CHAPTER 14
Kill the creature. She means nothing to me.
Which woman would Bristol be meeting at the base of Queen’s Cliff?
Her mother, who had protected her and whispered desperate spells into her ear, or the monster who served the king of Fomoria?
Was this all an elaborate trap to capture Bristol—a trap that had cost Glennis her life?
Was Kormick behind it? Of course he was.
My mother is not a murderer. Kormick controls her. He uses her fear.
Bristol wasn’t immune to fear. It was a heavy stone sitting in her gut, but rage crawled over her skin too, multiplying with each mile like an infection.
Glennis’s sightless blue eyes burned bright in Bristol’s mind. Glennis, now forever the watchful knight, scanning a sky she would never see again. Bristol would be Glennis’s eyes now. Bristol would be her teeth and nails and fire.
She and August crossed over Balor Pass, quickly approaching the base of Queen’s Cliff, a flat span of sand along the shore that gleamed in the noon sun.
Stay clear of the water. There’s merkind there that will pull you under.
Stay invisible until you get your bearings.
Circle first. Look for a trap.
Don’t dismount from August.
Be ready to flee. Go low. They’ll expect you to go high.
No. Follow your instincts. Always follow your instincts.
The advice the officers piled on her could only take her so far.
They all knew, any trap laid would likely be sure and complete.
A deathtrap. This was either a real meeting meant to appease Maire and keep Cael’s head attached to his shoulders, or it was meant to capture Bristol—and odds were, it was the latter.
Come back to me, Bri. Promise me.
The thought of her mother or Kormick trying to thwart her return only made her rage burn brighter. She would return, and it wouldn’t be with her head in a chest.
She circled the beach again, wary.
The sandy base of Queen’s Cliff only stretched for about two hundred yards.
It was deceptively as beautiful as the cliffs of étretat, though Bristol was certain Monet had never painted these, nor had any other painter who might have skipped into Elphame on sabbatical—or by accident.
No matter how beautiful, this was not a place to set up a canvas and linger, not if you valued your life.
Get out quickly. But how quick was quick enough?
The beach at the bottom of the cliff was deserted. Bristol eyed the widest section in the middle, maybe thirty yards deep, that would give her the greatest distance from the shore and the merkind dwelling in the water.
“Down,” she whispered to August. He shed his invisibility, and Bristol pushed back the hood of her cloak to shed hers, and they descended. August’s hooves kicked up white sand and stone as he slowed and bellowed his misgivings.
Not far from the shore, a silver tail flipped out of the water and disappeared again. The creatures already knew she was there.
There was no sign of her mother, but Bristol sensed a presence, a feeling of being watched. Maybe it wasn’t a learned habit after all, but a suppressed fae skill she was born with?
Against advice she slid from August’s saddle.
“I came alone as ordered,” she called into the emptiness. “No hidden weapons. You have nothing to fear from me.”
The small sound of ripples lapping at the shore was the only reply.
She scanned the beach one way and then another, and called out again, “I know you’re there. More games?”
Though she really wasn’t certain at all. The air was heavy with the sea, salty and sticky on her cheeks. She considered returning to August’s back, but then, in a niche at the base of the cliff, a mist grew, and from it, a figure materialized.
Maire. Leanna. Her mother. Or whoever she was today.
Maire, Bristol thought. For today she needs to be Maire. A stranger.
The flutter in Bristol’s chest accelerated to a sickening thump.
Maire was perched on a smooth boulder like it was her throne, an elegant raven gown hugging her svelte form.
Her copper hair was done up in multiple graceful braids that twisted across her head and around .
. . her horns. Horns that Bristol would never get used to.
She had seen them on a hundred different creatures and fae, but horns did not belong on her mother.
Bristol’s gaze dropped from the golden horns to her mother’s jade eyes. They were inscrutable.
“No games,” Maire finally answered. “I just wanted a moment to get a quiet look.”
“And Kormick?” Bristol asked, eyeing the surrounding beach. “He’s still hiding?”
Maire laughed, her eyes sparking. “Kormick? He never comes here. It’s too primitive for his taste. Not to mention, he can’t stand that worthless bag of bones that he’s holding up top. He can’t wait to be rid of him.”
Worthless. Cael. The way she said rid didn’t sound at all like release. It sounded permanent.
“Only my trusted guards are here with me,” Maire continued. “They’re waiting at the fortress and won’t come down here unless I summon them.”
Bristol had known this reunion with her mother would be different from that with her father, but it was colder than she expected.
There was no temptation to run into her mother’s arms. No tears.
No hugging or soft endearments. Even as her mother continued to study Bristol from afar, her body language was as chilly as frost.
“Finally convinced it’s me?”
Maire rose to her feet. “I know my own daughter when I see her.”
“You didn’t seem to when you ordered Tyghan to slit my throat.”
“Elphame is full of tricks. I know now.”
“And yet—” Bristol scrutinized Maire with an equally dissecting gaze. “I don’t know my own mother when I see her. I don’t know who you are at all. You’re a stranger to me.”
Maire’s chin lifted slightly like Bristol had struck her, a crack in her steely composure.
Her thumb grazed her finger, her old habit coming to life, and a thin veil circled around her until she was glamoured into Leanna Keats, a woman without horns, her hair loose down her back.
She wore cheap drawstring trousers and a loose tee that slipped off one shoulder. Her feet were bare.
Bristol resisted the flinch of her stomach. “You needn’t have bothered,” she said, keeping her tone just as cool as her mother’s. “A little glamour doesn’t change what’s inside. You’re still the woman who murdered Glennis.”
Her mother smiled, and her perfectly arched brows rose higher, as if amused.
“Murder? Is that how they’re painting this?
” Her smile faded, and her voice went sharp and deadly, the voice Bristol had heard at their disastrous first encounter.
“They kill one of my trusted guards? They snatch my daughter from her home and hold her hostage, and I am supposed to do nothing? That was an act of war, and Glennis was a casualty of that war like any other.”
Her mother nudged a step closer, and Bristol took a step back, mindful of the shore behind her. They moved in half steps as they spoke, equidistant, in a circle, like wrestlers in a match, contemplating each other’s moves.
“I’m not a hostage, Mother. Tyghan and I—”
Maire cursed. “I knew it. You leaned into that knife.” Bristol searched for a denial, but her mother was already hurling another question at her. “You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you? It’s in your voice when you say his name.”
Bristol stared, shocked at how she could glean that from just a few words.
Did her mother have more motherly instincts than Bristol gave her credit for?
Or did Bristol’s tone actually change when she said Tyghan’s name?
Was Bristol so inextricably tied to him already, that she couldn’t even think his name without it showing in her face?
“He’s the one who dragged you here?”
“No. I came here of my own free will.”
“Nonsense,” Maire replied. “You didn’t even know about this world. Your father and I made certain—”
“I know about it now. I know more secrets than you think.” She stared at her mother, trying to imagine her placing an ugly tick on her own baby’s back all those years ago. Instead, she shared a different secret. “I know what your uncles did to you.”
The revelation had the desired effect, but Bristol found no joy in it. The ugliness of the secret left Maire speechless. Years of anguish were alive inside her again, and she stared at Bristol like she had betrayed her with something as lethal as a demon blade.
“Father told me,” Bristol added. “I came here to find him. I made a deal with Danu in return for their help.”
Maire sucked in a breath at last, her cool reserve fully shattered. “Your father? Your father is here?”
For a brief moment, Bristol saw a glimpse of her mother, the woman she used to be. “That’s right,” she answered. “He thought you were coming back, and when you didn’t—”
“He’s a dreamer!” She scowled, the hardness restored. “He always was.”
“He said you promised to come back—”
“I said I’d try! It was the only way I could get him to let me go. Try! I didn’t promise.”
“So you lied to him.”
“I did what was necessary.”
“You should have known he would follow. You’re his whole world.
He was devastated when you left. We had to sell off all of his paintings to survive, but he refused to sell his sketches of you.
You were his muse. His everything. You always were.
He was miserable and lost and couldn’t go on without you. And now he’s here to save you.”
“I don’t need saving!” her mother hissed, swiping her fingers across her temple. Her steps became erratic, turning one way, then another. “Damn you, Logan,” she whispered under her breath. “Damn you.”
Her anger toward him was real. A sharp pang pierced Bristol, like she had lost something else she had always believed in—her parents’ enduring love for each other. “You always said he was the love of your life.”