Page 126 of The Courting of Bristol Keats
“What did you say to him?” Kormick immediately asked her.
Bristol warmed inside. New secrets were already eating at him. “Nothing important.”
“It must have been important enough that he didn’t take another swing at me. What power do you have over him?”
“Oh, you’d be surprised.”
“That’s not an answer.”
She smiled. “It’s the only answer you’re going to get.”
Heat flickered behind his pupils. His beautiful blond hair tumbled over his brow. He tugged her closer as they spun on the dance floor. “Whatever scent you have on, you need to get a new one.”
“Spring bouquet. I like it,” Bristol chirped.
He frowned. “I thought I told you to go home. There’s nothing for you here.”
“Why do you even care, Mick? I mean nothing to you.”
“You mean something. And I don’t want you chasing after lies. Your father isn’t here. I have it on good authority, he’s dead.”
“Well, aren’t you a delightful dance partner? Always bearing such good news.”
“I only come with the truth. I even asked around for you. See? I’m the honorable one after all, in spite of what Trénallis may have told you.”
“Honorable? You must use that term loosely. Forcing yourself on Elphame as the new ruler hardly seems honorable.”
“Not forcing—simply campaigning—as they all do.”
But not with an army of demons, she mused. “How far will you go for this campaign?”
“As far as I need to go, as any good leader would. There are no limits or borders to prudent governance.”
His need ran deep. She saw it in his eyes, the flame that ignited in them when he spoke of it. She had no doubt that the mortal world was in jeopardy too, just as Eris had already warned.
“Fomoria’s been systematically excluded from the rule of Elphame for centuries,” he continued. “Our turn has come. Trénallis and his kind twist everything. Is he the one who said your father was alive?”
Another burning question. It was definitely secrets that had driven him to barge in on the celebrations. Bristol paused as if carefully considering her answer.
Kormick’s smile vanished, and he gave her a warning shake. “Tell me.”
Only three small secrets, and he was close to unraveling—and she was only getting started. Maybe his agreeable facade required a strong magic he couldn’t sustain. She had never tested him back in Bowskeep. She had only swallowed his lies. When grief consumed her, her caution disappeared.
“No,” she answered with dramatic flair, hearing her practiced pitch in every singsong word she uttered, a story, a weaving, a splash of paint. A spider knitting a shroud. “It wasn’t Trénallis who told me. It was Cael.”
He laughed. “Cael? The king’s brother? He’s been in my custody for months. You’ll have to do better than that.”
“I’m well aware that you’re holding him, but he told me in a dream. Cael is a dreamwalker.”
Kormick huffed out a disbelieving chuckle. “No, he isn’t.”
Bristol eyed her hand resting on Mick’s shoulder, his thick locks only inches away. The vein at his temple ticked with growing irritation.
“Interesting. That’s what Tyghan said, too. He was full of denial. But the palace gossips say—” She shrugged, adding a secretive smirk. “Never mind. I think our dance is over. You go about your business, Mick, and I’ll go about mine.”
She saw it only briefly, his control snapping, a flash of fury, and in an instant, everything changed. He spun with her, as if it was a turn in the dance, but—
The room went dark. The dance floor disappeared. Everyone disappeared. Bristol’s own breath disappeared. All she felt was the iron grip of Kormick’s arm around her back, and the clutch of ice in her throat.
