Page 13 of The Courting of Bristol Keats
“Don’t push, Tyghan,” Eris whispered to the man. “The choice must be hers.”
She glanced back at the art, only an arm’s reach away. Her hand trembled, and she snatched the dragon drawing from the table.
The one called Tyghan nodded. “Good. Now you’re in service to the king.”
Bristol lifted her chin, battling a line between terror and restraint. She had to gain control of this situation—fast. Act like the creatures didn’t rattle her. As if she saw rooms full of strange beasts every day. She eyed the mouthy one like he was a disruptive patron at Sal’s, staring him down, hoping to pin him in place.
“A gift is a gift, in case you haven’t heard,” she told him. “I’m not in service to anyone—especially not somekingI’ve never met.”
The beasts surrounding her sucked in furious breaths. Rumbled. Smoke came from one of the creatures’ nostrils. The blood pooling in her feet turned to ice. Yes, she was going to die. She tucked the art into her hoodie and took another step backward.
Tyghan moved around the table toward her, like an animal closing in on prey. “A gift is not just a gift in my world. It’s an obligation.”
His world?
She met his searing stare. “Then too bad you’re in Bowskeep.” Her voice didn’t sound half as tough as she intended, so she doubled down. “My world, my rules.”
The room was instantly hot, her skin on fire, like a furnace door had been opened, but then Eris stepped between them, pressing his hand to Tyghan’s chest as he spoke to her. “Please, let me explain. In return for the gift, we only want your services for a short period, a few months at most. Something you—”
She shook her head, her lip curling with disgust. “I do not provideservices.”
“No, no, you misunderstand. Not anything untoward or illegal. You have some skills. That’s all. We’ve noticed your ability to maneuver through town on your bike. You appear to have special instincts. We’d like to utilize them if possible.”
She gaped at him, stunned for a moment.I deliver pizzas, you bonehead. It’s not rocket science.What kind of scam were they running? But as she edged backward, she said more gently, “Delivering pizzas doesn’t take skill.”
“It’s your directional instincts that we’re interested in. We only want to recruit you for a small task.” Eris motioned to the art. “This gift today, and another when your task is completed.”
“What’s the task?”
“Finding a door for us. That’s all. We assure you, we’ll make it worth your time.”
That’s all?Not likely.
“Sorry,” she said, “not interested.”
She turned and ran.
A commotion exploded behind her. The quiet inn was instantly deafening.The door. Just make it to the door.
Everything slammed around her, doors, windows, all moving on their own, like the inn was a living thing trying to stop her. Paintings flew from walls, crashing to the floor, tables slid in front of her, forcing her to change her path, jump, look for a clean way out. What sort of madhouse was she in? She kept moving, dodging obstacles that flew of their own accord. When the front door wouldn’t open, she turned down another hallway, still ducking from flying objects, until she came to a side door. She flung it open, stumbled down the steps, and sprinted toward her bike. Branches and leaves batted her like they were flocks of furious birds swooping through the sky—it was impossible to dodge them.
This was the catch,but it was only a fleeting thought, because all she could concentrate on was getting away. She grabbed her bike and raced down the driveway, struggling to see the path through the whirl of dust, moving forward on trust and memory. Her eyes stung, and the barrage continued to hit her, shingles from the roof flying past, something hitting her face. Her lip exploded with pain, but she kept going. She made it to the main road, leaving the roaring pandemonium behind, but her pedaling didn’t slow. She rode like monsters still snapped at her back.
Tyghan’s elbows rested on the front porch rail. The old wooden porch creaked under the weight of so many crowding outside to watch their prospect run away, analyzing her, wondering if she held potential. Behind him Eris sighed with deliberate drama.
“You have something to say?” Tyghan asked.
“You promised me you wouldn’t come.”
“I don’t recall promising,” Tyghan answered. “I said I’d let you handle it. And I did, for the most part. If I’m practiced at twisting the letter of the law, I learned it from you.”
Eris’s lips smacked like he was sucking a lemon. “Well?” he asked. “Impressed?”
Tyghan stared after the young woman racing down the drive, maneuvering her bike like it was a weapon. Mortals made deliveries on such flimsy contraptions? But Eris was right, she wasn’t a child by any means. He hadn’t been prepared to actually see her, to look directly into her eyes. Her gaze unsettled him. She was astonishingly like Kierus—and Maire. Not in her features, but in other ways. Her mannerisms. The way her lips pressed together in a tight line like Kierus’s when she was thinking, and the dangerous glint in her eyes when she was angry. Kierus had always been slow to anger, preferring a smile or turn of phrase to control a situation, but when that spark flared in his eyes, everyone knew to step wide.
And her voice. He had only heard Maire speak once, but the smooth lilt, the cadence, it was there.
“So she maneuvered past a few objects,” Tyghan finally answered. “I’d hardly call that a reason to celebrate.”
