Page 29 of The Courting of Bristol Keats
But there were the times her father invited strangers to join them at their campsite, sharing what food and drink they had because he knew the travelers were in need of both. Calling him a good man felt right. Her mother would have been grateful for Bristol’s careful wording. Despite how things ended, she knew her mother had loved him. Bristol would never understand why she left. Leanna Keats was sometimes awkward at being a mother, like she had never witnessed mothering skills in her own life, but she was never awkward as a wife. It was no secret that Logan Keats was the love of her life.
When she talked about how they met, he working one stall at a fair, she as a competitor at another, noticing each other from afar, and the electricity they felt—the memory always made her mother smile, like it was a magical moment. Bristol had loved seeing that spark in her eyes. Just the mention of her father’s name brought her mother to life.I saw a once-in-a-lifetime chance, her mother would say as she cupped her hand to his cheek,and I didn’t let it slip past me.
But then, during the time Bristol was living on her own, something went terribly wrong. Cat told her about their violent argument the morning before her mother left. By that afternoon, Leanna Keats said she was going to the next town for supplies, that her wool stock was running low, and then there was a strange moment when she kissed Cat and Harper on their foreheads. It was only later that they realized it was no ordinary goodbye. Her mother planned to leave them, and was so determined that she drove through a flooded creek two states away. Guilt bit at Bristol. She always wondered if things might have gone a different way if only she had stayed, a small difference, like the fluttering of a butterfly wing that turns the direction of a storm.
A fern on the carpet stirred in a breeze that wasn’t really there, catching Bristol by surprise again. It wasn’t going to be easy to navigate this world, but she held on to the glimmer of power still inside her.Thatwas real. She would be the hunter for a change. Caution be damned. Waiting for trouble to pounce was an impossible fear to wrestle. You never knew when it might grab you by the throat—like it had her father.
A sideways thought crept in, a thought she couldn’t quite look straight in the eyes. Her father might truly be dead. She stood, trying to shake off dark thoughts, and went to the other side of the room where a lush berry-colored sofa faced an impressive hearth. She plopped down, letting it swallow her up with its luxury, and propped her feet up on the low table like she owned the place. A bottle of red wine sat on the table, already uncorked, like an invitation to drink up. Tempting after the day she’d had, but Anastasia’s warning dug into her. She sipped her water instead.
A sudden rap on the door made her startle, and her feet dropped from the table. The granola crumbs in her hand spilled to the floor and a beautifully rendered fox raced across the carpet, gobbled up the feast, then disappeared back into a burrow in the carpet that she hadn’t noticed before. Its golden eyes peered out at her.
Another rap. “Keats?”
She’d recognize that voice anywhere. At least he knew how to knock. That much was reassuring. “Come in,” Bristol called as she stood.
Tyghan entered, and there was a prolonged silent moment between them as he gazed at her and she gazed back. His lips pursed in obvious disappointment.
Bristol’s brows rose. The king? Had she heard Kasta correctly?
Even though he created a presence in the room that couldn’t be ignored, he appeared much less intimidating this time. His black hair was no longer wind tossed like he was the spawn of a raging storm, and his menacing black cloak was gone. A simple white shirt graced his broad shoulders. His dark trousers were plain but superbly tailored. Or maybe he just wore them well.
He didn’t dress like a king, though the only kings Bristol had ever seen were in Renaissance paintings of stout men sporting heavy jowls, extravagant robes, and shiny tights.
She liked Tyghan’s attire better.
His scowl was gone too, and there was no longer a sword strapped to his back. He could almost pass for an ordinary citizen in Bowskeep. She tweaked her head to the side.
Well, no. Not really, Bristol thought as she assessed him again, feeling a warm twinge in her belly.
Not at all.
She had to admit, there wasn’t anything ordinary about him.
He scrutinized her, too, still in her sneakers and torn jeans, her hair tangled from the long wild ride, and she guessed he was far less impressed with what he saw. “You haven’t changed yet? Recruits are expected to attend festivities.”
Bristol sighed. “One, I don’t even know whatrecruitmeans. It sounds like far more than finding a door. And two, I haven’t changed because I was nervous about undressing.” She looked at him pointedly. “Not knowingwhomight be standing unseen right next to me. Like at the inn earlier today.”
His steel eyes rested in hers, unrepentant. He wasn’t denying it. “You were going to take the art, weren’t you? Steal it before Eris walked in.”
“I guess you’ll never know,” she answered. “Not to mention, you’re changing the subject. You were the one spying on me. I know it was you.”
“The inn was different. Trust me, the last thing I want to see is you naked. And secondly, I would never enter your personal chambers without an invitation, as you just witnessed. Thirdly, you’ll have orientation in the morning. Everything will be explained in detail then, as I know Kasta already informed you. Now get dressed.”
The last thing he wants is to see me naked?She was glad for it, but it still seemed like an insult. Besides being smelly, was her mortal body repulsive to look at, too?
“Thank you,” she answered, “but I’m not going. As you can see, I’ve eaten.”
He gave the granola wrapper lying on the sofa a cursory glance, then smiled. “My world, my rules. Sound familiar?”
“I’m not hungry.”
He stared at her, cold and steady, like it would change her mind, until it became apparent it wouldn’t. “Suit yourself,” he said, and headed for the door, then stopped and offered one last bit of advice. “There’s more than food at the nightly festivities. Staying in your room by yourself is not going to earn you friends—and you might find that friends are the most useful thing you’ll acquire here.”
She didn’t budge, but then with the worst possible timing, her stomach roared like a ravenous lion. He glanced at her belly, his face all smugness, but she wasn’t about to admit that she didn’t trust his food. She didn’t know how many things Anastasia Wiggins had gotten right or wrong, but Harper claimed she was an authority on Faerieland.
Tyghan left, but as soon as he did, Bristol knew he was right. She needed as many eyes and ears as she could get—accomplices, if not friends. This was a bigger world than she had bargained for, and so far, no one she had met had ever heard of a Logan Keats. She was only one person who didn’t know her way around yet, and time was ticking. She would simply avoid food at the festivities for now.
She opened the door to call after him and caught her breath. He was already standing there like he knew she would change her mind.
