Page 36 of The Courting of Bristol Keats
She explained that once every century, the Stone of Destiny chooses a new king or queen to oversee all twelve kingdoms of Elphame. The next ceremony was less than three months away, and Kormick was covertly using the monster’s power to open a deadly portal that Brigid had closed long ago. “It leads to an inexhaustible army that, coincidentally, attacks any kingdom that defies him, burning villages and killing anything and anyone in their path. As a result, eight kingdoms have already acquiesced to his demands, and the rest are on the brink. None dare challenge him at the next Choosing Ceremony.”
“Except for the Danu Nation?” Bristol said.
“Correct. Though it’s not a battle even we can continue to wage for long, especially now that he’s captured Tyghan’s older brother—King Cael. That’s why Tyghan is now acting king. Kormick claimed the abduction was in retaliation for Danu’s interference in his affairs and promised to return Cael after the Choosing Ceremony—as long as Danu does not defy him. If Danu resists, Cael will lose his head.”
Bristol absorbed this new information, seeing Tyghan’s anger in a new light. His impatience made more sense now. His brother was hostage to a ruthless tyrant.
“Why would Kormick deny that he’s responsible for opening the portal?” Hollis asked.
“Because it’s horrific. Why does any despotic ruler deny their vile methods of conquest? They want to project a public image of virtue, but privately they revel in their cruel genius, because absolute power is their ultimate prize.”
Julia frowned. “But would the Stone of Destiny choose a ruler like Kormick?”
“In the absence of a good leader stepping forward, someone else is always destined to lead.”
“What sort of army is inexhaustible?” Rose asked.
“The restless dead,” Madame Chastain answered. “A host of demons that plagued this world before Brigid banished them to the Abyss. They are the worst of fae, mortals, and monsters throughout millennia, their long-dead spirits still eager to create mayhem. They craft bodies in their dark world as tools to wreak their havoc, then ride their winged beasts through the skies. We can, of course, destroy these bodies in battle—and we do—but the demons only return with reanimated corpses, leaving more terror in their wake.”
Bristol sat back in her chair. Spirit demons from hell that couldn’t be killed?
A knowing silence fell over the room.
That was the door they needed shut.
Fine print, Bristol thought.Always read the fine print.
CHAPTER 25
Lir Rotunda was dim, lit only by a single flickering torch. Dalagorn and Quin guarded the entrance while Olivia and Esmee watched for unwelcome shadows.
“Who is Willow?”
The sheriff was still huffing and puffing from his ride. Years of driving a sedan had left him unaccustomed to the rigors of riding a beast. Quin and Cully had ridden during the night to retrieve him. Tyghan leaned close, asking him again. “Who is Willow?”
The sheriff nervously rubbed his thick, knotted hands over his belly. He hadn’t been back to Faerie in years, and never to court before, much less been interrogated by royalty. Even as an ogre twice Tyghan’s size, it unnerved him. He coughed, hoping someone would offer him a sip of the drink he spied on the table. He did remember the sweet pixie wine as divine.
Kasta poured him a glass and shoved it into his gnarled hand.
He took a quick sip. “Willow? I never exactly asked her. She’s a banshee, I suspect. Tearful sort. Always wandering the valley. But she doesn’t cause any trouble. Leaves wildflowers on doorsteps. Most folks in town like her, so—”
“Willow told Bristol Keats that her father was still alive. That she saw trows take him.”
“No. No. Impossible.” The sheriff tapped his head. “Willow’s not all there sometimes. Only ones who took Bristol’s father were the cleanup crew. Hauled him off to the morgue.”
“Did you touch the body?” Eris asked.
“Touch it? You mean check for a pulse? I didn’t need to. It was in bad shape.”
Tyghan leaned closer. “Are you certain itwasa body? His body?”
The sheriff knew about glamour. He used it himself to fit in. He saw right through it when other fae passed through town. If he made the effort, that is. Most days there wasn’t a point. Fae or mortal, he didn’t care, as long as they behaved themselves in Bowskeep. But if some other type of spell was used . . .
His eyes glazed over as he recalled the accident scene, how bright the blood was, something about it not quite right, but he had thought it was only the sun in his eyes . . . and then there were the drivers from the county morgue who were new to him. Strange fellows. But he had been shaken. He liked Logan Keats, and those poor girls had just lost their mother. He was mostly thinking about how he was going to break it to them, not about touching a dead body. . . .But . . .He remembered watching the morgue truck drive away, how quiet it was, how quickly it disappeared around the bend, and then there was the autopsy report that never came. He had meant to follow up on that.
He gulped the last of his wine, knowing he had fallen for a trick.Trows.He never had liked them, but who did?
The king’s eyes burned into him. He’d heard what the demigods were capable of, the things they could turn you into with a mere thought. He didn’t want to leave there as a fly. “About that body . . . I could have been mistaken.”
