Page 133 of The Courting of Bristol Keats
But it wasn’t all right. She saw the desperation in his face when she looked up. For god’s sake, he was king and in three weeks would lead his knights against uncountable restless dead. They were facing a certain slaughter.It wasn’t all right.She saw it in every pair of eyes fixed on her, their elation tumbling.
She shook her head, rejecting his offer. Now. It had to be now. “I can do this,” she said, but doubt grew in her throat, a painful knot she couldn’t swallow away.
She flexed her fingers at her sides, trying to relax. Every part of her ached.There is always a way. Always a way.The ache turned to raging heat.
There is always a way.
She whirled. “I need a minute,” she said to Tyghan, but her eyes landed on Madame Chastain. “Just a private minute.” As she walked past Julia and Sashka, she quickly whispered, “I need you to distract Tyghan. Whatever you need to do,do it. Don’t let him look my way.”
“What is it?” Madame Chastain asked as Bristol led her into the deeper shadows of the forest.
“I need you to do something for me that Tyghan would never do—because what he and I have isnota dalliance.”
The High Witch’s lips pulled in a tight line at Bristol’s tone. Her fingers crackled with pending punishment. “And that would be?” she asked.
“You’re a physician, accomplished in the healing arts. I assume that means you know where my heart is, my lungs, the essentials. That you know how to be careful in navigating them. I’m close to shutting the portal. I can feel it. I need you to stab me. Precisely. Prick that son of a bitch in my back so more of its blood is released.Myblood and magic that it’s stolen. I don’t need much. Just a—”
“No.Absolutely not. You should have thought of that before. This is not the place nor the time—”
“And I say it is. This is exactly the place, Madame Chastain. Or I’m out. Do you hear me?Out.I’ve let all of you call every play. I’m calling this one.”
Bristol eyed the two tiny knives sheathed on the medical pouch at the High Witch’s side and turned before she could reply, lifting her tunic. “Hurry. He’s not watch—”
A sharp pain pierced her shoulder, and she gasped.
“Breathe out,” Madame Chastain ordered.
Bristol’s knees wobbled, and she felt the witch’s arms around her waist. “Steady,” she said. “And now breathe in. Breathe through the pain. Breathe, Miss Keats.”
But besides the stab in her shoulder, the tick clutched her, recoiling with its own pain, crushing her insides.
Bristol sucked in a shallow breath. “I can’t—I—”Focus. You can do this.
Madame Chastain still gripped her from behind, keeping Bristol on her feet. “Another breath. That’s right. Another—”
“Tyghan’s turning,” Bristol groaned. She forced herself upright, pushing away the High Witch’s hands. But it was too late. In spite of Julia’s and Sashka’s efforts, Tyghan had already caught a glimpse of her.
“What the hell is going on?” he yelled as he ran over.
The stab was small as she had asked, little more than a deep prick, but the back of her tunic was damp with a stream of blood. “I’m fine,” she said. “Just coaxing that creature on my back to give me what’s mine. Let’s get this done.”
Tyghan cursed, grabbing her arm, but she shook free and pushed forward, still forcing in breaths through the spasms of pain caused by the writhing tick.
Uproar exploded around them.
Questions and shouts at her. At the High Witch.
Are you mad?
What have you done?
Youstabbedher?
Eris was a swirl of commotion trying to calm everyone as he shouted too.
But Bristol remained focused on her steps, the thousand bees in her blood humming louder, stronger. She stopped in front of the portal, the growing buzz swarming hot in her chest. She looked at her palm, then punched it into the portal, her hand sparking with brilliant light. The shimmering light traveled up her arm, to her shoulders, and through her hair and lashes in blinding tendrils. “Abiendubra,” she whispered.Sealed forever.She closed her hand into a fist and pulled back, like she was yanking a sheet from a line.
And in a sharp, hot second, the portal was gone.
