Page 115 of The Courting of Bristol Keats
“What about Keats?” Quin asked. “You think she knew about Fritz?”
“How could she not know?” Dalagorn replied. “Over all those years, he must have shape-shifted in front of them.”
“No,” Tyghan said. “She’s the one who brought him up, wondering if he could have made the burrow. I saw the shock on her face. She had no idea he was fae. Even now she still thinks he’s only a fae ferret—not a shape-shifter.”
Quin shook his head. “I’ll give this much to Kierus, he was clever. I guess if he could deceive all of us, he could deceive her, too.”
Kasta’s face darkened. “Not clever enough. Kormick managed to track the family down.”
“Hmm,” Eris mused. “Over twenty years in the mortal world is a long time to be on the run. I’m guessing he and Maire got sloppy.”
Tyghan had a hard time picturing Kierus being sloppy about anything. He remembered how methodically he dressed, every button in order, top to bottom, his trousers tucked precisely in his boots, how he insisted on sharpening his own blades until they gleamed, how when he hunted boar, his aim was so exact, it was rare his javelin didn’t pierce a beast straight between the eyes. His kills were always clean and quick. He had earned his title as butcher. Kierus wasn’t sloppy.
“Or maybe they weren’t tracked down by Fomorian scouts at all,” Madame Chastain suggested. “Maybe Maire simply grew tired of Kierus as she did with other lovers and returned to Kormick of her own accord. A dalliance might have been all she had the patience for.”
Tyghan knew her last comment was directed at him as a warning, and he glanced at her sharply, ready to shut her down, but her eyelids hung half-mast and her brows were pinched with worry. He bit back his reply.
“Whatever the reason,” she added, “we can’t have Fritz flitting in and out of the palace at will. I would suggest you have a talk with Daiedes this evening.”
Tyghan nodded. On that much he and Madame Chastain agreed. He had already planned to make the snake’s hungry dreams come true and give Daiedes permission to pounce and feast on any ferret who might venture into his chamber or onto the palace grounds. Fritz’s excursions were about to come to an end.
Tyghan turned to leave, but one of the garrison knights stopped him. “Your Majesty, the commander asked me to report that a scouting party is late returning to the garrison. They were due back last night. We have two squads searching for them now.”
Two squads? Any number of things could delay a scouting party. It wasn’t that unusual. “Have you seen evidence of an attack? Blood? Riderless horses?”
The knight shook her head. “No. But our last communication with them was a note carried by a rook. It only said they were in the Whelky Lands following a lead and they planned to return last night.”
The Whelky Lands stretched the entire length of the northern border of Bleakwood. That was a long expanse to get lost in—and to search.
“Who was leading the party?”
“One of your officers.” She hesitated, then added, “Officer Dervy.”
Glennis.All the officers served rotations at the garrison. This last week was her turn.
“No doubt they’re holed up in that inn near the border that Officer Dervy claims serves the best leek pie,” Tyghan answered.
Quin and the others voiced agreement, but knew as well as Tyghan that Glennis would never return late from a scouting expedition for any reason under her control, especially not for a leek pie.
“Tell the commander to double his search efforts,” Tyghan ordered. “And to keep this information quiet.”
CHAPTER 78
When Bristol reached the meadow, weapons practice was on hold. “They’re having an afternoonrepast,” Sashka explained in the haughtiest tone she could conjure, daintily dabbing at the corners of her mouth with a lace napkin. She used it to gesture toward Melizan and Cosette, who sat on the opposite side of the meadow in the shade of an oak tree.
With blankets spread for picnicking, and light filtering through the trees to dapple the bright green meadow, Bristol thought it could almost be a Seurat painting—except for the sharp and deadly weapons lying about.
“I don’t even know what a repast is,” Avery said between bites of a raspberry cream horn.
Rose laughed. “It’s what you’re shoving in your mouth right now.”
“We call it a snack where I come from,” Hollis answered. “But it’s served with coffee, not tea.”
Julia sighed. “Oh, how I miss my afternoon espresso with a cinnamon palmier. My local bistro always saved the same corner table for me. It was a nice tradition I miss.”
“My afternoon repast was my boyfriend, Wynn,” Avery stated matter-of-factly. “Usually in the barn. I miss that tradition too. Wynn wasn’t happy when I left, but I promised him I’d be back in time for harvest.”
Sometimes Bristol forgot that the others had left lives behind, too—routines, traditions, and people who were waiting for them to return. That they missed parts of their old lives like she did, including things as ordinary as doughnuts and coffee. Her heart tugged with thoughts of her sisters. She hoped her letter had smoothed things out with Cat.
