Page 72 of The Artist and the Dragon

“We do,” Malik confirmed, hating it all the while. “The spell on Bronwyn’s painting wouldn’t have triggered unless someone there, in that very room, was a user of dark magic or in possession of it.”

Bronwyn sat forward in her chair. “Some of the other accidents have taken place at large and notable events—the wedding, the art gallery, the races. You said yourself that this opera premiere will be the event of the season.”

“I should just cancel the whole damnable thing,” Wynni grumbled.

Bronwyn jolted. “No. You can’t!”

Wynni stared at her like she’d grown a second head. “I’ve always thought you a smart one, girl, but if you think I should sit by and let disaster befallmytroupe,myopera house—”

“Not disaster,” Malik said with as much calm as he could muster. “You know I’d never want any harm to come to you or this place. Bronwyn, either. But this”—he jammed a finger on the top of the desk—“is the first time we’ve had a clue about what they might be planning and when. We can prepare. Stop them. And catch the bastards while we’re at it.” He slammed a fist down a little too hard, making the desk groan. The impact reverberated in the tense silence.

Wynni stared hard at both of them in turn. “You know I hate secrets. Especially ones that affect my people.”

“We told you as soon as we discovered it.” Well, a day later, but close enough.

She sighed. “So you did. And I do want to help, you know that.” She drained the contents of her glass and pushed it aside. “It’s still hard to imagine that someone I’ve hired, trusted, let in to my business—my home—would be plotting such a thing.”

“They could have broken in,” Bronwyn suggested gently.

“Maybe,” Wynni mused.

“And didn’t you bring on some new help recently? Perhaps it’s one of them?”

“Aye. That I have.” She frowned. “And I guess I’m stuck with them now. If you won’t let me cancel, I don’t suppose you’ll let me fire the new ones, either.” She glared at Malik.

He shook his head. “It would arouse too much suspicion. And to Bronwyn’s point, we don’t know that they are to blame. Although…” His gaze slid to Bronwyn and the locket around her neck. It hadn’t triggered yet—they’d placed a new bespelled paper in it that morning and checked just before entering the office. “We could test it. Maybe the princess would like to offer them each her best wishes for a good show?”

“Princess,” Bronwyn mouthed. Her annoyance was plain, but she didn’t rebuke him.

“Then if one of them triggers the spell, we know who to watch.”

“Hmm. Yes, I like that idea. I would like to know who I get to string up by their entrails after this is all said and done.”

Bronwyn let out a small, breathy laugh, but from the gleam in Wynni’s eyes, Malik wasn’t entirely sure she was kidding.

*****

Wynni led them backstage, where they watched rehearsal wrap before Wynni called everyone together and told them that representatives of the crown were there to personally wish them luck—wasn’t that grand?

One-by-one, each performer was led to one of two dressing rooms, the men to meet Malik in one, the women Bronwyn in the other. A tiresome activity, but necessary, and brightened by the genuine enthusiasm and joy on the faces of many Malik met. Funny how a smile and handshake could brighten someone’s day—or dim it, in the case of a disgruntled few who clearly had no love for his station or title. Even so, not a one turned the paper he’d carefully set next to the guest chair black.

Bronwyn reported similar findings, and they continued with the support staff. Thankfully, they were all there that day. It was all hands on deck before a show opening, and no one was allowed a holiday.

By the time they were done, Malik’s cheeks hurt from smiling. He desperately wished to wash his hands after shaking so many others. He finally got the chance just before they retreated into Wynni’s office.

“None of them. You’re sure?” Before, she’d been offended by the idea of a staff member being in cahoots with the dragons, but now she seemed a bit disappointed that they apparently weren’t.

Bronwyn frowned. “As best we can tell.”

“I’m mean, I’ve always thought I had a decerning eye for people, but you seemed so convinced—”

“I am,” Malik interrupted, not wanting her to spring toward false hope. “The results are not entirely surprising given that your staff is almost entirely made up of commoners, is it not?”

“All save me, as far as I’m aware,” Wynni replied. “Not that the nobility choose to count me among their number anymore.”

A shame, that. Wynni had stood to inherit both wealth and title, but her inclinations and interests were frowned upon by her family, and she was eventually cast out. If she had any magic in her blood, she’d never learned to use it, a fact she’d told him years ago.

“Right,” Malik said, “so they can’t work the dark magic themselves. It wouldn’t be in their blood.” Unless they had some unacknowledged parentage or had been cast out like Wynni. But the lack of results from their little test ruled that out—at least on the dark magic front. “That doesn’t prevent them from carrying in something that is bespelled, though.”

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