The Courting of Bristol Keats (The Courting of Bristol Keats, #1)

by Mary E. Pearson

The universe opened a door for me, and who was I to look away? —ANASTASIA WIGGINS

Our past is a shadow that follows us. For better or worse, it shapes us, and sometimes it controls us.

It was impossible to move forward when part of you was trapped in the past.

She had been the sun rising in his mornings and the moon whispering him to sleep at night.

Life wasn’t always about change but sometimes about sameness. And sometimes sameness made you look beneath the surface, look at the bones that held it all together—and the flaws that could be its undoing. Change was a distraction. Sameness demanded reflection.

“Tyghan Trénallis of the Danu Nation. My friends call me Tygh. But you … you may call me Mr. High and Mighty.”

When you’re sent by the gods to seduce and kill your enemy but fail in your task, when you become the seduced instead of the seducer, few options were left to you and only one involved staying alive: run. Run away with the enemy and hope you both run faster than the gods.

From Falias came the Stone of Destiny, to declare new queens and kings to govern their realm. From Gorias came the Spear of Lugh, which made the bearer prevail in battle. From Findias came the Sword of Light, which delivered only mortal blows. And from Murias came the Cauldron of Plenty, so Danu’s children would never go hungry.

Bristol learned there were five kinds of magic. The High Witch listed them in beautiful scrolled writing on a smoky veil that hung in the air. Innate magic—the kind you are born with. Learned magic that must be practiced. Magic that is gifted, mostly in the form of amulets. Magic that is unanchored—wild, unpredictable, but, luckily, rare. Dark magic that feeds on the user, the most dangerous kind to practice.

“The mortal and fae worlds move at different speeds,” Esmee told them. “I like to use the analogy of dropping two downy feathers from a cliff at the same moment. They’ll drift to the ground at varying rates of speed depending on air currents and by the chance of how they tumble. But one will always land later and farther from the other. If you drop them again, they will fall in an entirely different pattern. It’s impossible to predict their paths. Time falls in the same way, but there are two times a year when mortal and fae timelines are in sync—Samhain and Beltane—which you might know in the mortal world as All Hallows’ Eve and May Day. A single day is a single day in both worlds.”

Remember that. Secrets are power.”

“No more chances, Bri. Do you understand? No matter what happens. I will not lose you.” “You never will,” she answered. “I’m not going anywhere. Not without you.”

Forgiveness is a thing of the heart, and every heart is wounded and mended in its own way.”