Page 60 of The Courting of Bristol Keats
Up ahead, high on the Mistriven Cliffs, they spotted their destination, Skyborn Palace. Palace was a generous name. It was a long, dreary thick-walled fortress that overlooked Balor Pass, the long finger of the Mirthless Sea, and the kingdom of Fomoria. Mistriven was the only kingdom in all of Elphame with such a vantage point—one that could actually spy on Fomoria, at least to a limited extent.
They were greeted at the base of the cliffs by a contingent of jumpy guards who escorted them up the long, zigzagging trail to the palace.
“I don’t like this,” King Merriwind said, wringing his hands. “If they should see you—”
“You’re king!” Melizan said, breathing in the vista, like it was beautiful instead of forbidding. “You never take visitors?”
“Not anymore. And especially not anyone from Danu.”
Tyghan’s eyes swept the horizon. “Today is your lucky day, then. You don’t always want to cower in Fomoria’s shadow, do you?”
“We don’t cower—”
Tyghan’s icy stare pinned the king to the buttress he huddled beside. “You cower, Merriwind. You’re weak. I’m giving you the opportunity to grow a spine. Be the kind of leader your mother was, one who watched for threats from the northern seas. Now, go inside, put a warm shawl over your lap, have your tea and biscuits, and leave me and my officers to save your worthless ass.”
The king scuttled off as told, disappearing into the fortress without a whimper.
“That was harsh,” Melizan said, with a happy tone of approval.
They stood out on the wind-battered battlement, gusts sweeping up the cliffs, stinging their faces, and whipping at their clothes.
“Down there,” Quin said, pointing out a thin copse of trees at the base of the sheer drop of Balor Pass. “With a little invisibility, it would give us added cover until we reached their forests.”
“Skirting the caves at low tide would be better,” Melizan said.
Tyghan frowned. “Advice from Cosette, no doubt. But if she gets caught in the tide, she isn’t going to drown. Or be pulled to the depths by merkind.”
“Every piece of advice from Cosette is not designed to kill you, Tyghan.”
“We’ll consider it.”
Most of Fomoria was nestled between steep, barren crags. There was no easy way into the center where the castle nested, not to mention, they didn’t know where Cael was being held prisoner. Wherever he was, Tyghan was certain it was not at the castle anyway, which, at one time at least, was excessively grand. Fomorians and their paranoia never allowed for outsiders to cross its threshold.
Without a final decision made on where and how they should access Fomoria next, they decided to set off on a trail that ran along the southern border where dark, undulating clouds had been spotted in the sky by shepherds from the northern Wilds. It likely wouldn’t lead to finding Cael, but several sightings of restless dead in one area could mean the portal was nearby. They left instructions with King Merriwind to post a twenty-four-hour watch on the battlement to report any activity along Balor Pass. “Anything at all, even the smallest movement,” Tyghan ordered. “I want every bird, buck, and shadow documented.”
“But—”
“It is not a request, Your Grace,” Tyghan said, stepping closer.
Merriwind bobbed his head, eager for them to be on their way.
From the start, their trail was plagued with icy winds, making it even more miserable than Bleakwood Forest.
“Damn northern seas. Stir up a warm breeze, would you?” Melizan grumbled.
“That would defeat the point of a small party,” Tyghan answered. “We want to slide through here unnoticed, don’t we?”
She pulled her cloak tighter, spitting out a frustrated hiss. “We wouldn’t be freezing our asses off and searching for that self-centered dolt if he’d used half his brain instead of his cock to make decisions.”
She’d get no argument there from Tyghan. Cael slipped out of the palace without a full contingent of guards for a clandestine rendezvous—that wasn’t with his betrothed—but he had done it dozens of times without incident.
“Regardless,” Tyghan answered, “he was plucked from his path with pinpoint accuracy. Someone knew exactly where he would be and relayed that information to Fomoria.”
But who? From Stable Master Woodhouse, who prepared his horse, to Madame Chastain, who gave him a requested potion before he left, to Eris, who rearranged his canceled schedule, to his First Officer, who had to postpone their meeting, to Cosette, who was the last one to see him sneak down a back trail. For most, their loyalty was beyond suspicion. But Cosette was merkind, as were most of those who frequented the waters of Fomoria.
“You’re going to have to make your peace with Cosette,” Melizan snapped, as if reading his mind. “We’re discussing marriage.”
Tyghan’s jaw clenched. “Having an affair is one thing, but binding your crown to merkind is another. They bring the art of betrayal to new levels.”
