Page 51 of The Courting of Bristol Keats
CHAPTER 36
Bristol had intended to go straight to the festivities, but since the parties lasted late into the night, she wandered aimlessly instead. She needed a few minutes alone to process the day’s flood of new information.Everything will be explained, Tyghan had promised on her first day there. And that was part of the problem. She’d been hit with so many new realities: spells, drills,fucking dragons that ate people. She rubbed her temple.
Even the minutiae of carefully choosing foods from the feast tables was overwhelming. The differences of this world and its people and creatures presented a steep learning curve. But the similarities between this world and hers astounded her, too. Like art and their love for it.
On her stroll she passed the Epona Museum and Conservatory that Olivia said they would tour tomorrow. It was a complex for the arts.Besides Leonardo da Vinci, there are other famous artists you are likely to know as well.Olivia dropped names like Cassatt, Kahlo, Donatello, and Hilma af Klint. Bristol was beginning to understand the strategy of orientation and lessons. They weren’t just to coax sleeping traits to the surface or develop survival skills but to invest them in all the stakes—the survival of Elphame and a history that predated her own world. It was still sinking in. Bowskeep and everything she’d ever known was thealternaterealm, an above-average forgery created by a god to keep mortals out of their original one. It was the ultimate bait and switch.
As she passed the conservatory, she spotted art students outside in the museum gardens painting by starlight. The conservatory’s majesty rivaled the greatest museums she had ever visited, and she wondered why her father had left this world. What were the circumstances that made him leave?
Her rambling path led her to the sacred groves—the nine trees the fae revered. Regrettably, Bristol’s father never told her that fact, at least not directly. Instead, in a lesson discussing wands, spears, and wisdom, it was Esmee who had told Bristol about the trees.
But her father had spent a lifetime telling her in other ways. She knew more about his upbringing than she’d thought. A part of this world that he loved was forever sewn into him and made him who he was as much as any DNA ever could. He might not have spoken openly about Elphame, but it surfaced in other, quieter ways. Ways that had become part of Bristol, too. His past was her past.
This ash, we’ll keep it. Strong and straight, he said of several branches he had cut from a tree.They’ll make fine walking and fighting sticks.He dried, smoothed, and sanded those branches until they shone like fine pieces of furniture, matching the lengths and weight to his three daughters, presenting each stick to them like they were scepters and his daughters were queens.
She scanned the ancient ash branches above her, seeing them through his eyes—a canvas to be painted. A canvas hehadpainted many times. Even his art made more sense now. Did he climb these trees as a child?
She ventured deeper into the sacred forest, and when she reached the last grove, she spotted a white marble bench perched near a cliff overlooking the back side of the palace. She sat, hoping it didn’t hold live surprises for her the way the columns of Judge’s Walk had.
An umbrella of hazel trees heavy with still-green nuts branched out over her head. Esmee said these trees were revered above all by the Tuatha de. Her father never told her the fae story of them either, like the salmon who gained the knowledge of the whole world by eating hazelnuts that fell into the river, or of the boy Fionn, who in turn gained wisdom by eating the salmon—that had been more of her history lesson that day. But her father had always had a tin full of hazelnuts in the van for eating on long drives, claiming they were brain food that would give his daughters wisdom.
She wished she had eaten more of them. If she had, would she have noticed her parents never told them fairy tales or stories about the gods? In their lessons, they even skipped the plays of Shakespeare that included fairies. Were they afraid that even speaking the names would summon the creatures that hunted them? How had she not seen all their artful layers of deception? But she’d only been a child immersed in what she knew.
A warm breeze teased at her hair and brought the distant croon of the plaza music closer. It was hard to resist dancing last night, especially once she recognized the steps. Her father had claimed it was a folk dance he picked up in Appalachia, but now she knew where he really learned it. She remembered dancing with her mother and sisters around their campfire, laughing, twirling, while her father played a tune on his harmonica, the buzz of cicadas in the meadow grass becoming part of the music, the scent of sweet roasted marshmallows in the air, and Harper’s sticky toddler fingers lacing with her own.
Even with all the years of running, her parents managed to carve out a life for their family. Dancing and laughter had been part of it. Her foot tapped again, and longing gripped Bristol’s chest, but Anastasia’s warning about not dancing to fae music held her back. She couldn’t take a chance on dying from exhaustion.
Leaves crunched behind her.Footsteps.She had spotted Cully following her back at the conservatory. “You can stop hiding and come out,” she called over her shoulder. “You know by now that I don’t bite, at least not fae that I like.”
“Then I suppose I should be worried.”
Her back stiffened. It wasn’t Cully.
She stood and turned to face Tyghan.
He stepped closer. “Cully told me you didn’t seem to be headed toward the festivities, so I brought you this.” He pulled something from his pocket and tossed it to her. She caught the tiny projectile midair.
Tyghan shrugged. “I saw you tapping your foot last night, and I thought it might be the dancing that was keeping you away. The amulet will prevent you from being unable to stop.”
Bristol examined the small silver cuff in her palm. “So, it’s true what they say about the dancing?”
He nodded. “Mostly, though no one would actually let you die in the process. It’s a rite of passage for most new recruits, at least those who have any mortal blood in them. Someone usually rescues them before they collapse.”
She eyed Tyghan, wondering about this change in him. Had he pardoned her intrusion into his room earlier, or was he trying to prove that he wasn’t always angry? Either way, she preferred this less irritable side of him. They were almost having a normal conversation that he had initiated. She held the amulet back out to him. “Reuben says we’re not allowed to have amulets until we earn them.”
“Keep it,” he said. “I won’t tell him if you don’t.”
She glanced at the cuff in her palm and then back at Tyghan. Awkward silence stretched between them. Was this a truce of sorts? Though she’d never been sure what war they were waging. Yes, she’d come on strong when they first met, but so had he. She’d been scared and in shock, and he made it worse. The fae world came out of nowhere and hit her head-on with no warning, like a speeding truck. But she had a better understanding of his anger now too. Maybe their collision had been inevitable. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
“On a braid,” he added, motioning to her hair. “That’s how most fae wear them.”
“I don’t see any in your hair.”
“I don’t need amulets.”
Was it hubris speaking or truth? She thought about the sizable scar on his side. It seemed he could have used a protective amulet at least once.
He shifted on his feet, lingering. “I also wanted to address something you said in the carriage. I want you to know that I never thought you were stupid for coming here. I wouldn’t allow someone stupid in my ranks. Actually, I thought you were fairly brave to come to a world you knew nothing about.”
