Page 100 of The Musician and the Monster

“Nothing will do but the very best. Wynni’s orders,” the older one informed Ceridwen as she gaped at the baskets of supplies they toted with them.

While they worked to transform her into a new woman, Ceridwen thought of Drystan. More than once, the ladies reminded her not to mar their work when her eyes turned glassy and far away.

Even if Drystan could kill the king, one couldn’t simply murder a monarch without repercussions. Not easily. Malik didn’t want the title and surely wouldn’t take it seriously. No one else stood in line for the throne.

Unless a certain prince were no longer dead…

For that, they’d need to clear his name. And sully the king’s.

Ceridwen jumped as the doors burst open. With her makeup complete to the women’s exacting standards and her hair done up in waves and curls, she looked like something she never expected to be—a high-class lady. Ceridwen couldn’t imagine a way to improve the look, yet the two women still poked and prodded the curls, adding pins here and there.

“Isn’t it perfect?” Wynnifred exclaimed. “She’s lovely. Let the poor girl be so she can look.”

The women stepped away. Freed, Ceridwen turned and gasped at the sight before her. Chesa held a large piece of parchment, and on it shown Ceridwen’s likeness. Or what she assumed to be her likeness. A dainty blond woman played the flute on a grand, lighted stage. Her name stood out in bold print at the top. The painted image faded at the bottom to give way to further words. “Hear the incredible third movement ofThe Blessings of the Goddess. This week only!”

She gaped in wonder. Her dream from long away would be coming true, yet instead of the urge to jump for joy, all she felt was apprehension—worry for Drystan, for herself, for all of them.

“It’s lovely,” she managed.

“Better than lovely.” Wynnifred laughed.

“And by tomorrow, we’ll have made enough copies to paste them all over the city. Plus, I may have written a little story to accompany some of them.” Chesa’s eyes gleamed. “A poor lovesick woman prayed to the Goddess for aid, and in return the Goddess blessed her with a song, and now she’s sharing it with the world.”

Ceridwen’s smile faltered a bit. Had Malik told her about Drystan? Surely not.

Wynni clapped twice, and Chesa rolled up the poster, retreating with a little bounce in her step.

“Don’t let me down out there.” Wynni patted Ceridwen’s shoulder. “Ten minutes.”

So soon?

When the time was right, Wynnifred led Ceridwen to the stage. Her music had been set up on a stand in the center. Bright light from the gas lamps lit all around the edge of the wooden platform blinded her view of the audience. They were there, though. Murmursfilled the air, along with the occasional cough, laugh, and jostle of bodies as people took their seats.

“A full crowd.” Wynnifred smiled before strutting onto the stage to introduce her. In the opposite wing, Malik and Bronwyn looked on, each giving Ceridwen an encouraging smile.

Goddess, give me strength.

The crowd quieted when Wynnifred demanded their attention. “And now, for your listening pleasure, may I introduce Miss Ceridwen Kinsley.”

Chapter 46

Drystan

Drystan fixed his dragon mask over his face and pulled the hood of his cloak over his head before venturing out into the streets—his task fulfilled. The few flurries of snow that stuck to the ground that morning were long melted, as was often the case, the capital being situated near the southern end of the country, not far from the Cerulean Sea.

The meeting he left could have gone one of two ways, and he whispered thanks to the Goddess and all her Eidolons as he climbed into the waiting carriage that it had gone in his favor.

The king hadn’t been joking about his fury that some of the nobles refused his invitation to the midwinter party. In light of their refusals, the king had dispatched some of his most loyal dragons—Drystan included—to help the nobles see things the king’s way and promise their support and attendance.

A bloody, terrible task.

Or it could have been.

But when Drystan arrived at the home of Lord Stellan and was let inside, he didn’t find the malleable elder he expected. Instead, Lord Stellan, proud man that he was, spouted praise for the former monarchs and railed about all the ways the king disappointed him and was leading the country to damnation.

Reckless, foolish talk. The kind that could have ended with him imprisoned or worse, had Drystan been any other dragon.

But during the minutes that he silently endured the tirade, Drystan spied an opportunity. He needed allies, members of the nobility who might believe his story and support him should be successful in overthrowing the king. So he took a chance on Lord Stellan, recalling memories of his youth when the lord used to play cards with his father, or how the late Lady Stellan had been fond of his mother and the two used to have regular walks through the castle gardens to chat about their little dogs.

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