Page 40 of The Courting of Bristol Keats
Mere mortals?
Bristol prickled at the jab, but at the same time took her first deep breath since instruction began, grateful that even she, a mere mortal, could learn a spell. Maybe this would help cover her shortcomings until she found her father.
Olivia placed an apple on the table in front of each recruit, then went over the elocution of three different spells, because apparently even apples had their standards and responded to some words better than others.
“El. O. Cu. Tion,” Reuben harped at Avery as she recited her first spell. “It is not an option like ribbon on a dress!”
Back off, asshole, Bristol thought, but she pasted on a smile and concentrated on the apple in front of her, praying she wouldn’t send it hurtling into anyone’s head—except for maybe Reuben’s.
She said every phrase. Twice. She El—O—Cuted like her life depended on it.
She tried again in perfect French, and then in Spanish.
She wooed. She sang.
She even gave the apple her lethal stare.
It didn’t so much as wobble.
Esmee frowned in a sympathetic way. “Having an off day?”
“Yes, that’s it,” Bristol readily agreed. A very off day.
When the recruits were dismissed, she grabbed the apple and ate it as revenge on her way back to her room. It still felt like the apple had won.
Apparently, she was the merest of all mere mortals.
CHAPTER 29
Bristol sniffed the air. Magic had a scent, she had learned. But in Elphame it was nearly impossible to detect individual scents because magic was everywhere, like being engulfed by the song of a full orchestra. Individual notes blended, but occasionally a few notes rose above the rest, sweet like ripe summer plums, or mysterious like alder smoke, or sensuous like autumn musk.
In the mortal world, magic was a single off-key note that didn’t belong—a tangy knife cutting the air that was easy to detect. Fae could easily find other fae this way. The magic of everyday glamour was the exception, for even mortals used glamour in their own rudimentary way to be something they were not. Glamour was as dry and scentless as stale bread.
After three long, grueling days of intensive orientation and lessons, field drills were about to begin. Bristol leaned forward from the observatory deck, praying she would at least be more successful at this. She studied the winding course, certain she could smell the fear of the recruits below her, or maybe it was only her own fear she sensed. There was nothing magical about it.
The training grounds overlooked the distant Badbe Garrison in the valley just south of the palace. They had taken a tour the day before, meeting senior officers and viewing combat drills from afar. The garrison was where most recruits hoped to advance, snagging a coveted position in the ranks of Danu knights, apparently a prestigious appointment. Though it seemed she and her fellow novices were brought there for a very different purpose.Bloodmarked.The only mark she had on her was a large stamp on her forehead that saidImpostor.Luckily, no one had seen it yet. She hoped.
When she and the other recruits had first taken seats on the deck, they saw a woman below wiping tears from her eyes as she was led away. Ivy said she was being sent home. She’d only been in training for a week. Bristol didn’t know the woman, or why this was important to her, but she felt her loss, that familiar sense of losing something that was never in her grasp to begin with, all the towns Bristol had to let go of before they were even hers, the connections she never made, the people who didn’t notice her absence once she was gone, or even remember her name.
Home.Maybe that was what the woman hoped to find here. Watching her walk away sent urgency beating through Bristol’s rib cage. She learned from Esmee that the recruit numbers were quickly dwindling. It was down to their newly arrived six and only a few others. Danu meant business. Finding this door of theirs was as important to them as finding her father was to her. She had to perform better at field training than she had at spells. That morning she blushed with embarrassment when Olivia complimented her fine diction—pathetic pity-praise when there was nothing else to compliment. Throughout the morning every incantation she attempted was as limp and lifeless as overcooked pasta, the kind of pasta Sal would curse and throw out.
Even though the other recruits had grown up in the mortal world and their knowledge of fae history had plenty of missing pieces, they either already knew or quickly learned the basic spells for levitation or how to temporarily glamour simple objects, turning brooms into swords, or teacups into potatoes. This was like boot camp—the essentials a recruit needed to learn—and Bristol couldn’t even get a lock of hair to rise in a strong wind.
When they left morning lessons for the training grounds earlier, Hollis slipped her arm through Bristol’s, hugged her to her side, and said, “Don’t worry about it. It’s only been a few days.” Julia fell in step on the other side of her. “I didn’t master shape-shifting until I was forty. A late bloomer, I guess. You have time.”
But Bristol didn’t have time. She had already been in Elphame four days, and she wasn’t any closer to finding her father. And then last night, Tyghan asked again about who told her trows had taken her father, like she had given him unreliable information.Are you sure her name is Willow? Because we can’t find her.That didn’t surprise Bristol. Willow was always the elusive sort. Bristol pondered his agitation, wondering if, with her lack of progress, he regretted his bargain and thought he was wasting his time. She had to convince him he wasn’t.
She leaned forward on the deck rail as Sashka navigated the maze below, her blue skin glistening like a rare jewel in the sun. The maze was made up of tall hedges and twisting pathways like you might see on an old English estate. From her bird’s-eye view, Bristol could see the endgame—the prize Sashka was meant to aim for—an opening in the hedges on the other side that led out of the maze, but the twisting pathway was confusing. Obstacles were sprinkled throughout the maze, and her assigned team of officers were making it even more challenging for her. Their distractions made it impossible to concentrate.
“That’s Sloan,” Avery said. “The one standing by the weapons rack. He used to be First Officer, but when Tyghan was named king, that position went to Kasta. I hear he’s not too happy about it. He mostly trains second-year knights down at the garrison, but he’s helping out with recruits now because it’s more important—even though there’s only a few of us left. Apparently they already sucked the nation dry looking for recruits.”
Sloan appeared to be cut from the same cloth as Tyghan—an annoying wool that was hot and scratchy. He always had a single brow raised in disdain.
“How did you find all that out?” Bristol asked.
“Paying attention at the festivities. And that’s the king’s sister in the maze, Princess Melizan.” Avery pointed at the silver-haired beauty who had just stepped out from a blind and casually tripped Sashka, sending her face-first to the ground. Sashka rebounded, scrambling back to her feet, then rolled to avoid a swinging pole. Her agility was stunning, and yet Bristol saw she was running in the wrong direction, caught in a mire of zigzags. She wasn’t going to make it. A horn blew, its deep bellow vibrating across the observation deck. Her second round was over.
Avery exhaled a pitiful sigh. Julia offered a regretfulhmm. Melizan walked back to the beginning of the course, agitation sparking in her steps. “I’m glad we’re not on her team,” Avery whispered.
