Page 7 of The Courting of Bristol Keats
His answer came too late. They had already seen his gaze meet their mother’s as they exchanged some silent question. Later that night, her parents argued bitterly in the bathroom, the only place where they had any privacy. Their voices stayed in hushed, tight tones. The only distinguishable thing she heard was her father saying, “There is always a way to accomplish something.”
A few days later, Logan Keats announced he had sold a valuable sketch he had stumbled on at a swap meet—a lucky find, he called it—and they used the money to buy a house on the outskirts of Bowskeep. They were staying. Harper cried and hugged their father. Her mother smiled. It seemed genuine, and she hummed as she worked at her loom that night. The tune was cheerful, like it marked a new beginning for the Keats family.
But Bristol remained cautious. She had learned from a young age not to become attached to people and places she would just have to leave behind. It seemed too late for second chances, too late to become something they had never been before—a family with roots. She was afraid to love Bowskeep the way Harper did. Bristol had made that painful mistake too many times in the past. She was certain the rumblings and restlessness would take hold again. They always did. Two days after they moved into the new house, Bristol packed her duffle and left.
Maybe that was when the undoing of the Keats family began.
CHAPTER 6
Clink.
Clink.
Tyghan lay on his stomach, staring at the floor. More digging. He winced. “Are you almost done?”
Madame Chastain dropped another stony claw into the copper bowl. “They’re poisonous, you know? They’ll leach into your blood. Shall I leave the last few in? Or take my time and get them all?”
Tyghan knew exactly what the claws would do if left under the skin. Madame Chastain knew that he knew. She just wanted to drive home the point that he was once her student, and that, in some matters, she was more knowledgeable. He offered a noncommittal grunt. Madame Chastain returned it with one of her own.
Clink.
She pressed on the wound, feeling for more claws. Sweat ran down Tyghan’s face, dripping from his nose. A low rumble ran through his chest. He heard the shuffle of boots on stone. The heavy tap of hooves. A dark brown hand clutching leather gloves flashed past his vision. Quin. The other officers trailed in behind him.
Two in the squad they led—Nisa and Liam—didn’t make it back. They had volunteered for the mission and their commander had recommended them, but Tyghan barely knew them. He prayed they weren’t embedded with claws, too.
“There. That’s all of them. Seven,” Madame Chastain said, swirling the claws in the copper bowl. “Must have been a big one that got you.”
It was.
Tyghan pushed up awkwardly with his left arm, trying to suppress a moan. His officers lounged in chairs across from him. Cully’s lips twisted with amusement. Tyghan leveled a cool stare at the youngest member of the company, and his lips returned to a vacant repose.
Madame Chastain lowered her gaze to Tyghan’s. “Avoid those claws next time, why don’t you? It would certainly save me a lot of trouble.”
Tyghan pasted on a stiff grin. “Now, why didn’t I think of that?”
She swabbed the wound with a healing ointment and dressed it with a clean bandage. “Leave that on for an hour. It should be healed by then. You’re young and healthy. For now.”
She gathered her supplies and left, still swirling the claws in her bowl, trying not to look too pleased. Tyghan knew she’d put the claws to good use in other ways, her mind probably already plump with possibilities.
He gingerly tugged his shirt on, his right shoulder tender. Madame Chastain never bothered with anything to numb the pain.Better that you remember the pain, she’d say,so you’ll be smarter about it the next time. Tyghan didn’t want any more next times, but he knew they’d come.
Quin offered him a goblet of some unknown liquid. “Maybe this will help.”
Tyghan took a healthy swig, then coughed violently.
Quin smiled. “I didn’t say it wouldn’t burn. Takes your mind off your other troubles, though, doesn’t it?”
Kasta rubbed her bandaged head. She’d been hit, too. “Sad state we’re in, isn’t it? When one pathetic little skill can’t be had in a whole nation.”
Glennis frowned and sat back on her haunches. “Not so pathetic now that we need it.”
“The recruits are improving,” Cully offered, whittling the tip of a thin ash branch, unmindful of the leavings that spilled to the floor.
Dalagorn rumbled. “Not enough.” He leaned on the window ledge, staring out at the city. Liam came from his ancestral village. Dalagorn had recruited him.
Tyghan took a more careful sip from his goblet, his stomach warming with the bitter brew. “Eris is meeting with one today that he says has potential.”
Kasta rolled her eyes. “That’s what he said about the others.”
