Page 55 of The Musician and the Monster

“Bronwyn…” Her hands tightened on her sister’s. “Lord Winterbourneisthe monster.”

Bronwyn’s eyes flew wide. Her lips parted.

“It must be magic,” Ceridwen hurried on, looking away from her sister’s wild expression. “He’s one of the nobles that can wield it. Though I don’t know why it causes him to change like that.”

“Magic…” her sister murmured in apparent shock.

“He’d not left his tower for two days, and I’d grown concerned. All the residents of the manor had. Yet no one would enter the tower to discover what had happened. I didn’t know why. I do now. At first, I thought it was empty, ransacked. I feared that Drystan may have been killed by the monster he claimed to protect us from. But then I found it on the top floor.”

Her chest grew tight, burning with emotion. “The monster attacked me as I tried to flee. But then it began to change, to become more human. It spoke with Drystan’s voice. He called out my name and begged me to stay, but I—”The memories finally choked off her words.

“You ran,” Bronwyn finished. Her earlier surprise faded into sadness.

Ceridwen nodded as Bronwyn pulled her into a bone-crushing hug. Tears streamed down her face.

“It’s all right. I would have too. I think anyone would when confronted by a shock like that. But—” She pulled Ceridwen back until she could look her in the eye again. “If you care about him, as I believe you do, you need to read his letter. See what he has to say. Itwon’t change what happened, or that he kept such a thing from you, but you should do it for yourself, if nothing else.”

Ceridwen nodded and breathed deeply. “I know. I will. I just…”

Bronwyn patted her leg. “Take your time. I’ll be here if you want to talk about it afterward. You’ve become so much braver since you left us. I know you can handle this.” With that, she left her alone with Drystan’s words, still sealed with the crimson rose of wax.

It took time for her sister’s praise to sink in. Braver? She didn’t feel like it, though she’d done a number of things she never could have imagined only a few weeks ago. Ceridwen was the quiet younger sibling. Always polite. Never outspoken like Adair and Bronwyn. Yet she’d been the one to criticize a noble and face down a monster. Perhaps, outside their shadows, she’d finally started to find her own spark.

After a few more minutes of indecision, she finally pried open the seal and pulled out the letter—one thick sheet of paper folded twice.

Dearest Ceridwen,

An apology would be insufficient for the event that occurred between us. But know that if I could have kept you from that, I would have.

I thought I was keeping you safe, protecting you from the things I wish I could change. I see now that I was wrong. I’d give anything to fix what happened, and it destroys me that I can’t.

Your music helps me more than you know, and your bright spirit is the light that brought me back from deep darkness. I miss it. I miss you.

If you would deign to return, I would be willing to increase the terms of our arrangement.

I pray the Goddess grants me your presence again before my time is up.

Drystan

She expected anger or hurt. Yet all that filled her after reading his letter was empty, numbing sadness. He’d been carefully vague, but of course he would be. Putting his monstrous side into words, and signed in his hand, would be damning if Ceridwen chose to wield that against him.

Of all his words, the last line bothered her the most. Drystan mentioned returning to the capital at midwinter, but why not say that? Such travel would not be unexpected for a noble.

A cord of unease slithered its way into the emptiness within her. Drystan held more secrets than she ever imagined, and worse ones than anyone would reasonably believe. Butperhaps, she’d yet to learn the extent of them. Whatever plagued the Lord Protector of Teneboure and led to his monstrous form, she had a suspicion that he did not expect to survive it.

That night, Ceridwen chose to play again. The song she picked had been her mother’s favorite and the first she had memorized. The words of the song sang themselves in her heart as she played the tune with practiced ease from her customary perch on the usable portion of the roof of the house, letting the notes float out into the cold night.

A second song followed the first. Despite the cold that stiffened her limbs through layers of fabric, she raised her flute and began a third. As the warmed metal came to rest against her lip, an imaginary spider skittered down her back.

Always she felt eyes on her when she played outside. Her mother watching from the Goddess’s hallowed halls, she assumed. Though often, the tingles came from the direction of the manor. Perhaps Drystan had listened and watched long before they’d been introduced. Actually, she was almost certain of it.

But this new feeling was more intense. Stronger. As if whomever watched stood just behind her. She lowered her flute with shaking hands but could not will herself to turn.

“Drystan?” she whispered.

The world grew still, holding its breath with her.

When the reply came, the familiar voice nearly chilled her to the bone. “Ceridwen.”

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