Page 119 of The Courting of Bristol Keats
It was well past midnight when the Sisters finally tucked into their evening meal. They had been in their library, researching the full scope of Elphame histories and studying the grimoires of every faerie kingdom.
The Sisters were silent as they ate, the grim clinking of their knives and forks against the fine porcelain dishes the only chatter in the room.
Izzy finally broke their silence. “Why didn’t you tell Bristol the truth when she was here?”
“The girl was already scared witless,” Jasmine answered. “She doesn’t need to know yet what she might become.”
“Willbecome,” Adela added.
“We’ll continue to study the matter,” Jasmine countered. “It’s complicated. We can’t be certain.”
“We’ll have to stop her heart to get that tick to release her,” Camille lamented. “It’s the only way.”
Izzy sighed. “But only for a few minutes.”
Camille dabbed at her eyes with her napkin, then openly wept. “I saw Kierus in every one of her expressions. She’s a good girl. I can tell.”
“But Kierus was a good boy. Until—” Adela didn’t have to finish. The Sisters had already talked the problematic knot dry, dissecting how everything had gone so terribly wrong.
“You can’t keep putting off Madame Chastain. What will you tell her?” Camille asked, her voice shaking.
“Nothing,” Jasmine said firmly. “Only that we’re studying the matter. What Bristol does or doesn’t become will remain with us for now.”
But Jasmine already knew with certainty what Bristol would become and the only way to prevent it. Stop Bristol’s heart when she removed the tick, and never start it again.
CHAPTER 81
Dammit, Eris,” Tyghan hissed quietly so no one else would hear. “Relax.”
Eris resumed his fussing, making sure every detail was perfect. Tyghan had never been nervous about a procession before. As a prince of Danu and Knight Commander, he’d made the entrance to Beltane Eve every year, walking behind his brother without a thought as to who was watching. He never cared. But this year was different. Every extravagant detail was a reminder that the stakes were different. A reminder that he was not Cael and every eye would be on him.
“I’ll relax later,” Eris answered and swiped the back of Tyghan’s coat one more time, removing wrinkles that even he knew weren’t there.
“Good gods, Counselor,” Melizan moaned from behind them, waiting for the procession to begin. “Enough. You can’t make a silk purse out of an ogre’s ear. He’s going to have to go down that staircase as is.”
“Nothing wrong with an ogre’s ear,” Dalagorn huffed.
“Nothing except for the warts,” Quin said.
Dalagorn growled. “My mother loves my warts.”
Cully stroked the smooth pointed tips of his own ears. “I agree with your mum. They’re adorable. In a gnarled sort of way.”
Eris sniffed, annoyed by Melizan’s comment.As is?He went to great lengths to make sure the most impressive attire was created for the entire party—especially the king. Tyghan cut a perfect picture of power and grace in his sharply tailored black coat. The gold and silver embroidery that trailed down the front borders honored the nine sacred trees of Elphame, and his crown of gold leaves was the stunning final touch against his black hair. And Tyghan’s eyes, well, they alone always commanded attention—
The counselor tripped on his thoughts. While Tyghan’s steely blue eyes commanded attention, they could also turn menacing, and right now, they were cutting a hole through Eris. Perhaps Melizan was right in this case, that it was time to step back, and so Eris did, hoping Tyghan’s scowl would fade to something less lethal before the herald blew his trumpet. He craned his neck to see the back of the foyer, where Esmee, Olivia, and Dahlia were making sure the recruits were in place.
Miss Keats always softened Tyghan’s disposition. If only she could walk down in front of the king, but there was an order to these things Eris had to follow: royalty, the king’s officers, senior council members—no one else. Adding the recruits to the end of their procession would certainly raise brows but would make a statement, too. The king of Danu could spurn protocol in favor of the interests of Elphame. But letting them go first, that would be going too far. Ignoring tradition had its limits. But maybe if he—
The trumpet blared. The roar of guests down below in the Timbercrest Castle ballroom quieted, and the herald announced the Danu Nation.
Danu was the twelfth and last kingdom of Elphame to arrive. Pixies, fauns, and sorcerers, ogres, wizards, and wild things, stopped mid-dance, midflight, midbreath when the herald’s trumpet blew. Sloshing goblets stilled. Beltane Eve was a night of indulgence, but more importantly, news. Queens, kings, and gentry quieted with anticipation when the herald announced the Danu Nation, not just because of their power and position among the kingdoms but because of the many rumors—that the young king had been stabbed with demon steel and survived it, that he was planning to defy the Fomorians, that he was Lugh, the sun king returned, fully a god and ready to take revenge against Fomoria—or the pettiest of rumors laughed behind cupped hands—that he had grown a spiked demon tail since being stabbed. Of course they had all watched Tyghan grow up, witnessed him trailing behind his mother and brother, but he’d been only a boy, getting into trouble the way many fae children did, or later they saw him as the Knight Commander who favored the dark corners of a room. They didn’t pay him much attention, as the young prince preferred.
But they paid attention now.
“King Tyghan Trénallis of the Danu Nation!”
Tyghan’s eyes skimmed the crowd, a colorful blur, then his gaze rose above them to the knotty branched chandeliers that held hundreds of flickering candles and a few curious wild things, their fangs and leathery wings gilded in the light. But he felt the scrutiny of Elphame’s leaders, the visceral pull of their presence, in a way he had never felt before, and it drew his attention back downward. He locked eyes with the shrewd elven queen of Eideris first, then the goblin king of Bleakwood, with his knobby little princes and princesses huddled around his knees. Next, he met the curious regard of the queen of Cernunnos, her antlers bejeweled for the celebration, her white stag at her side, and then he saw the hesitant nod of the ogre king of Greymarch.
