Page 89 of The Last Wish of Bristol Keats
“How am I supposed to know all the things you do and don’t want to hear, Tyghan? I can’t read your mind! Every time I try to say anything about my parents, you shut down. So I keep those things bottled up inside me to spare you, things you’ve never heard and never wanted to hear, but they matter to me too.”
He studied her, as if sifting through all the times he had changed and avoided the subject of her mother and father. “Then tell me now. I’m listening.”
He returned to his chair, but Bristol didn’t sit. Instead, she paced in front of the fireplace. “The pain you’ve suffered these past months is unimaginable—I know that—but so was my lifetime of running from monsters I couldn’t see. I don’t think any of you have truly understood that. I always felt like I was being hunted. Every single day of my life. There were no breaks. The duffle bags always ready to go. The disturbed glances between my parents. The rushed departures just as we were settling in.
“My sisters endured the same. No one should have to grow up that way—distanced from everyone. Even in the mortal world I always felt like I was an outcast, that I didn’t belong. Unlike you, I never had a best friend at all—I had no friends—only my sisters. We’ve both suffered, Tyghan, in different and unjust ways.
“But when it comes to my mother and the things she’s done, I—” She drew a shaky breath. “I always hold the losing cards, and that weighs on me every hour of every day. How can I convince you of anything concerning her? Even around everyone else, I hear the silences when her name is brought up in my presence. I feel it like a burn on my skin. What do they say when I’m not there?Kill the bitch, like Cael shouted at the portico? I’m trying to make amends, to make things right, but who wants to make things right for her? No one. But I know things about my mother no one else wants to know, including you. You only see the monster.”
She stopped pacing and faced him, swallowing back tears. “I know a woman whose parents were murdered in a raid when she was just a girl, a woman who was terrified and wanted a different life, who struggled to figure out how to live in a completely new world, a woman who played string games in laundromats, and cried at sunsets, a woman who loved teaching her daughters about the stars in the sky and who fiercely wanted another life, but she couldn’t make it happen, because others wouldn’t let her. A woman who had a gift, and Kormick twisted it into something ugly. And she had no one,no oneelse to turn to, only him—until my father came along. And maybe, maybe she is a monster now. Maybe that’s all she is. But at one time, she wanted to be something else.”
She took a step closer, her gaze fixed on his, her cheeks wet.
“I don’t want to just save Elphame. I want to saveher. There, I’ve said it. I want to give her something no one else will. Maybe something she doesn’t even deserve. And maybe that’s how my father and I are alike.
“I’ve held on to your promise to rescind the kill order for my mother, but last night after finding my father, I wondered if that was a lie too, and that terrified me.” She reached up and swiped at her nose. “So yes, those are the things I never told you.”
Tyghan pushed up from the chair and stood. “It wasn’t a lie,” he said. “I swear. I can’t control the council and force them to change a sentence, but I do control my troops. I promise you, I did rescind that kill order, and that still stands, and will always stand.” His gaze was unwavering. “I need you to believe that.”
She searched his face—his eyes glistening—and she finally nodded, brushing at her lashes. “Julia said our differences would catch up with us if we didn’t talk them out, and now they have.”
He rubbed the back of his neck then nodded. “Then let’s talk them out. Let’s not leave this room until we’ve talked about everything.”
And they did. They talked, and they listened, their conversation spilling out of order, one thought triggering another, biting their tongues, trying not to interrupt, but mostly following each other’s lead. Mostly listening because they truly wanted to understand, more than they wanted to scream anymore.
Why didn’t you tell me it was only a month?
I struggled with my choice and didn’t tell anyone, not even Eris. I wasn’t sure if I had done the right thing. He didn’t just betray me. He betrayed an entire kingdom. If the council found out what I did, they’d convene and put Cael back on the throne faster than I could blink. That could be disastrous. He’s not ready. Too many plans are already in the works . . .
When I questioned her, Kasta confessed to me that she gave him a thousand years. She thought I was making a mistake to shorten his sentence. She tried to talk me out of it.
But you shortened it anyway. Why? Have you forgiven him?
No—I’m not sure—I don’t know. I’m still confused by my own feelings, but one thing I know with certainty is that you love your father. I didn’t do it for him. I did it for you . . .
My father called out Kasta’s name from the pillar, that’s why I ran to her instead of you. I was still in shock. And then I was angry. All I saw was red, and not all the consequences.
I’m sorry, Bri, for the way you found him. I never meant for that to happen. What did he say when you let him out?
He sobbed when I told him I was bloodmarked. He said they never wanted that for me. He was afraid for me. I told him that you were not Kormick . . .
Eris and I were shocked when we learned Kierus had a family already, with adult children, but mortal time is unpredictable and takes us by surprise too. It was only six months in our world, not your lifetime. That was the timeframe we thought in. Months. We had no idea that you even existed. If we had known . . .
All the times I shut you down. I’m sorry. I thought I was protecting you, but I was only protecting myself. You can talk about her, and I will listen.
I sold her a dream, Tyghan, in order to get Cael back. It still feels like I sold part of my soul that day . . .
My father’s a mortal. Fully mortal. When I let him out of the pillar, I told him to wait for me at the barn, but I knew almost immediately that he wouldn’t. Now I’ve put him at risk.
Your father has always had a compass of his own. You’re not responsible for what he does.
You were watching his back. You wanted to keep him out of trouble. Is it so hard for you to admit that at least some part of you doesn’t want him to die?
No, not so hard. A big part of me doesn’t want him to die.
Did Pengary try to hurt you?
No. He kissed my hand and thanked me for helping him, telling me not to believe all the stories I’ve heard about him. He said the centuries twist them and that one day I might be a legend too. And then he turned into an enormous beast and flew away . . .
