Page 108 of The Courting of Bristol Keats
Fresh starts. That was what Bristol saw in each face as they left the throne room with a pledge from the king. Hope. It was a Faerieland type of laundromat. The stains, at least temporarily, washed away.
Bristol had never seen Tyghan wear a crown before, and it was strange to see him acting as a monarch—listening, questioning, judging. He had many sides to him, and this was one she hadn’t seen. She watched Eris, Kasta, and the petitioners regard him, the way they listened and waited. He commanded their respect and she guessed he had for a long time, not just since he stepped up in Cael’s absence.
For someone new to this role, he seemed made for it, but maybe being a king was not that different from being Knight Commander. Strategies and solutions were his stock in trade. Yes, he could be arrogant and demanding, but heput the time in, as Sal would say, wherever he was needed. Whether it was council meetings, working with recruits at the training grounds, traipsing around the countryside searching for her father, or this—meeting with fae eager to speak directly with their sovereign.
And now she was the one needing to speak with him. She would start with the easy stuff—the letter. Maybe she wouldn’t bring up the tick at all, because what would he think if she told him she was keeping it?
She wasn’t even sure if it was the right decision. It made her queasy when she thought about being itshost, but she was just as sickened by the alternative—the unknown changes that removing it would bring. All she had done for her entire life was start over. She couldn’t do it again. She had her sisters to think about. They were expecting her to return as she was, not as an unrecognizable creature from Elphame.
That damn gene train she always wanted to be on had taken a turn. It was too late in the game now for her to become something else.
But Izzy’s words haunted her.
Keep in mind, Danu is running out of time.
She looked at her nails, letting the glamour recede until the sharp blue points showed again. Like a claw. She glamoured them back and slipped into the shadows, buying more time. She had to think this over.
CHAPTER 74
Tyghan’s index finger tapped the arm of the throne like a persistent drip of water, his focus beginning to fade. What was taking so long? He should have heard something by now, or she should have come to him. Unless Jasmine had betrayed him. Unless she told Bristol about her father. Kasta’s words nagged him.Can you really juggle one more impossible thing?
But then another thought arose, one that made his chest turn hollow. What if removing the tick was too much for Bristol? Her screams rolled through his head again, and the image of her convulsing body when Madame Chastain tried to remove the tick. What if it was too late? What if the tick had been there too long, was too deep inside her? What if removing it would kill her? Why hadn’t he considered this before? Maybe even Jasmine wasn’t skilled enough—
“Your Majesty, Lord Bowry is waiting for your answer,” Eris murmured.
Tyghan blinked. He saw the room again, and the lord still awaiting his reply. He stood with his retinue just past the first step of the dais. Tyghan didn’t hear what Bowry asked for, but why in Lugh’s name did he need a whole contingent of aides to help him ask for it?
“Protection”—Eris nudged again, knowing Tyghan was distracted—“seems like something we could accommodate considering his township’s vulnerable location in the borderlands. Don’t you agree?”
Tyghan cursed himself for not focusing. It was the first lesson he learned as a knight, and Lord Bowry had traveled far and waited a long time to see him. “Yes, of course,” he answered and turned to Kasta. “Assign appropriate patrols to Rookswood.”
Lord Bowry’s pinched brows relaxed.
Fear.It owned the throne room that day.
Nearly every petition so far that morning was for protection. There had been no more demon attacks since the day at the training grounds, but shadows swirled in distant skies across the nation on a daily basis, and everyone knew the shadows were not flocks of birds. It was a warning. Braegor had seen the training grounds and reported that information to his master, but what he saw was not proof of any dark plans Tyghan was hatching. Danu had always had training grounds for knights. Still, the sighting was enough to put Kormick on the offensive.
Maybe it was time for Kormick’s attentions to be divided. Tyghan would speak to Kasta about an organized campaign of rumors, spreading them to every corner of Elphame—from the mountains of Tatter-sky to the underwater caves of Gablerock—rumors of rampant magic and whole hidden colonies of bloodmarked. The more outrageous, the better. If there was one thing Kormick wanted, it was certainty. He was resolved to show up to the Choosing Ceremony unopposed and to the roar of cheers—not sounds of resistance. Rumors might keep his focus scattered.
“You are most gracious, Your Majesty. Thank you.” Lord Bowry bowed, but as he turned to leave, the aide at his side stepped forward.
“Your Majesty, if I may add something else?”
The man’s eyes were sunken. Tyghan nodded for him to continue.
“My son is missing,” he said, his voice rising. “He was up on the roof repairing the rushes. He’s a good boy, thirteen, not quite a man yet, but—” The man stopped, his lips pressed together in concentration, and it took a long, strained moment for him to continue. Curious whispers circled the cavernous hall.
“He was taken,” he continued. “We know. By them. We found his pouch of twine and shears tossed to the ground. His sister had seen a flock in the western sky only minutes earlier.” The man took a step closer, his hands clutched in front him. “I know there is no saving him. I know what they do. But if you or your knights should encounter my boy—he has green eyes, curly red hair, freckles—I pray that you will make his end as painless as possible, that you would smile and say the gods’ blessing to ease him into the next world, so he knows paradise awaits him, so he will know he is not blamed for what they’ve done to him.” With his last few words the man broke down, his chest shaking and his hands coming up to hide his face. One of the other aides held him as he struggled to regain composure. And that was when Tyghan noticed the rest of their faces, the loss etched in them, the fear. These were not aides—they were villagers, farmers, merchants, who made the trek with Lord Bowry. Tyghan had been fearing potential loss all morning—these supplicants had already experienced it.
“Your son’s name?” Tyghan asked.
The sobbing man swiped at his cheeks with the back of his sleeve.
“What’s your son’s name?” Tyghan repeated. “So I can inform my knights to give this young man the blessing he deserves in his final moment.”
“Samuel,” the man answered.
Tyghan nodded. He turned to Kasta. “Make sure every knight in the realm knows the name of Samuel from Rookswood, that they make his end quick and they comfort him and ease his passage to the next world.”
