Page 26 of The Courting of Bristol Keats
And just like that, the city was alive with words Bristol understood.
She and the knights continued their trek over the largest span, Lugh Bridge. It was a riot of colors and shapes. Shops, homes, gardens, and grand towers were jammed together on either side of the bridge in smug anarchy, teetering and defying gravity. Fae filled the center pathway, weaving through crowds to unknown destinations, while others shopped leisurely. Still others lounged on gold filigree balconies that overlooked the street below. From their perches they sipped mysterious smoky drinks, plucked out tunes on fiddles, preened their feathered arms, or simply observed those passing beneath them with mild interest.
Some fae were hooved like Glennis; others were more human in appearance but with small telling features like pointed ears, clawed hands, or, most unnerving, yellow eyes with long narrow slits for pupils. But many appeared to be fully human like Kasta, Quin, and Tyghan—though Bristol wondered what might be hidden beneath their clothing. Nothing could be taken at face value, but one thing was readily apparent—her father would not stand out in a place like this.
And yet,she had. From the moment they crossed the bridge, heads turned.
“They smell you,” Quin said, noting a small group of fae wearing bloodred caps drawing closer to get a better look. “The other world clings to your skin. A bath and new clothes will take care of that.”
Smell? Shesmelled? She hadn’t showered that day, but Bristol resisted the urge to sniff her armpits.
When they reached the end of the bridge, an even more astounding city greeted them. Winding streets churned with activity, and in the surrounding terraced hillsides, great manors began to glow with lights as evening descended.
Lavish carriages rolled past them, drawn by dappled horses of surprising colors. The carriages stopped in front of a large building with beautiful, scrolled pillars, and passengers emerged dressed in elegant flowing gowns and long suitcoats trimmed with velvet, satin, and sapphires. Some of the partygoers boasted gossamer wings that glimmered in the streetlights that were beginning to twinkle on. On the next avenue, the opulence gave way to tidy streets with humble shoe shops, pubs, and other establishments offering hats, belts, and boots. One crowded storefront was packed with potions in colorful bottles.
As Bristol took it all in, little orbs of light darted past her face and buzzed in her ears. She startled, waving them away.
“They won’t harm you,” Glennis said. “They’re only curious river sprites.”
They hovered nearby, and Bristol wondered if she might have swatted one. She didn’t want to make enemies here—not even with a river sprite no bigger than a firefly.
As she and the knights waited for several carriages to pass, a stout woman with a wrinkled-apple face and pointed furred ears approached them. “And who is this?” she scolded Kasta, waving a crooked finger at Bristol. “Does she know the rules?”
From her high position on Kasta’s horse, Bristol eyed the woman’s sharp teeth looming close to her foot. No doubt this woman’s fangs could snap right through her flimsy sneaker and take off all five toes. She wished she was wearing those sturdy leather boots from the shop they had just passed.
“She just arrived, Street Mother,” Kasta said. “We’ll tell her everything.”
“See that you do,” she said, shoving her hands onto her round hips. “I keep a clean street.”
Bristol’s resolve rose as the woman began to stomp away. She sat tall in the saddle and called after the woman. “Pardon me, Street Mother?”
The woman whipped around.
“Shh,” Glennis warned Bristol.
But Bristol was already committed. “This is your street?”
“Every inch of it,” the woman confirmed.
“Then you would know if there were any trows on it?”
The woman took a step closer, her bulging eyes narrowing to slits. Her thick upper lip twisted, exposing the full length of one menacing fang. “What kind of question isthat?”
Bristol swallowed, wondering if even the mention of trows was an insult here. She met the woman’s glare and told herself the street mother wasn’t any more intimidating than Sal had been when she went begging for a job. Except Sal didn’t have sharp teeth that could open a can of tomatoes with a single bite. “An honest question,” she answered firmly. “As Kasta said, I’m new here, and it’s a question I need answered by someone who understands this world down to its last inch, and you are clearly that person.”
The sharp slits of the woman’s eyes softened, and her lips relaxed, the fang safely tucked away once again. She nodded approvingly. “You’re a fast learner. That’s a good thing. You’ll need that around here. Your best bet for finding trows is out in the Wilds. There aren’t any on my street, but over in the East quarter, you might find a nest of mountain trows at the end of Mugwort Street. But don’t tell them I told you.”
Bristol nodded. “I won’t. Thank you. One more question, if I may? Have you heard of a man named Logan Keats?”
The woman’s face grew more wrinkled in thought, and Bristol’s hope rose. The street mother finally shook her head. “But I’ll ask around for you. Check back with me in a few days.”
Bristol thanked her again, and Kasta urged their horse forward.
“What was that all about?” Cully asked when they were out of earshot.
Quin drew close. “Who is Logan Keats?”
“My father. I was told that trows stole him away and brought him here. Your friend Tyghan promised to help me find him. It was our bargain. Can we go to Mugwort Street now?”
