Page 34 of The Courting of Bristol Keats
CHAPTER 24
The sun rose behind the spire with perfect precision, lighting its golden pinnacle like a torch. Bristol knew it was not a chance of design. It filled her with awe.
Orientation was about to begin. It appeared she was going back to college after all—at an impressive university, no less. Buried dreams stirred inside her. Studying art at the greatest universities and museums in the world had always been out of Bristol’s reach, a star in the sky that twinkled and taunted. A lofty goal reserved for others, not her. Bristol’s love of art was different from her father’s. Her passion was not in the creation of art but in studying its history. Its twists, turns, genius, and resilience; its continuity, and the way it kept reinventing itself over and over again on the shoulders of what came before. It was like following a treasure map that revealed the minds, aspirations, and machinations of millennia.
Of course, she knew she wouldn’t be studying art there. This was more like auditing a single class than being an enrolled student, and whatever she learned would probably be of no real use in her world.
Still, a thrill ran through her as she beheld the ancient fae institution. Ceridwen University was an architectural marvel. It magically melded the styles of the ages, utilizing Gothic spires, sculpted facades, floating staircases, towering columns, whimsical stonework, and intricate leaded windows that winked against a cerulean sky. It left her breathless. Where were these design ideas born? In her world? Or theirs?
“It looks like a magical marriage of the Sagrada Familia and Notre Dame,” Bristol said.
“You’re a student of architecture?” Ivy asked as she walked beside Bristol down the center path that led to the entrance.
“Not exactly,” Bristol answered. But she was a student of art, and architecture was art as much as paintings, sculpture, books, or anything else. It was the product of history, fashion, politics, dreams, and imagination. It revealed people, both living and dead. Purpose and pleasure were its mortar. “But anyone can see it’s remarkable.”
“I’m glad you appreciate it. We’re quite proud of it here. The university draws fae from kingdoms all over Elphame.” Ivy guided Bristol through a soaring arched entrance.
The inside was just as striking. They walked down a wide open-air cloister that looked out onto beautiful gardens. Mosaic marble floors with intricate floral inlays decorated their path like grand carpets. They only passed a few students in the quiet halls, most presumably in classes.
Her stomach fluttered. It was still hard to believe she was there.For services that were neither illegal nor untoward?She smiled at Mr. Dukinnon’s awkward phrase. She would have given him a fucking kidney for that art. Anyone would have. It was going to change her sisters’ lives. And asking her to locate a door and sit through a few lectures was little enough to require in return for Tyghan helping to find her father. She’d made a good deal.
As they walked down one hall, and then another, Ivy shared the history of the university and its namesake, the goddess of inspiration. Ivy reminded Bristol of a museum docent, poised and confident, not at all like the jumpy young woman carrying the tray of cakes at the inn. Here, her role was palace guide, ambassador, and greeter of guests. Her boxy blue inn uniform was replaced with a pale green gown so delicate and fine, it seemed it was painted on her. Her black wings flowed down her back like a graceful lace cape, occasionally fluttering to life as she spoke. Bristol was surprised at how quickly she adjusted to these oddities—things like wings and the beautiful iridescent scales framing Ivy’s face. Or maybe her initial shock had fried the surprise out of her, and last night’s festivities finished the job.
“It’s that door at the end,” Ivy said as they turned down another long hallway. “The others are already there.”
“Others?”
“The other recruits. Five of them. They just arrived in Elphame, too.”
Ivy went on to explain that the initial orientation and instruction only lasted two weeks. You either showed potential and went on to the next level of training—or were sent home. Bristol’s chest tightened, remembering her promise to Harper. What if she hadn’t found her father by then? Could they still send her home? She needed to make herself valuable, fast.
“Here we are,” Ivy said, leading her into a room and motioning for her to take a seat. There were at least three hundred of them—available seats, that is. Only five in the first row were occupied. Bristol’s footsteps echoed in the expanse. She took a seat beside the others.
The room wasn’t at all like the cramped, creaking portables at Bowskeep Community College that had water-stained ceilings you could reach up and touch. Here, the six recruits were specks in a cavernous hall. There was no touching ceilings here unless you could fly. She discreetly eyed her fellow recruits and wondered if that was a possibility.
Looming above them on either side were four floors filled with shelves of books. Leaded clerestory windows flooded the interior with soft shafts of light, and in the highest reaches, dust motes danced in their beams. Bristol squinted. Or perhaps they were sprites like the ones she swatted at the bridge? Holy shit, she hoped not.
“Your instructor will be along soon,” Ivy said, “but first let me introduce you to one another.” She motioned to the recruit at the end of the row. “This is Julia, a renowned professor recently retired from the University of Paris.”
Bristol eyed the chic woman with streaked gray hair swept into a French twist. She had a regal, assured air, like none of this was new to her. Ivy went down the line, introducing Rose next, a sixteen-year-old concert pianist from London.At sixteen?Bristol thought.Did she begin playing as a toddler?
Next came Avery, a grad student from Iowa working on her master’s in agriculture. Beside her was Sashka, a twenty-year-old Olympic gymnast from Germany, and finally Hollis, a high school English teacher from Seattle with long, pink, curly hair, the shade of cotton candy.
Bristol tried not to cringe when she was introduced, though Ivy was positive about Bristol’s attributes, praising her management and delivery skills at Sal’s Pizza, which only made her squirm more. Their accomplishments vastly exceeded hers.
“And that’s it,” Ivy said cheerfully. “Welcome. Your instructor will be right along. Feel free to chat with one another until then.”
When she excused herself to attend to other palace duties, the group exchanged a few polite hellos. Everyone was reserved except for Sashka, who was elated by the stunning breakfast tray that had arrived at her room that morning. “The raspberry cream tarts were swoon worthy. I ate three!” She held her hand over her heart and rolled her eyes with dramatic flair as she discussed every item. “And then there was my bath chamber! It had—”
She was cut off when a tall, elegant woman walked in, her heels clicking on the polished floor. Bristol guessed the woman was somewhere in her fifties. Her silky silver hair flowed into multiple loose chignons wound around her head, a few tendrils artfully hanging loose. As she made her way to the lectern at the front of the room, the woman’s gaze rested on each of them for a few seconds. Bristol offered a small smile when their eyes met, but the woman only returned it with a short nod. Her expression was decidedly noncommittal, Bristol thought, like a proctor at state exams knowing some of them would fail.
“Good morning,” she said. “I’m Madame Dahlia Chastain.” Her voice was cool and matter-of-fact. “I’m lead member of the Danu Council, the appointed High Witch of this nation, and the final word when it comes to spells, incantations, and cures. I’ll set aside other niceties and welcomes, because, frankly, we don’t have the time. Let’s just get down to why you are here. Elphame is under attack.”
She already had everyone’s attention, but her last statement was a stiff wind in a sail, and everyone’s focus snapped tight. She explained that a door had been opened by a monster using a talent that was at one time nearly as common as dust. “Now, unfortunately, it’s an extremely scarce talent here,” she continued, “which is why we recruited you from the mortal world. A lack of need long ago allowed it to fall out of fashion, so to speak, but now the need is great. We’re hoping one or all of you have this undeveloped ability buried within you, which will enable us to shut this door again. It is that simple, really.”
Of course, it wasn’t that simple. And she explained that, too. To close the door, it first had to be found—that was the difficult part.
Bristol struggled to understand how her pizza deliveries were connected to this. Delivering pizzas to someone’s door was easy, but yes, first you had to know where to take them. She’d been given plenty of butchered addresses before, numbers transposed or written down wrong entirely. She’d call Sal’s or the customer’s number to get the address again. That was it.
