Page 49 of The Musician and the Monster

With that unsettling thought, she squared her shoulders and faced Jackoby through the tears burning the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Without another backward glance, she fled out the gate and into the streets. She hurried home, her feet taking her along the streets she hadn’t walked in weeks. Intuition led the way as her mind reeled with flickers of memory and the knowledge she’d gained that afternoon.

A sob tore from her as she turned the corner onto the street with her family’s home. In her haste, she’d left her flute, her most valuable possession. How could she play for Mother now?

Chapter 22

Drystan

Drystan flung the ruined chair across the room, savoring the shattering of the wood as it smashed into stone. His beast had finally receded. His humanity returned, and with it, the horror of what he’d half witnessed while trapped within the monster’s thrall.

Ceridwen had come.

The foolish, brave, bewitching woman had ventured into the one place he’d ordered her not to go and stumbled right into the worst thing imaginable: him fully lost to the darkness in his blood.

When the monster broke free, his mortal mind slipped far into the recesses of his consciousness. Usually, he only could recall glimpses of what happened when the beast had control of him—bits of memory, like pieces of a dark dream. Somehow, her voice cut through the monster’s hold and reached him deep within the shadowy place where it locked him away. It responded to her as it rarely did to anyone else. The first night they’d met in the streets, it was her voice that stopped the monster from making her another victim of its rage. Again, she’d stopped it here in the tower, though not before he’d done the unforgiveable.

Drystan slunk to the floor, staring at his hand, at the blood—her blood—coating his fingers from where his monster had grabbed her with its claws.

He’d hurt her. She’d fled.

An anguished cry tore from his chest.

She wouldn’t play for him now, not since she’d seen what lurked beneath his skin. No sane person would. She’d probably run right down those stairs and out of the manor for good. The thought caused a shudder to rack his body. The monster was still on edge, prowling just beneath his skin.

People prayed to the Goddess and thought her merciful. To the south, they even called her the Mother, praising her gentle and nurturing side. But in Castamar, theyremembered that the Mother was only one side of the divinity that watched over them. The royalty and some nobility could certainly never forget her darker side. Long ago, she’d gifted some of her children power beyond mortal men and women. Strength, increased senses, and the ability to work magic from blood and shape. The power was guarded, limited, and kept by the bloodlines that possessed it. Hoarding of it was one reason nobles rarely married outside their ranks, but there was a darker reason too.

With any power came temptation.

The Goddess’s gift wasn’t just a blessing but a curse as well. The magic she granted was powerful, but it only went so far. It could be stronger. It could do more, and the temptation of that was ever present in anyone who held the Goddess’s touch. But giving in to that temptation was damnation. It meant giving in to the monster lurking within each of them, granting it the power to take control. Worse still were the ones who tried to harness that inner monster for themselves, a sin he refused to sink to.

To tempt darkness at all was an offense punishable by death. At least, it had been before the King Rhion had risen to power, determined to harness that darkness for himself and those loyal to him. Any who weren’t? Well, they went the way of the king’s nephew, no matter if their magic was light or dark. The public execution hadn’t been just a punishment, but a threat.

However, Drystan needed darkness. Light alone wouldn’t give him the strength to work the spells he needed for his revenge. Time dripped ever closer to its end for him in this place, and Malik’s wandering of his halls would make the spell casting even more tricky. One slip in front of him, one show of his monstrous side, and he’d be done. His cousin would know what magic he used and deduce what he attempted.

He lay back on the floor, begging the coolness of the stone to soothe the pain and regret coursing through him.

Malik might not get the chance to out him. If Ceridwen fled, if she shared what she’d learned in the tower, it would be the end of him. The mayor and the city watch would be at his gates, demanding justice, a mob of citizens in tow. He could see it in his mind’s eye, the glimmer of their torches against the night as they sought out the beast to slay it once and for all.

He was a plague upon them. He deserved whatever torment they could muster.

But they didn’t know about the king in the capital or his followers who embraced the darkness. They didn’t know the danger that could easily spread if left unchecked. It would be a terror unlike any seen in this generation. Death and bloodshed to slake the endlesslust of monsters, both human and otherwise. The citizens of Teneboure didn’t know that the worst of them wore a human face, sat upon a throne, and received their praise.

Not all monsters crept through the night, baring their fangs and claws for all to see.

With effort, Drystan pushed himself off the floor and slunk to the window. It was sunset now. Had a day passed since he’d lost himself to the monster’s thrall? Two? Time was meaningless in that abyss. He’d tried one of the final spells he needed for his working. He’d been close, so close, but that fueled the monster inside him. For days, he’d held it in check despite his use of the darker powers, only to have it break free and consume him. He’d hoped Ceridwen’s music would be enough, that her calming presence and songs that seemed to placate the monster would keep it at bay.

But it wasn’t enough. Nothing was ever enough.

Drystan pushed open the window pane and peered out toward the city. His focus immediately fell to the main yard below and the stammering of footprints marring the otherwise pristine snow. And there, heading away from the manor, was a lone figure in the near dusk streets. He didn’t need to see her to know who it was.

Grief bellowed from him in a roar before he sank to his knees and held his head in his hands.

Chapter 23

Ceridwen

“Oh—Oh my—” Jaina exclaimed as she beheld Ceridwen standing on the front stair. “Ceridwen, what’s happened?” She practically pulled her inside as the young woman hiccupped through her tears.

---