Page 18 of The Musician and the Monster

How had she missed these sounds all the nights she’d played on the rooftop? Unless the monster stuck close to the manor or the forest beyond.

Ceridwen prayed to the Goddess for safety, for herself, her family, and the whole of the city. She beseeched her Eidolon of Protection, asking for him to watch over them all as well. If the Lord Protector, who was meant to represent him on this plane, would not protect the city, perhaps divine favor would, should her prayers be answered. Odd though it may be, she prayed for the monster too—for whatever it was to find peace, if even in death.

Sleep did not claim Ceridwen until long after the sounds vanished from the night. When it did, dreams reached her. In them, she played her flute on the rooftop of her family’s city home while Lord Winterbourne watched her with red eyes.

Chapter 9

Drystan

Sleep had come uneasily to Drystan the last few nights, despite having Ceridwen in residence and playing music for him. That calmed him where little else did. Unfortunately, it didn’t fully ease the worries that kept him up until the late hours.

She was the curious sort, not content to sit idle in her rooms. The young woman liked to keep herself busy and had taken to helping the servants tend the vegetable garden, of all things. Most nobles would have frowned on such unladylike behavior, he supposed, but he admired her willingness to get dirt under her nails, the drive to do something, even so small as picking cabbages. He’d watched in secret the first time she ventured into the gardens. The glass roof overhead trapped the warmth of the sun. Between that and the heat from the kitchens below, the lush courtyard garden sprouted life through the harshest of winters like the one when he’d arrived. It was a marvel, even to someone like him raised in the capital.

The servants said Ceridwen sometimes asked about him as they worked. It both pleased and annoyed him. Digging into his past wouldn’t do any of them any good. In fact, it would only make seeking his revenge harder. Sheltered as she was in this northern city on the edge of nowhere, she didn’t know the horrors the capital wrought, the tangible darkness seeping through the streets and taking innocents down with it, or worse, twisting them to its own ministrations. He’d been a foolish young man once, caught up in the pleasures of life and blinded to everything around him. By the time he saw the darkness worming its way into his life, it was too late, and his family paid the price. Before he was forced to return to the capital at midwinter, per the king’s command, he needed a solution to his problem. It was close. So close. But if he couldn’t conquer the mess of his soul, which Ceridwen’s music eased, it wouldn’t be possible. He’d lose perhaps his one chance at salvation.

Conversation floated through the halls, reaching him before its speakers.

“—put him off much longer,” Kent lamented, his voice carrying around the corner.

“Heisthe mayor,” Jackoby touted. “He’s in his right to worry.”

“One day, he’ll bring half the regiment with him and force an audience.”

“Not if the king sends them south.”

“You think he would?” Kent asked. “Not that there’s much risk from invaders up here.”

Drystan nearly snorted. To the north lay only some rogue settlements along the icy fjords—their citizens a people unto themselves. They never ventured south, and the residents of Castamar wisely saw nothing but bitter cold and misery in the north. That kept peace in itself. Not that there was anything to capture in this backwater city anyway.

“It’s what Mayor Evans claimed.”

“It’s distressing if what the mayor claimed about the counsel is true,” Jackoby said. “The king dismissing them doesn’t bode well.”

“That wretch,” Kent growled. “We’d all be better off if he tripped over his royal boots and broke his neck.”

“What is this about the counsel?” Drystan asked, rounding the corner and coming face-to-face with Jackoby and Kent. The mayor had demanded an audience again this morning—he’d sent them instead.

Kent paled. Jackoby swallowed thickly before answering. “The mayor says they’ve been dismissed. The king rules without counsel.”

Drystan tightened his gloved hand into a fist.Of course he does. He shouldn’t be surprised. The king had lusted for power, for the throne, even before his brother perished and the former king’s heir was executed for causing his death and becoming corrupted by darkness. Ironic, considering the king was the worst offender of embracing dark magic and the power it offered. But dismissing the counsel was a blatant grab at unchecked rule. How could the people not see the tyrant in front of them?

“And you chose to discuss this in the halls? While we have a guest in residence?” Drystan crossed his arms, staring the men down.

“Apologies, my lord.” The men echoed one another.

The information itself wasn’t important—this time, but such slipups were risky. Ceridwen was an outsider, a sweet young woman, but one wrong bit of information whispered to the wrong ear could be his doom. Jackoby and Kent knew that well.

“My lord!” Another servant raced down the hall.

Immediately, the fine hairs rose on the back of Drystan’s neck. “What is it?”

The young man skidded to a stop, breathing hard.

The mayor?Kent mouthed to Jackoby.

Drystan clenched his teeth as he waited for the servant to speak.It better not be that ridiculous man.

“Trouble at the gate, my lord,” the younger man replied. “A young man demanding to see Miss Ceridwen.”

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