Page 73 of The Last Wish of Bristol Keats
She winked. “But they might not take him back. Tyghan seems like the best choice to me, but the Stone will do the choosing,” Julia concluded before they rode into the sky for the valley.
Maybe, Bristol thought, still mulling over their slightly traitorous conversation, but she knew Tyghan had no interest in ruling Elphame—only if it was necessary—so he likely wouldn’t step up at all. But who else cared about Elphame as much as he did?
“Take it all in,” she heard Julia say to Sashka and Rose as they soared above the landscape that was such a bright lush green, the color needed its own name. “Never take it for granted. It’s the beautiful jewel that we’re risking our necks for.”
Bristol looked down, knowing the beautiful jewel Julia spoke of was not just the landscape but centuries of history, the rich world that gave birth to her own.
She recalled Julia’s great-aunt foretelling that Julia would have an important role to play in Elphame one day. That day had come. Julia could have simply retired comfortably from the university and still be enjoying the wonders of Paris and her espresso and cinnamon palmier at her favorite local bistro. Instead, she was here, with them. Risking her neck.
And Bristol was grateful. Julia would make a perfect ruler of Elphame.
CHAPTER 54
The old spriggan shook his head, looking out at the valley, his wrinkled eyelids drooping. “It’s been a long time,” he said, his voice wistful.
Certain traditions were an elusive element of the Choosing Ceremony that Tyghan still needed to understand. The fae who started them were long dead in this world. The living who carried on the traditions had only history and hearsay to guide them. Especially when it came to the Choosing Ceremony. Since it happened just once every hundred years, neither Tyghan nor any of his officers had ever witnessed one. Most of those in Danu hadn’t. But there was one fae, Shane of Dubrick, an old spriggan knight retired from service, who had witnessed three. He had been invited on their fact-finding expedition—a last-minute mission. Now that Bristol could open massive portals, some strategies had changed as to how they would advance their troops. Logistics needed to be nailed down.
“The Choosing always happens when the sun’s at its highest,” Shane told them. “But normally, monarchs, challengers, and their entourages show up the day before for the Parley of Royals. It’s a chance to size up the opposition, share meals, and let tempers and ambitions cool. It’s the Stone that chooses, of course, but reducing the competition is the goal. The fewer who step past the Mother Ring onto the sacred grounds, the better your chances are of being chosen.”
They stared at the tall double row of standing stones, pitted and aged by time, almost like crooked teeth protecting the Stone of Destiny at the center. That was Kormick’s goal—to ensure no one stepped past the inner ring of stones except him. He would be the only choice by default.
“Sometimes everyone agrees on a clear choice,” the old spriggan continued, “and they go home happy and with full stomachs. Other times not. That’s when blood is shed.”
Shane squinted as he scanned the valley. Weathered leaves on his shoulders crumbed in the breeze. “Nothing has changed here,” he said with mild surprise. “My first ceremony was bloody, three stubborn fools vying for the crown, but it was an unassuming cobbler who stepped up and was granted cauldron and crown by the Stone—just like that.” He cackled. “That sure punched the piss out of the rest. They went home with wounds in their sides and their tails between their legs.”
The officers laughed uneasily, hoping there would be no tails between their own legs—or spears in their sides. Tyghan pressed the knight, needing to know more. “What about the kingdoms that came? Where did their entourages set up for the parleys in the past?” he asked. “Can you still remember?”
Shane pointed his crooked finger, circling the valley. “Always on the rim where they could see everything. Colorful little cities popped up overnight, fanciful tents shining in the sun like jewels, with their kingdom banners raised high and flapping in the wind. It was a sight to behold. Proud and hopeful moments for everyone. But many came with no interest in claiming the crown at all. The ceremony was a once-in-a-century affair, not to be missed. Nobles who had no business being there tagged along too. It gave them bragging rights to history.”
“What about Fomoria? Was there a certain place they set up?” Tyghan asked.
Shane rubbed his bristled chin, thinking. “Most who made the journey tended to set up in a direct line from their kingdoms—easy to retreat that way—so Fomoria would have set up right about . . .” He raised his arm and pointed to a spot just east of a stand of oak trees. “There. Yes, just above that steep rocky region, that was it. I remember their black and silver banners.”
“And Danu?”
“That one’s easy. I helped set the tentpoles. Right there.” He pointed to the opposite side of the valley, which was exactly what Tyghan hoped. “Only six days left,” Shane said. “Think you’ve got this one? Need an extra hand?”
Tyghan grasped Shane’s forearm and thanked him. “You’ve given more than your share of service, my friend.” Junior knights escorted the old knight back to his farm, and Tyghan and his officers invoked their veils of invisibility and set to work, riding the rim.
“Archers up there,” Cully said. “And there. With the sun high and in Fomoria’s eyes, these would be the best places to join the fray.”
Tyghan agreed. This time there would be no marking the landscape—only memorizing it. Four points of entry for the garrison troops, high above the valley.
Quin, Dalagorn, and Kasta eagerly weighed in.Sky fighters here and here. Shield guards there. Spear platoons here. Sorcerers and ward casters interspersed.Greymarch forces can come in here and Eideris here.
Tyghan heard the fervor renewed in his officers’ voices. Despite all the death his knights had witnessed, they still weren’t immune to its horror, and seeing Samuel, an innocent, so cruelly taken, had invigorated their hatred of everything that was Fomorian. Maire’s name was never said, especially not in Bristol’s presence, but it always simmered beneath the surface.
The plan hinged, however, on Bristol eliminating the restless dead from the equation. And now they had little doubt that she could make that happen.
“Bloodmarked,” Dalagorn said under his breath. “Damn if we didn’t get lucky.”
“And she’s on our side,” Cully added. “I’m sorry for what I said about her at the garrison—”
Tyghan shook his head. “You were grieving, Cully. It’s behind us.”
“What about those blue nails of hers?” Quin asked. “I thought maybe she had another kind of fae in her. What happened with those?”
“It was nothing,” Tyghan replied, the practiced answer ready on his tongue. “According to the Sisters, it was only unstable magic inside her.”
