Page 6 of The Musician and the Monster

Elspeth drew a circle, the sign of the Goddess, in front of her chest.

“Only a little,” Ceridwen said. She didn’t have the nerve to describe the leather skin stretched too tight over wrongly proportioned limbs. No one needed to share her nightmares.

“Is it true what we heard about the man who was killed? That he was an escaped convict and a thief?” Lydia asked.

Ceridwen nodded. “It’s what Father was told.” Not that it made the death any easier to take in.

“Gerard went to the constable that night to report the murder. When he came to investigate, he found the Lyndstroms’ family jewels in his bag,” Bronwyn said, filling in the details as she often did. Where words sometimes failed Ceridwen, they never did her sister. “And he had a dagger in his hand, covered in blood.”

“The monster’s?” Lydia gasped.

“Maybe. There were no other crimes reported that night.”

“You think he fought back?” Lydia asked.

“He did,” Ceridwen said. “I saw him stab it, but then I—”

The others continued speaking, but Ceridwen barely heard them over the jumbled buzzing in her ears. She drew her hands into fists, clenching at her dress as she willed her face to remain neutral rather than give away the terror trying to break free.

Elspeth snapped open her fan, drawing Ceridwen back to the moment. “At least there’s one less criminal on the streets. Though with the king’s newest tax hike, we’ll see more such crimes. Mark my words.”

In the short years of his reign, the king had raised taxes to the highest rate in living memory. It wasn’t only Ceridwen’s family stretched thin. Father’s poor investments inthe wake of Mother’s death had left them on the brink of ruin. They owed too many loans, and with the rising taxes, how could they ever afford to pay them off? Guilt over the thief’s death teased her, but if he’d stolen Nell, it would’ve been her family with hungry bellies this winter. Things would be tight even as it was.

“You’re so lucky, Ceridwen,” Lydia said, touching her arm. “Maybe the monster spared you because you’re so sweet.”

Her cheeks heated at the uncommon compliment, though Bronwyn’s next words wiped away the momentary praise. “It stopped because Father attacked it with his cane, and Gerard went after it with a shovel.”

“Such brave men,” Georgina said with an exaggerated sigh. Her gaze showed little sympathy. She hadn’t joined the company of the girl who said too much and the one who said too little out of concern for the siblings. She wanted the same thing as the others glancing their way and edging closer to the conversation: gossip—the true currency among the ladies of Teneboure.

Ceridwen released the skirts of her dress and smoothed a hand over the simple material, so different from the other women’s layers of fine fabric, delicate lace, and perfectly tailored designs meant to accent curves and shape. Their appearance was a near-constant reminder of her country upbringing and declining fortune. One more reason the other women kept their distance. Shallow gossips. If only she had the nerve to tell them so.

“They say the monster drinks the blood of its victims. Is that true, too?”

“Lydia!” Elspeth scolded.

Lydia winced but let the topic drop.

Elspeth gave a dramatic shiver. “It reminds me too much of the stories out of the capital since the late king and queen were murdered. Goddess, give them rest.”

“Goddess, give them rest,” everyone echoed.

Georgina’s brow furrowed. “Weren’t they killed by their son? Prince Tristram?”

Elspeth nodded. “They say he was under the influence of dark magic. King Rhion had the prince executed for his crimes…and the dark magic.” Her gaze turned far away. “How hard it must have been to sign his death warrant. His own nephew…”

Ceridwen sighed. Their king, Rhion Ithael, might have gotten his revenge, but what about the rest of them? Tales of death and dark magic blossomed under his reign.

Murders. Monsters in the night.

Just like the one haunting their city.

Rumors of the dangers drifted out of the capital like contraband since the death of King Rhion’s brother, King Jesstin, and his wife, Queen Manon—whispered behind decorative fans between friends, shared over a pint at the pub. Between that and his taxes, the king earned more silent curses than praise. But until two nights ago, the monster of Teneboure had never killed a human—that Ceridwen knew of.

Lord Winterbourne, the city’s Lord Protector, had failed for months to heed the mayor’s request for aid to subdue the monster. Perhaps he would now. It was the job of a Lord Protector to guard the citizens under his watch from danger. Not that theirs did much good since he’d arrived during winter.Lazy, useless noble.There was the military, too, of course, but they’d not had any luck tracking the monster.

Some said it was a blessing the city had a Lord Protector at all—Teneboure hadn’t had one for many years until this one arrived. But what good was it if he never left his manor?

Georgina sighed. “It’s such a shame. They say the prince was so handsome.”

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