Page 20 of The Courting of Bristol Keats
“That’s for others to explain.”
What was he? Second string? Was that why they left him behind? Or because he argued with Mr. Dukinnon?
“All right. What if I can’t find it either?”
“You’ll be sent back home a very rich woman, both pieces of art yours to keep.”
“Those are real da Vincis?”
“Yes.”
“How did you come by them?”
“The artist spent time in our world. A sabbatical, he called it. He left the sketches and numerous paintings behind.”
Leonardo da Vinci in their world? It was impossibly far-fetched, and yet . . . here she was in a dilapidated inn that only a short time ago had sparkled with fresh paint and polish, and now she was talking to a—
A what, exactly?
She eyed the man sitting across from her. She didn’t care how he interpreted her scrutiny. She wasn’t going to be pushed into a quick decision. He was tall, broad-shouldered, the kind of figure that could do damage, and he knew it. There was a commanding presence about him, like he was used to getting his way—yet he was left behind like he was the grunt of the pack. He appeared to be human, though so had the sheriff. She couldn’t count on appearances. This man could be a beast, too. He certainly had the temperament of one.
She felt foolish even saying it, because she hadn’t gotten used to this whole new reality yet, but it had to be asked. “My sister thinks you’re fairies. Are you?”
He didn’t flinch or laugh. “Me personally? I’m Tuatha de of the Danu Nation, which is one of the twelve ruling kingdoms of Elphame, so yes, that also makes me fae.”
Tuatha what?Harper made no mention of a Danu Nation or twelve kingdoms, only Faerieland. This was getting more complicated already.
“And this Aunt Jasmine of mine, she’s fae too?”
He dipped his chin in a single nod.
“And I’m told that you cannot lie. Is this true?”
“Where did you hear that?”
“My sister read it in a book.”
The corner of his mouth twisted, almost in a grin. Or was it a sneer? Bristol wasn’t sure. She prided herself on being able to size people up, to determine their archetypes like they were walk-ons in a play. The eccentric. The career criminal. The pushover. A quick estimation came in handy at crowded fairs. She had grown up being the second eyes and ears for her parents, and perfected her sixth sense during the time she was on her own. Sheknewpeople—but everything about Tyghan was veiled.
“That’s right,” he answered. “We can’t lie.”
“Then this presents a problem, because you see, this so-called Aunt Jasmine looks nothing like my father, nor is my father one of your kind. It seems I’ve caught you in a lie already. How can I trust anything that—”
An angry tic pulsed at his temple. “Are you calling me aliar?”
Heat radiated off him, and Bristol sat back, drawing a shallow breath. Harper had warned her not to piss them off. “I’m just trying to understand what I’m getting myself into,” she explained calmly, though her heart pounded in her chest. “This is all strange and new to me.”
His gaze dissected her for long, uncomfortable seconds, like he was planning her demise. “It’s true, your father was mortalborn,” he finally answered, “but he grew up in our world. Jasmine was one of his four guardians. She fostered and helped raise him. Where we’re from, that’s considered an aunt. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll never call her a so-called aunt to her face. She nurtured him like he was her own.”
Fostered.
The word punched her with its truth.I was raised in foster care, was the only thing he ever said about his childhood. Was that why he wouldn’t talk about it? Because it was a bizarre sort of foster care they wouldn’t believe anyway?
“You knew my father?”
He raked his hand through his hair in a slow, controlled movement. “I only know what Jasmine told me. Anything else?”
“Are there trows in your nation?”
