CHAPTER 15
There!” Rose shouted. “She’s coming!”
The others strained to see where Rose pointed, their vision not as sharp as her hawkish gaze, but a few seconds later, Bristol came into view for them too. They heaved a collective sigh.
“Thank the gods,” Hollis said, but then angled her head, puzzled. “Why is she riding so slowly?”
“Should we ride to meet her?” Avery asked, even though they had been ordered not to cross the border.
Julia urged her horse a few paces forward, puzzled by Bristol’s slow pace too. Her palm curled around the hilt of her sword. Her insides hummed, ready to shape-shift.
“What’s that behind her?” Sashka asked.
Bristol was cast in shadow by the surrounding trees, and they all squinted, trying to make out the dark blur.
“It’s a person!” Rose answered.
Questions came in rapid fire after that.
“Is it a trap?”
“Are they holding her hostage?”
“Can you see a weapon?”
“What’s our plan?”
“Should we go—”
“Wait.” Julia rode a few lengths to the side to get another view, as eager as the rest to disobey orders.
“No,” she called to the others, finally getting a good glimpse of the unexpected passenger.
“Hold your positions.” She breathed out with relief, wondering how on earth Bristol had managed this, and then, with the next breath, worried what it might have cost her.
Da Vinci. The name clouded Bristol’s thoughts, pressing down like a heavy sky on a windless day.
Da Vinci. Her father’s find of the century.
Anyone’s find of the century. But did he really find it, as he claimed, or was it a deal that cost him something?
Something dear. Did he have to sell part of his soul to get it?
That’s how Bristol felt now. Like a gash had sliced through her middle, her insides torn away. Like she had traded part of her soul for the deal of the century. And that deal rode behind her now, a deal more valuable to the twelve kingdoms of Elphame than any da Vinci.
I promise.
I promise if you give me Cael, I will go home.
I’ll take Father with me, and we’ll go back to Cat and Harper.
Today. But you have to give me something now. I won’t get another chance.
She sold it to her mother. Sold it like there was no tomorrow. Every word curdled in her stomach as she said it, like she was using a Keats strategy against her own mother. And it worked. She sold her mother a dream.
Bristol felt the slight shift of hands at her waist. “Make a move for my knife, and I’ll throw you off my horse.”
“My brother’s horse. You think I don’t know that? Did you . . . kill him? No one else rides this beast.”
Cael’s words were slurred like he was drunk.
Or maybe slightly delirious. He was so weak he could barely hold on to her.
She wasn’t too concerned about him grabbing her knife out of its sheath.
A quick jabbing elbow would send him tumbling.
As it was, she had to proceed at a snail’s pace so he wouldn’t fall off.
He already had once, which cost him a split lip, and getting him back up on August was no small feat.
She couldn’t levitate something that big.
Cheese puffs were her forte, not large men.
And he was large—like Tyghan—though at this point, thin.
His cheeks were hollowed out, and he barely resembled his robust portrait in the foyer of the palace.
He still wore the collar that prevented him from using magic, so he was useless in that regard too.
Her mother had refused to remove it, saying it would give his sorcerers something to occupy their time.
Bristol teetered between sympathy for his pathetic state and complete loathing for who he was and what he had done.
His lack of empathy for her mother was fire inside her, like the burning goblin brew that made her choke.
How different all of their lives might have been if he had been the one who stopped to help her mother instead of Kormick.
And if her father could have pursued his art instead of being laughed out of—
“You didn’t answer me. How did you get his horse?”
His inane mumblings were driving her mad. “I already told you—” “I don’t believe a word from your lying mouth. Another trick, that’s all I see, and that monster has had an endless supply of them. A real Danu knight would have respect for me as their sovereign. They wouldn’t—”
“Shut up!” she ordered, sick of his arrogance.
“I don’t have a shred of respect for you at all.
You’re a game piece on a board, and not even a useful one at that, and I am removing you from play to make our other moves easier.
That’s it. There, does that clear things up for you?
” God, why did she end with a question when she didn’t want him to say one more word?
By the mercy of one of their many gods, he remained silent.
For a full minute.
“Why do you hate me?” he asked. His words were still weak but clear, like he had carefully composed them.
“It doesn’t matter,” she answered. “All that matters is I’m taking you home.” He didn’t know she was Maire’s daughter, and it was best to leave it that way.
“It matters when the first face I’ve seen in months doesn’t belong to the enemy. Or are you?”
She wished he were still delirious. Maybe the fresh air was shaking his brain alive again. She didn’t answer, hoping he would grow foggy once more.
Cael sighed. “Fine. Have it your way. Don’t speak to me. But thank you, if you’re truly rescuing me.”
If.
It was a steady beat in her head. If. If only.
“I hate you because when Maire was chained to a post in her yard, you rode past without helping her. If you had only shown her the smallest bit of compassion—”
He grunted. “So she fed that story to you too? She shoved it in my face so many times I lost count.”
“And yet I don’t hear an ounce of remorse in your tone.”
“Remorse? I was barely thirteen. I was a sudden orphan and a newly crowned king. I don’t even remember seeing her. If we passed by, I was probably being schooled by a squad of tutors on my way to a kingdom that I was expected to impress.”
“Even a thirteen-year-old can hear screams,” she said.
“Through the jostle of a team of horses pulling a carriage over an uneven forest trail? You haven’t ridden in many carriages, have you? I told you, I don’t even remember her.”
So very convenient, Bristol thought. The bitterness inside her doubled. “Then what about my—what about Kierus? You weren’t a boy when he came to you asking for leave to study art. You humiliated him. You laughed him out of the throne room.”
“What difference would that make to you?”
“You asked why I hate you. Decisions have repercussions. Real people have to live with them. Yours have affected all of Elphame. If he had pursued his art—”
“Are you mad? You’re saying laughing at Kierus gave him just cause to betray Danu? I laughed him out of the throne room numerous times. He was always coming up with some new scheme. Art was just another one of his crazy—”
“My father loved his art! After his family, it was his passion! It wasn’t a scheme!”
A schism ruptured the air. Bristol’s ears echoed with the temporary silence. She realized her misstep too late.
“Your father?” Cael finally said. “Then that means—”
In her fury, she didn’t care what he thought, but in the next second, she felt something sharp at her jugular. “I knew this was a trick,” Cael whispered close to her ear.
He had either rapidly regained his strength or he wasn’t as weak as he had pretended to be—and she had fallen for it.
His breath was hot against her neck, his free hand tight and strong around her waist, his broad chest snug to her back.
“Now who will be throwing whom from the horse? Or maybe I should do something else—”
Cael sucked in a fast breath as he jerked Bristol tighter against him.
“I wouldn’t, Your Majesty.” Julia’s voice was slow and buttery as she lifted her veil of invisibility.
“If you kill her, you’ll be killing Elphame’s last chance for survival.
And if you make the slightest move, that sword you feel at your spine will immediately sever it, because this woman matters more than you do. ”
Julia sat tall and regal on her horse in front of them. Sashka and Rose flanked her, just as magnificent—and deadly. Avery and Hollis materialized behind Bristol and Cael, their faces enraged, Avery poking Cael’s back with her sword, eager to carry out Julia’s threat.
“Lower it. Now,” Julia ordered again, her tone making it clear that there wouldn’t be another warning.
Cael lowered the knife and tossed it to the ground.
Sashka hissed and levitated the knife, guiding it to her hand, then shot the king a stinging glare. “Ingrate,” she said. “Last time we rescue you.”