Page 17 of The Last Wish of Bristol Keats
Bristol wasn’t immune to fear. It was a heavy stone sitting in her gut, but rage crawled over her skin too, multiplying with each mile like an infection.
Glennis’s sightless blue eyes burned bright in Bristol’s mind. Glennis, now forever the watchful knight, scanning a sky she would never see again. Bristol would be Glennis’s eyes now. Bristol would be her teeth and nails and fire.
She and August crossed over Balor Pass, quickly approaching the base of Queen’s Cliff, a flat span of sand along the shore that gleamed in the noon sun.
Stay clear of the water. There’s merkind there that will pull you under.
Stay invisible until you get your bearings.
Circle first. Look for a trap.
Don’t dismount from August.
Be ready to flee. Go low. They’ll expect you to go high.
No. Follow your instincts. Always follow your instincts.
The advice the officers piled on her could only take her so far. They all knew, any trap laid would likely be sure and complete. A deathtrap. This was either a real meeting meant to appease Maire and keep Cael’s head attached to his shoulders, or it was meant to capture Bristol—and odds were, it was the latter.
Come back to me, Bri. Promise me.
The thought of her mother or Kormick trying to thwart her return only made her rage burn brighter. She would return, and it wouldn’t be with her head in a chest.
She circled the beach again, wary.
The sandy base of Queen’s Cliff only stretched for about two hundred yards. It was deceptively as beautiful as the cliffs of Étretat, though Bristol was certain Monet had never painted these, nor had any other painter who might have skipped into Elphame on sabbatical—or by accident. No matter how beautiful, this was not a place to set up a canvas and linger, not if you valued your life.Get out quickly. But how quick was quick enough?
The beach at the bottom of the cliff was deserted. Bristol eyed the widest section in the middle, maybe thirty yards deep, that would give her the greatest distance from the shore and the merkind dwelling in the water.
“Down,” she whispered to August. He shed his invisibility, and Bristol pushed back the hood of her cloak to shed hers, and they descended. August’s hooves kicked up white sand and stone as he slowed and bellowed his misgivings.
Not far from the shore, a silver tail flipped out of the water and disappeared again. The creatures already knew she was there.
There was no sign of her mother, but Bristol sensed a presence, a feeling of being watched. Maybe it wasn’t a learned habit after all, but a suppressed fae skill she was born with?
Against advice she slid from August’s saddle.
“I came alone as ordered,” she called into the emptiness. “No hidden weapons. You have nothing to fear from me.”
The small sound of ripples lapping at the shore was the only reply.
She scanned the beach one way and then another, and called out again, “I know you’re there. More games?”
Though she really wasn’t certain at all. The air was heavy with the sea, salty and sticky on her cheeks. She considered returning to August’s back, but then, in a niche at the base of the cliff, a mist grew, and from it, a figure materialized.
Maire. Leanna. Her mother. Or whoever she was today.
Maire, Bristol thought.For today she needs to be Maire. A stranger.
The flutter in Bristol’s chest accelerated to a sickening thump. Maire was perched on a smooth boulder like it was her throne, an elegant raven gown hugging her svelte form. Her copper hair was done up in multiple graceful braids that twisted across her head and around . . . her horns. Horns that Bristol would never get used to. She had seen them on a hundred different creatures and fae, but horns did not belong on her mother. Bristol’s gaze dropped from the golden horns to her mother’s jade eyes. They were inscrutable.
“No games,” Maire finally answered. “I just wanted a moment to get a quiet look.”
“And Kormick?” Bristol asked, eyeing the surrounding beach. “He’s still hiding?”
Maire laughed, her eyes sparking. “Kormick? He never comes here. It’s too primitive for his taste. Not to mention, he can’t stand that worthless bag of bones that he’s holding up top. He can’t wait to be rid of him.”
Worthless. Cael. The way she saidriddidn’t sound at all likerelease. It sounded permanent.
