Page 50 of The Courting of Bristol Keats
CHAPTER 35
The trow king kept the wine flowing, generous with his well-stocked cellar. His sprawling palace was carved deep into the mountain, the humble cave entrance deceptive.
“Our guest needs more wine!” King Motheuse bellowed to a servant, though Kierus’s crystal goblet was still half-full. The king’s heavy eyelids narrowed wickedly. “And maybe something to warm your feet, too?” he added.
Someone.Kierus knew what he meant. “I do need to get some sleep tonight, Your Majesty. I’m a mere mortal without the stamina of a trow king.”
The king laughed, his pale gray skin as tough as thick leather, barely revealing any emotion. But Kierus knew he soaked in every word, fromYour Majestytostamina. Trows were accustomed to being the scourge of Elphame, and their reputations were well deserved. They were thieves and murderers. Respect and compliments from outsiders were nonexistent, but Kierus learned early on it was a currency they craved as much as gold and blood. Bring them a gift too, and you were their friend for life.
But Kierus had given them far more than compliments and gifts. He’d covered up more than one of their messy trails that would bring whole kingdoms hunting them in force, including a murderous trail perpetrated by the trow king’s only son. King Motheuse owed him not just many favors, but large ones. Blood debts were among the few codes the trows lived up to.
Kierus had recognized the unlikely usefulness of trows from the time he was a boy and was just beginning to navigate the Wilds on his own. Their tunnels through the mountains were renowned, but impossible to navigate—unless you knew their secrets.
“If you change your mind, there’s a whole court here eager to please you.” The king nodded toward a pretty maid across the way—at least what trows considered pretty.
He had to be careful not to offend his host—the aid of trows offered his only chance at saving Maire—so Kierus acted like he was considering the maid. But coupling with a trow could be a dangerous proposition. They tended to use their sharp teeth indiscriminately. On their own leathery skin it wasn’t a problem—on human flesh it definitely was, as he’d painfully learned firsthand long ago. It had taken two sorcerers to clean up the bloody mess his trow lover made of his shoulder. He nudged the king’s thoughts in another direction instead, because no one but Maire would ever be in his sights again. She was all that mattered to him. This was all for her. He leaned back on a colorful pillow and praised the king’s delicious spread, then admired the weapons he had gifted Kierus, a jeweled knight’s sword prime among them. Three small rubies decorated the hilt, which meant it had belonged to a first-year knight. ADanuknight.Who?he wondered.And how did they die?Alone, if the sword had fallen into trow hands. Besides supplying him with weapons, the trows were also going to help him with passage through their tunnels so he could stay out of sight for most of his journey.
“More supplies are coming,” the king said. “The cloak you requested may take a bit longer. There’s been trouble in the city, so my messengers have gone to Amisterre instead.”
Even as he spoke, Winkip, the king’s doorward, limped in with a satchel of supplies that he dumped at Kierus’s feet. The contents rattled with promise. “It’s all there, except for the cloak. We hope to have that by tomorrow.”
“The king spoke of trouble in the city?” Kierus said.
The perpetual lines furrowing Winkip’s brow deepened, bits of his thick skin cracking and flaking loose. “Trows are being questioned. Or worse.”
“Questioned for what?”
“It’s your daughter. She’s causing a fuss.”
Kierus laughed. “My daughter? Impossible. None of my daughters are here. They’re all—”
“A Bristol Keats?” Winkip interrupted. “She’s claiming she’s your daughter. The young woman is here searching for a Logan Keats, and the trows who helped you return here tell us that’s the name you declared in the other world.”
Kierus set his goblet down, stunned with disbelief.Bristol, here?His senses returned, hot and explosive, and he jumped to his feet in rage. “Kormick made a deal to leave our daughters alone! He promised—”
“It wasn’t Kormick who brought her here,” Winkip replied. “It was Counselor Dukinnon. But she evidently came of her own accord to search for you. Every trow has fled the city.”
Kierus’s blood blazed hotter. It wasn’t the counselor behind this. That man had no taste for violence.
Tyghan.He was the one behind it. Which meant Tyghan knew he was here.Thatwas why knight patrols were combing every inch of road and wild.
The back of his hand shot out, sweeping a bowl of fruit from the table. “Bristol didn’t even know about Elphame! Maire and I made sure of that!”
“What can we do to help?” the king asked.
Kierus paced the room, thinking.Of her own accord?They had lied to her. They had filled her head with lies. Dread clutched his chest. His daughter was in Tyghan’s hands. And now Tyghan was king.
“I need to meet with her,” he told Winkip. “I need to get a message to her as soon as possible.”
“That won’t be easy,” Winkip said. “Trows are banned from the city, not to mention she always has an escort at her side.”
“Tyghan?” he asked.
Winkip nodded.
Kierus struggled to control his imagination.What would his one-time best friend do to his daughter?
“Find someone who can get a message to her,” Kierus ordered. “There has to be a way. Find it.”
