Page 33 of The Courting of Bristol Keats
“Then whoever you tasked with the job—it worked. She agreed to come here on the condition I help her find Logan Keats.”
“I didn’t task anyone with telling her such an outlandish thing. Why would I?”
“But you said you were going to squeeze her. When she came back to the inn claiming her father was alive, I assumed—”
“I did apply pressure. Her family was in dire financial straits, so I extinguished their last source of income—her older sister’s job.”
They both went silent, caught up in their thoughts, retracing words and events.
“Maybe it was Olivia or Esmee who told—”
“No,” Eris said. “They had already left the inn by the time she showed up.”
Tyghan lowered his voice. “Who would have told her, then?”
“I—” Eris shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Why?Tyghan thought.Why would someone tell her that?
Unless—
He leaned forward, and his next words were as quiet as a sharp blade. “How do you know he’s dead, Eris?”
“He’s dead! The sheriff told me. He saw the body with his own eyes. He told me the gruesome details, including watching as the body was scraped off the road. He didn’t even know who Logan Keats was at the time other than a local artist. He only found out when we showed up a few weeks ago. He’d have no reason to lie.”
“What other outliers are there in Bowskeep?”
Eris told him those he knew about, including Freda the librarian, a local farmer, and a shop owner on Main Street. “There’s surely a few more I don’t know about. You know how they are. That’s why they’re called outliers. They keep to themselves. What did Miss Keats say? Who told her he was alive?”
“She didn’t say.”
But Tyghan was already standing and on his way to find out.
Trows took her father.He had an uneasy feeling about this.
Was it just a miscommunication?
An easy explanation?
No,his gut told him. Nothing was easy when Kierus was involved.
CHAPTER 23
The Butcher of Celwyth sat hunched over the coals, warming his hands. He’d forgotten how cold the high country could be, especially tucked back in a damp trow cave. He was stuck here, at least for the time being, but it gave him time to retrace his steps in months and years. He should have listened to Maire. She was right when she said it was time to go. Complacency was a sword in your chest, instead of someone else’s. How had he forgotten that rule?
He’d only been navigating the Wilds for a few days now, but how much time had passed back home in the mortal world? The question nagged at him. He’d probably been gone for much longer—far too long. He regretted that, but with no timemark, there wasn’t anything he could do. His daughters would manage.
He couldn’t let it cloud his thinking. Regret was a sword in the back. Another rule he needed to remember. There were as many ways to die in Elphame as there were ways to kill. All the rules he’d abandoned, the rules he used to live by, were flooding back to him now, sharp and honed, ready to stab, swing, and bludgeon, the rules that had made him the wonder of Danu.
“You can never grow tired of running ever again,” he whispered to himself. He saw that now. Running was his destiny. The tithe for his choices. When you’re sent by the gods to seduce and kill your enemy but fail in your task, when you become the seduced instead of the seducer, few options were left to you and only one involved staying alive: run. Run away with the enemy and hope you both run faster than the gods.
If only they’d kept running.
He wouldn’t allow himself to think that it was too late to save her. It could never be too late.
He twisted the head from the salmon he was roasting and sucked on its hot juices, his tongue burning, praying the spotted salmon would bless him with the wisdom of Danu.
As he settled into sleep, knowing the trows would be back soon, the only wisdom he heard was,Run and keep running, until the gods die—or you do.
