CHAPTER 51
Tyghan’s meetings ended early, and he had been on his way to Bristol’s room when Eris intercepted him.
It arrived. The two words still reverberated in his head. Eris said them in passing, making Tyghan’s other thoughts scatter.
It’s large, Eris had told him. That’s why it took so long to transport. It’s in your room.
His footsteps slowed as he walked toward his chamber, reluctance building inside him. It’s only a fucking painting, he told himself. But he hadn’t thought it through. He didn’t count on the effect that it might have on him.
When he entered his chambers, he spotted the velvet-draped painting in a hallway, leaning against a wall. He eyed it for a long while before pulling the cloth free.
He sat in front of it now, sipping a glass of goblin whiskey that burned his throat, and stared at Kierus’s last piece of art.
Tempest #44.
Forty-four times Kierus had painted that scene. And still, forty-four times hadn’t been enough.
Tyghan had bought the painting anonymously, wanting to provide quick additional funds for the Keats sisters to ease Bristol’s worry.
But he also bought it because he was curious.
The gallery owner had been suspicious at the five million he offered—far more than she was asking—but then gladly accepted it on the sisters’ behalf. Tyghan would have paid any price.
The pamphlet that accompanied the painting lay on the floor.
He had already read it, but it was unnecessary.
It talked about things like paint, style, and technique.
Not pain, betrayals, and regrets. Tyghan saw the real story, what Kierus had seen—the story beneath thick layers of paint. He saw it in every stroke.
A forest.
A dark swirling sky.
The haze of dusk.
A tired and worried prince finally spotting horse tracks. He had dismounted from August and left him behind to quietly follow the narrow trail of hoofprints. Desperate to find his friend. To save him.
And then he came to a clearing—and a cottage.
That was when he spotted Kierus coming out the cottage door, alive.
Relief had flooded Tyghan’s chest, but he immediately knew that something was wrong.
Kierus had an expression of panic on his face, and then someone else appeared in the doorway behind him, the Darkland monster, the terror of Elphame.
He knew it was her by the descriptions he had heard.
That was when Tyghan drew his sword with one hand and prepared to summon magic with the other.
Kierus, still a trusted friend as far as Tyghan knew, rushed over to him, rattling off nonsense about being in love.
And then the monster, a beauty with only a blanket draped around her, stepped out onto the porch and called, Get it over with, Kierus. We have to go.
Kierus’s voice grew louder, more earnest, angry. You have to leave. Please, Tygh. I’m going with her. Walk away like you never found me. Walk away.
Tyghan couldn’t do it. He was certain Kierus was enchanted, and Tyghan still wanted to save his best friend and take him home.
Instead, they argued. Tyghan ordered him to step aside, but Kierus became a wall.
He became someone else pushing back against him.
And then he seemed to embrace Tyghan, pulling him close.
That was when Tyghan felt a hot sting in his side.
The rough tug of a blade, one way and then another.
The vicious upward lift to make sure the job was done.
And then Kierus left. He walked away without looking back.
The surprise hit Tyghan before the pain.
But when the pain hit, he couldn’t breathe.
He pulled the blade free, and clutched his side, still in disbelief.
Hot blood trickled between his fingers, and his legs gave way.
He dropped to his knees, his head swimming, unable to call out, Kierus, come back.
The pain overtook him then, but didn’t offer him the mercy of passing out. He writhed in the mud, wishing for death. At some point, August found him and went for help. The last thing Tyghan remembered was Dalagorn cursing as he lifted him from the mud.
The colors were all there in the painting, the dark swirl of their lives spinning out of control, a storm that could never be calmed. Even the crimson that marked the severing of their friendship. Demons would always haunt Tyghan, but another kind of demon possessed Kierus.
That day . . . it haunted me. I relived it over and over.
Forty-four times.
Tyghan finished his brew and wrestled the painting up the stairs, hiding it in his study with his other nightmares. He didn’t want Bristol to see it.