Page 130 of The Courting of Bristol Keats
“Possibly,” Bristol answered. “If that’s where he’s keeping Cael, because that is exactly where he’s going right this minute. He’s on his way to see Cael.”
“Tonight? Why would he do that? He’s had Cael for months.”
Bristol smiled and glanced at Melizan. “Because he hates secrets, and tonight I told him one.”
“What did you tell him?” Tyghan asked cautiously.
“That Cael is a dreamwalker.”
Eris jumped up from his seat on the chaise. “A what?He is no such thing!”
“I know! But for the next few hours, Kormick doesn’t know that. And right now, he’s mad with curiosity. If you want to know where he’s keeping Cael, now’s your chance.” She looked at her open palms strewn with blond hair.
Melizan hooted with delight. “What are we waiting for? Let’s get to work.”
Heavy sofas were pushed aside, a small table and three chairs pulled to the center of the room, and every hair was meticulously plucked from Bristol’s hands like each strand was gold. Her pockets were searched for more.
Other than Tyghan, Quin was the most familiar with the Fomorian landscape, but Cully had an unusual eye for detail, so he was chosen along with Quin to inhale the enchanted smoke. The rest circled around them in the darkened room as Madame Chastain held Kormick’s hairs to the flame hovering in her hand. Cully and Quin whispered,Aramascue odemas, and as the wisps of smoke curled upward, they breathed them in.
At first there was nothing.
Cully and Quin both reported there was only darkness, and more darkness.
The air wrung tight with the waiting, but Kasta whispered that darkness was to be expected. Kormick was probably riding his horse through the night sky at incredible speed.
Minutes passed with still nothing, and Bristol gripped the back of Cully’s chair.
A crease deepened between Quin’s brows. “Black. That’s all I see.”
Bristol’s throat grew dry. Maybe a handful of torn hair wasn’t enough?
“Wait. A ribbon,” Cully said. “White in the moonlight. Balor Pass. Yes, it’s the pass. Kormick’s looking down at it.”
“The sea,” Quin intervened. “He’s not going to his palace. He’s passing over the inlet to the northern forests.”
Another long, dark minute passed. Only forest and more forest. Madame Chastain was down to just a few hairs.
“A marker,” Cully said. “Cross-stones. And now a village.”
Quin cursed. “More forest.”
“Queen’s Cliff,” Cully said. “He’s headed for the cliff. I know it. There’s nothing else in that direction.”
“Just tell us what you see. Don’t guess,” Eris ordered.
Cully smiled, his eyes still closed. “There it is. Sheer rock. I see the fucking cliff.”
Tyghan whispered that Queen’s Cliff was an ancient rocky fortress built on the top of a mountain in the middle of a deep ocean inlet. Halfway up, the mountain was ringed with thick forests. Long ago it served as a lookout for the northern isles. Impenetrable. Harsh. Remote. The water that lapped its shores held all manner of deadly creatures. The fortress was mostly forgotten, and now absorbed into the northern border of Fomoria. It was considered a no-man’s-land, but it could be a good place to stash a prisoner. Especially if you didn’t care about their comfort. There was no escape, even without guards.
“He’s getting off his horse,” Quin said.
Cully and Quin described the path Kormick walked, a forest clearing, a tunnel through overgrown brush, a rocky plateau, the torches that were lit, the stone steps he climbed, the rough rock hallway, a door.
“I only see two sleepy guards.”
“One of them is unlocking the door, taking the torch in.”
“Kormick’s stepping inside now.”
