Page 48 of The Courting of Bristol Keats
“Looks like they’ve been gone for a while,” Tyghan said.
Her attention shifted to other shops down the street. He saw the disappointment in her eyes, the creases around them as she peered from one side of street to the other, but she didn’t give up. She questioned others on the lane about where the trows might have gone or where others might be found. No one knew anything. Tyghan knew there was not another trow left in the city, but he let her ask her questions, fulfilling his promise, including a return visit to speak with Mae.
“No,” Mae answered soundly. “No one in the city has ever heard of a Logan Keats.”
“But did you ask—”
“No one!”
Tyghan saw Bristol’s lashes flutter briefly, caught off guard by Mae’s harsh reply. It was clear she had been dismissed and the street mother was finished with questions. Bristol’s expression went from eager to empty, her emotion smoothly reeled back like a finely crafted crossbow. She was no novice in managing situations—at least not once she knew what she was dealing with. She nodded slowly, not in agreement but in awareness that the street mother was not the ally she had hoped for. She generously thanked Mae anyway, perhaps hopeful favor might turn her way yet again, but as she stepped back inside the carriage, Mae shot Tyghan a larcenous nod, acknowledgment of a fair transaction. Mae would not be turning, not as long Tyghan’s treasury remained full.
The ride back to the palace was silent except for the clip of hooves on cobble. Bristol stared out the window, not reacting to any of the sights they passed, her thoughts wrapped as tightly as a cocoon.
But Tyghan had a strong sense of the questions consuming her.Where were the trows?What if her father really was dead? What if coming here was a terrible mistake? Why was the king such an ass?
It was none of his concern, but her silence made him fidget. “I suppose you’ll need to keep looking elsewhere,” he finally said, hoping it would prompt her to speak.
She only nodded without breaking her gaze out the window.
When they arrived at the palace, she immediately reached for the carriage door, obviously eager to be rid of his company, but then paused, turning to face him. “I’m sure you thought I was stupid and naive to think it would be so easy to find my father, and you’d be absolutely right. I imagined I’d trip into your world, call his name, and that would be the end of it. For my entire life, my father was never farther than a call away. . . .” Her voice wavered.
Tyghan pushed back in his seat, deepening the darkness between them.
“But I want you to know,” she continued more firmly, “you’re very wrong about something else. My father did teach me well. If I’m not accomplished at sticks, it’s through every fault of my own, and not my father’s. You may think poorly of me, but please do not think poorly of him. My father is skilled and clever. Whatever he learned of sticks while he was here in your world, he learned it well.”
She was still thinking about his comment from earlier that day? Tyghan searched for a reply, one that wasn’t angry or sharp—an answer that would admit nothing that wasn’t true. “I’m sure I would find your father to be a worthy opponent.”
CHAPTER 34
The palace grounds were a labyrinth of walkways, courtyards, and dead ends. It had been built and rebuilt over millennia, magic and dreams always stirring in the artisans to create more. Architecture styles overlapped like a feast of favorite foods brought to a single table, somehow weaving together in harmony, a tribute to the artisans’ craft and vision.
Cully knew every twist, turn, and playful trap. And some traps that weren’t so playful. For decades his father had been one of those artisans, but when his father returned to his homeland of Eideris, Cully stayed behind. Danu was the only home he had ever known, and from an early age he had set his sights on becoming a knight.
When he was invited to join Tyghan’s company, he couldn’t believe his good fortune, so he didn’t begrudge his current duty of nursemaid. Much. He had waited at the carriage portico for Bristol, to escort her back to her room as Tyghan had ordered—but this recruit made him uneasy. He saw her resemblance to her parents, even if no one else did, though elven always were better at details. The first thing he noticed was the underlying hint of red in her hair, which Maire was reputed to have. And then there was the arch of her left brow that was slightly higher than the right—like Kierus’s. It was the weight of her steps he noted now, deliberate and unerring like she was navigating a fated path—another trait of her father’s. But as he thought about it, he wondered if maybe it wasn’t the similarities that made him uneasy, but the differences. He had never seen a worry cross Kierus’s brow. He had admired that about him, a mortal navigating the fae world with so much confidence. This girl’s brow betrayed her confident steps.
“You don’t need to walk me back,” she said. “I can find my way.”
“I’m sure you can. But I am tasked with your safety.”
“Are the palace grounds really so dangerous?”
Cully shrugged. “No, but they’re large and confusing, and you are new.”
The brow. He saw it again. The tug that said she was frustrated. He couldn’t read her mind, but she wasn’t quite her parents’ daughter—which might prove a disappointment to Eris. Or maybe a relief? It could go either way. Cully understood about not being quite like a parent. His father never did grasp why he chose knighthood over a chisel and stone, but being a knight wasn’t a choice for Cully. It was a calling. Were Tyghan and Eris expecting something from Keats that simply wasn’t there? It was understandable. They were down to eleven recruits, and he was certain most of them didn’t have what they needed.
Cully motioned for Bristol to turn. “Down this way. Judge’s Walk. See? I do know a few shortcuts. You might learn something from me, after all.”
Bristol barely noted the path as she walked beside Cully, still preoccupied with her lack of success and Mae’s sudden dismissal. Had she pushed Mae too much? Making friends was not easy in this world, or maybe she was just gloriously bad at it. Growing up, she’d had dozens of could-have-been friends, other children her age she met at motels, splashing in pools with them, and others she met while sitting on laundromat benches playing string and guessing games before one of them had to leave. But as she got older, she stopped trying, maybe because she didn’t like the wondering hole their brief encounters left in her. Where did they go? Would they remember her? It was easier not to bother. Even once she was on her own, she was too busy trying to survive to make the effort. Only recently had she been testing out the friendship waters with Sal and Mayor Topz.
But here there was a certain ruthless need for relationships. Be friendly in return for help. It was more of a cool business deal than a friendship, but maybe it was one way to grow a friendship, the deeper kind where intimacies were shared.Intimacy.It was sorely lacking in her life.
Cully, at least, smiled often, wide and generous. It seemed genuine, and the slight gap between his front teeth was endearing, making him look younger than his twenty years.
“I saw you last night whittling on an arrow. Is that a pastime, or are you required to make your own weapons?”
Cully laughed. “You don’t know about elven arrows?”
Bristol shook her head. “No.”
