Page 59 of The Courting of Bristol Keats
“Yes, I’m well aware of that fact, Your Highness.”
She chuckled. “Well, Georgina always comes to the Beltane Eve celebration. You can question her then.”
Tyghan wasn’t so sure. The princess no longer came to Samhain after harvest. One year, she would skip Beltane, too—and this year Beltane Eve was more critical than ever. “If she comes. She wants nothing to do with Elphame anymore.”
“It’s that mortal husband of hers. I would demand her presence if I were you.”
“She’s not one of my subjects, but Eris has sent a request asking for her presence.”
“Ask? What an enormous waste of time,” she sniffed. “I should have been queen. There’d be no asking.”
Melizan always made demands sound so simple. Georgina was heir to the throne of Gildawey. Forcing her hand, if it was even possible, would not endear Danu to her mother, Queen Alise of Gildawey. And currently, Danu was pressing for more Gildan long swords. It was the favored blade of battle, and with Danu forces growing these past months, they needed more. Forged with ancient techniques and unknown metals, they had an enduring edge so sharp, it could cut a beast in half like it was butter. It was ironic because the Gildaweyans rarely engaged in battle, but they continued to pass along their revered talent through the generations. Making demands of the princess right now might interfere with other negotiations—which weren’t going well. Queen Alise was already annoyed with Eris’s constant requests. “I’ll tell you what, Melizan. Go ahead, take my crown. Maybe your demands would hold more sway than mine.”
Melizan frowned. “What’s this? You’re ruining all the fun, Tyghan. I come to you expecting a good fight.”
“Today the fight’s gone from me.”
“Then maybe I should take the throne. Are you not sleeping?”
Tyghan’s eyes narrowed.
“Ah, there it is. The deadly hallmark cut of the Trénallis eyes. I knew the fight hadn’t gone far. It’s no secret what demon steel does to a mind. At least not anymore, but no one has betrayed your secret. Not everyone is a traitor, brother.”
“I’m sleeping better,” he confessed. “Of a thousand demons, I think I only have a few hundred more to go.” His forced nonchalance fell flat, and he swallowed. “I haven’t had any tormenting me for several weeks now,” he said more quietly. “I guess the doors have become harder to find.”
“Well, that’s not surprising, at least not with a stone-hard head like yours.”
He looked sideways at her. “Am I really as nasty as you make me out to be?”
A cynical puff of air escaped her lips. “And then some.”
They rode along silently, Tyghan pondering the truth of it. “My mother loved you. You probably should have been queen.”
“We both know that titling me as a Danu princess was a kindness from her and purely symbolic. Without the royal Trénallis blood in me, I’d never get the support of the council—at least not as long as you and Cael are alive.”
“Thinking of remedying that?”
“Always thinking. I promise it won’t be too painful.”
“Nice to know.”
“Your mother was a good woman. Not many would title their husband’s bastard. That’s why I fight for Danu—well, I like fighting too—but it’s for her. Not for Cael or for you. And I can’t forget that it was my father’s death that broke her.”
“Many deaths broke her.”
“She cared too deeply. That’s why I will never break.”
“Warm blood does run in your veins too, Melizan—at least one or two of them. We do have the same father.”
She sighed as if disappointed by this fact. “Yes, there is that, I suppose. Though I see nothing similar about us. I still contend, better ice than blood.”
“Why can’t you just admit that you love me?”
Her upper lip wrinkled, and she shivered. “Because brothers and admissions are boring, and secrets are infinitely more entertaining.”
That was the line he and Melizan always navigated, the blood bond of their father, the veneration of his mother, and the secrets his sister loved to keep.
They finally emerged from the suffocating silence of Bleakwood Forest, but even without the thick cover of black trees, darkness hung in the air. The gray sky writhed above them like a muscled god about to strike.
