Page 86 of The Courting of Bristol Keats
“It was coming,” the High Witch said, hobbling back to the table. “But this—”
“No more,” Tyghan ordered, waving her away. “You’re going to kill her.”
“Agreed,” she said, staring at the tick that was now deep beneath Bristol’s skin again. “No more today, except to heal her burn.” The High Witch ordered the knights and others back to the other side of the room, but Tyghan’s feet remained planted at the head of the table. Olivia prepared a potion and held its amber smoke beneath Bristol’s nose to keep her in a deep sleep, then she and the High Witch got to work on the burn left by the tick’s powerful blood. They whispered healing words into circles of salve in their palms, then rubbed them over the blistered flesh. It stopped oozing, and the flaming redness faded.
Olivia applied more balm and bandaged the burn, then repaired Bristol’s shirt. The High Witch stepped over to Tyghan and whispered that they’d given her something for the pain. “She’ll be all right—except for the tick that won’t release her.” She shook her head like she was trying to make sense of it all. “That tick is a greedy miser with a fortune of gold it can’t spend.”
“What do you mean, gold?” Tyghan asked.
“Over twenty years of magic,” she answered. “He wouldn’t give it up. He’s drunk on the magic’s beauty, though he has no actual way to use it. I’ve never seen anything like it.” She ran one of her long, slender fingers across her brow, thinking. “We’re going to need the Lumessa to consult on this. She was here when the first ticks were created. She may know—”
“Impossible. She’s at Mount Nola. She can’t—”
“I know where the Lumessa is. She may need the healing waters, but we need her. She might be able to tell us how to proceed.”
“She’s there because she’s dying.”
“Which is all the more reason for you to make haste. I’d suggest you take your best to help retrieve her.”
Tyghan’s attention darted back to Bristol, still mercifully unconscious. He couldn’t leave now. “I’ll send—”
“You,” the witch said. “It must be you. Your personal effort—an apology—will appease her. She’ll come.”
Jasmine.All Tyghan wanted to do was avoid her. She was Madame Chastain’s mentor and the previous High Witch of Danu. She was celebrated for having served in that position longer than any other witch or wizard—for over six centuries—earning her the esteemed additional title of Lumessa, the “wise one”—and Tyghan had insulted her. More than insulted. He’d made accusations. He had done the unthinkable and pointed his finger at her and raged. She and the Sisters would probably aim to kill him on sight, or at least maim him, before accepting any apology.
Madame Chastain noted Tyghan’s hesitation. “An apology isn’t so hard.”
“You mean groveling.”
“Exactly. It’s an art you should learn, the sooner the better. Or . . . we can leave the creature in Miss Keats’s back?”
He was ready to argue, but the alternative sobered him. “I’ll go.”
“Good. Go tonight. And use her earnedtitle, not her name. It won’t be easy to get her back here. She can’t ride a horse. And a carriage?” She bit her lip, thinking it over. “I’d suggest you use some clever magic to ease her journey. I’ll leave that to you. I’ll have her suites at the conservatory readied. And the Sisters’, too, of course.”
How long would this take? He could make the ride to Mount Nola in a matter of a day, but returning with a fragile passenger and hostile escorts? He laid out a tentative plan in his head and turned back to Bristol, now lying peacefully on her side, lost in Madame Chastain’s potion-induced dreamworld. “I’ll gather my crew after I take her back to her room. No one is to enter her chambers while I’m gone without Kasta’s approval.” The High Witch nodded, and he gently scooped Bristol into his arms, but as he did, he paused, noticing her hands for the first time. The white half-moons of her nailbeds had changed. They were now a deep vivid blue—and pointed like the arm of a star. Or a claw.
Olivia leaned close. “More of her magic was released into her blood in the struggle with the tick,” she explained. “She’s definitely not mortalbound.”
CHAPTER 60
Tyghan laid Bristol on her bed like she might break. She didn’t stir as her head sank into the pillow. He wouldn’t be there when she woke, and that thing would still be on her back. What would she think? What would she do? Scream and shake like before? Would anyone be there to comfort her?Heshould be there.
His blood still stained her shirt. He’d speak to Kasta before he left. She’d make sure her clothing was taken care of, and that Bristol lacked for nothing.
He lingered, knowing he was wasting precious minutes. The sooner gone, the sooner he could return, but instead of leaving, he knelt beside the bed and drew her hand into his. He pressed her knuckles to his lips, then looked at the pointed blue moons on her nailbeds.She’s definitely not mortalbound.
But what was she?
The confusion in Olivia’s eyes, and the uncertainty in Madame Chastain’s voice, crawled over his skin. They knew the change meant something, but didn’t seem to know what that was. They’d both be searching through their histories and grimoires late into the night. Or maybe that was why Madame Chastain sought the Lumessa’s help—because only she could explain what it meant.Claws.He was certain the possibility was running through their minds. The claws of what?
He thought back to that moment in the forest when Maire walked out of the cottage, half-naked, a blanket clutched around her body, her long copper hair cascading over her shoulders. She raked it back with lovely fingers and pale nailbeds the color of pearly seashells. Not blue. Maybe she glamoured them, but not likely. She didn’t care what Tyghan thought or what he observed. All she said was, “Get it over with, Kierus. We have to go.” And she’d gone back into the cottage.
Tyghan placed Bristol’s hand back at her side, then ran his finger over a small cut on her brow, making it disappear. He wished he could do more.
Grovel.
He would crawl on his hands and knees if that’s what it took. And it likely would.
