Page 122 of The Courting of Bristol Keats
“Item?” Georgie huffed out a sharp breath. “Like something on a grocery list? I don’t think so, unless it’s one of those decadent hot chocolate desserts from Starky’s Bakery on Main Street.”
Bristol laughed, remembering the molten ganache cake Starky’s was famous for. “Maybe it’s something more like that.”
“And how do you expect things to work out for you two?”
She searched for a clever reply to stop Georgie’s musings, but instead a flood of unforeseen words stormed through her head.I want to share my life with you. All of it.Words that had nothing to do with going home. What should she tell Georgie? Expect?
Love.Another word sneaking in. It took root the moment she and Tyghan had said it to each other. Love. It was a big, dark door that led to imperfect meanings. Maybe she had been testing the meanings all along, trying to find one that best fit her and Tyghan. A definition that was practical. Solid. But what they had together was neither of those sturdy, reliable things. It was reckless and passionate, fragile and tender—and it was outrageously delicious, like a steaming chocolate cake. It was all the things that could spell disaster. But it made every inch of her feel alive in a way she never had before, so she didn’t care.
Georgie’s brows rose, still waiting for an answer.
Bristol knew her long silence spoke volumes, but she wasn’t ready to admit anything. She shrugged. “No expectations.”
The mayor’s lips pursed to the side like she was looking the other way on a parking violation. “I understand,” she answered. “Shall we continue our—”
A strange silence suddenly fell. They heard the distant echo of the herald’s trumpet and the dull roar of the ballroom instantly stopped like the party was over. And then the herald’s faint announcement. They both tweaked their heads to the side, confused, wondering if they had misheard.
“It can’t be,” Bristol whispered, but they both spun and ran back to the Timbercrest ballroom.
It was late, almost the midnight hour, the reverie a loud tipsy roar, wild things darting like drunken spring swallows overhead, when the herald’s trumpet blew again. Bewilderment washed over the crowd. All the kingdoms of Elphame had long since arrived. Tyghan, Kasta, and Quin were in deep discussion with the king of Greymarch and the queen of Boghollow. Eris and Madame Chastain were equally engaged with the goblin king and queen. Everyone looked to the top of the staircase where a commotion was stirring, and then the herald announced with a stammer, “King—King Kormick of Fomoria.”
Tyghan was sure the herald had made a mistake, but then a tall figure stepped out of the shadows. His blond hair and scarred face were unmistakable. He wore a long, formal, bloodred coat with swirling black cording. His crown was black, too, a circlet that glimmered against his golden hair. No doubt, every polished button on his coat bore an enchantment of protection—and retribution—for unwelcome magics.
Hushed gasps rippled through the room. Everyone was instantly sobered by Kormick’s appearance. Tyghan glanced to King Roderick, who was moving through the throngs toward the bottom of the stairs to receive the Fomorians. As he passed he whispered, “I had no idea he was coming. Fomoria’s never come before.”
Tyghan hissed. He turned to Kasta and Quin. “I’ll stay here and keep him at the bottom of the stairs for as long as I can. Find the recruits and usher them out—discreetly—and apprise them of new protocols. I don’t want any of them interacting with Kormick.”
Kasta and Quin melted back into the crowd.
“Restraint, Your Majesty,” Madame Chastain whispered from behind Tyghan. “Any fight—magical or otherwise—in these close quarters could prove disastrous. Six of those warriors behind him are formidable wizards with itchy hands.”
Tyghan’s hands itched, too, a ball of vengeful energy at his fingertips begging to be released, but Eris echoed the High Witch’s message of restraint and added, “Remember, he still has Cael.”
Kormick ambled down the stairs, soaking in the hundreds of eyes fixed on him like he was already the king of Elphame strutting before his subjects. A dozen of his bull-chested warriors trailed behind him.
When he reached the bottom stair, King Roderick stepped forward to greet him, but Kormick brushed him off and walked straight toward Tyghan, who stood dead center in his path.
The two powerful kings met eye to eye, chest to chest, neither willing to give up ground. Tension wound tight, knights from every kingdom stepping into place to protect their monarchs.
“What are you doing here, Kormick?” Tyghan asked.
“Fomoria is a kingdom of Elphame,” he said, a smug smile curling his lips. “Why wouldn’t I be here? I came to celebrate Beltane Eve with all the other kings and queens of faerie.” But there was no celebration in his dark eyes as they scanned the silent hall. He waved his hand in the air. “Please, resume the party,” he called. “Dance! Drink! Isn’t that why we’re all here?”
The chatter and music resumed immediately to mollify him, though certainly conversations now jumped in a new direction.Is Timbercrest Castle surrounded by the restless dead?Do we dare leave?Those who had stepped back inched only slightly closer, still wary of the animosity blistering the air between the two rulers.
“You’re not a recognized kingdom of Elphame, Kormick. Fomoria has never contributed a single tithe to the Elphame union except a tithe of chaos.”
“That will be remedied soon enough. Elphame is about to change for the better. And if you behave yourself this time, your brother will be back home before you know it.”
Tyghan trembled with rage.Behave?But he knew the game Kormick played, trying to find out what the Danu Nation was up to, and he swallowed his burning impulse to throttle Kormick. “I already offered to settle this matter with single combat—just you and me.”
Kormick’s lip twisted with distaste. “Such an antiquated concept—and barbaric. It’s beneath me. Let’s try to be civilized, shall we? And not ruin the party with talk of tithes and combat. It will all be settled soon enough. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
Tyghan saw his knights moving through the hall gathering up recruits. Quin and Kasta ushered Sashka and Rose out the door. Cully was leading Hollis out to a private place where they could speak freely. There was no sign of Julia, Avery, or Bristol. Tyghan needed to keep Kormick occupied a little longer.
“Where’s your demon charmer tonight?” he asked, trying to prick Kormick’s cool exterior and delay him. “You didn’t bring her along to entertain everyone? Pluck a few eyes from sockets and juggle them?”
Kormick stopped short, the first sign of rage blazing in his eyes, his voice low and full of threat. “Do not push me too far, Trénallis.”
