his chamber, reluctance building inside him.It’s only a fucking painting, he told himself. But he hadn’t thought it through. He didn’t count on the effect that it might have on him.
When he entered his chambers, he spotted the velvet-draped painting in a hallway, leaning against a wall. He eyed it for a long while before pulling the cloth free.
He sat in front of it now, sipping a glass of goblin whiskey that burned his throat, and stared at Kierus’s last piece of art.
Tempest #44.
Forty-four times Kierus had painted that scene. And still, forty-four times hadn’t been enough.
Tyghan had bought the painting anonymously, wanting to provide quick additional funds for the Keats sisters to ease Bristol’s worry. But he also bought it because he was curious. The gallery owner had been suspicious at the five million he offered—far more than she was asking—but then gladly accepted it on the sisters’ behalf. Tyghan would have paid any price.
The pamphlet that accompanied the painting lay on the floor. He had already read it, but it was unnecessary. It talked about things like paint, style, and technique. Not pain, betrayals, and regrets. Tyghan saw the real story, what Kierus had seen—the story beneath thick layers of paint. He saw it in every stroke.
A forest.
A dark swirling sky.
The haze of dusk.
A tired and worried prince finally spotting horse tracks. He had dismounted from August and left him behind to quietly follow the narrow trail of hoofprints. Desperate to find his friend. To save him.
