Page 140 of The Courting of Bristol Keats
She followed hesitantly, her gaze jumping to the deep shadows on either side of her, the trees looming closer. These were the Wilds, the kind of place whole companies of knights avoided if they could. She listened for noises, things hiding in the murk. “Who hired you?” she asked.
“I was hired to lead and deliver. Not answer questions. That will cost you more.”
“I have no money.”
“Then I suggest you follow quietly.”
Reckless, Bristol thought. The word thumped in her chest.
But this is what she came for. Her father. Every risky step was worth it.
A warning rumble vibrated from August’s chest. He didn’t approve of this dark path, but eventually the gloom began to lift, and the forest thinned. Their path opened onto a sunny valley, a pastoral setting as inviting as any Durand landscape. Deer grazed in the distance, and tucked up against the trees on the other side of the valley was a worn wooden barn, its paint a hazy memory.
“This is as far as I take you. It’s time for me to go,” the horseman said, and pointed. “Over there.”
Bristol looked from the barn to the horseman. “And how do I get back?”
“You’ll find your way, Miss Keats. Assuming you go back at all.”
Why did he keep calling herMiss Keats? Her father kept her name a secret in the note. It didn’t seem like he would he reveal it to this dubious escort. “How do you know my name?”
He rubbed his fingers together, indicating it would cost her coin.
A ruthless mercenary, but he seemed to have a decided opinion on her prospects. Bristol looked behind her at the eerie forest she had just traversed, then ahead again. “Yes, I will find my way, and I will be going back.Withmy father.”
The horseman shook his head, doubtful. “I wouldn’t—” But before he could dissuade her, she pressed her knees to August’s flanks and said, “Ride!”
August flew across the valley, eager to leave their escort behind too. “Slow, boy. Slow,” Bristol said softly as they neared the barn. She looked back. The horseman was already gone.
A trap.The thought occurred to her again. She scanned the surrounding forest, but it was as still as a painting. She checked the knives at her side and reviewed the evasive maneuvers Melizan and Cosette had drilled into her, then pulled in a grounding breath. She slid from the saddle. If it was a trap, she was as ready as she would ever be.
“Wait here,” she whispered to August. She had only taken one step when she heard the screech of a rusty hinge and someone pushed open the barn door.
CHAPTER 96
There’s a clearing in the forest.” Tyghan described the valley, the grazing deer, all the things that Bristol saw, including the horseman pointing across the valley—and then her sudden departure, leaving the horseman behind.
“What’s she up to now?” Quin asked.
Tyghan didn’t know, except that she was doing something behind their backs—again. He felt the tension in the room rise.
“She’s outside the barn, scanning the perimeters,” he told them. “She’s getting down. This is it. This is the destination.” Tyghan knew the valley, and the old abandoned barn. Sticking to the skies, they could be there in minutes. “Let’s go—”
But as he stood, the smoke was still in his nostrils, his mind, the images still coming, and he saw the barn door opening. Tyghan froze midstep.
“What’s wrong?” Kasta asked. “Do you see something else?”
A vise clamped down on Tyghan’s chest. His hands curled to fists. He saw a figure standing in the doorway. His face was masked in shadows, but Tyghan knew the stance. The height. The way he filled doorways. The way his arms hung at his sides, never far from his weapons. The attention he commanded without saying a word.
“It’s Kierus,” he answered. “She’s meeting with her father.”
CHAPTER 97
Bristol stared at the figure in the doorway, afraid to believe.
Her throat shriveled, tight and useless.
Months ago, the impossible had happened. Her father had died. She had always believed him to be invincible. Instead, he had been brutally ripped from their lives. There was no notice. No goodbyes. It was a sudden, horrible death that she was reminded of every day as she rode into town, an ever-present roadside memorial haunting her with morbid thoughts. The guilt was always there, that she couldn’t make him happy in his last days. Guilt that she should have done something differently. Guilt that he had suffered a violent death. He had deserved more than a casual slaughter at the side of the road.
