Page 111 of The Musician and the Monster

The coordinator led the sisters toward the stage. Eyes roved over Ceridwen like spiders in the deep forest, leaving a tingling trail in their wake.

As they neared the stage, she froze. The king sat in the center of his box, draped in an elaborate jacket trimmed in fur that sported his vile dragon brooch, a golden crown upon his head. Malik stood a few people away, resplendent in navy and gray—traditional winter colors. A smaller crown adorned his head. At this formal occasion, he played the role of prince—for now.

A tangle of doubt tripped Ceridwen up as she caught sight of the brooch pinned to his collar. An iron dragon.

Had he turned against them? She thought they could trust him, she was so sure, but that brooch…

Ceridwen looked away, her heart racing as she took in the three men standing behind the king, almost in the shadows. All wore outfits of midnight black, like Drystan had worn the other night, but today their faces were each hidden by dragon masks that concealed their features. Two sported dark hair, one had light brown. Their skin she could not distinguish behind the mask and clothing.

Drystan, which one are you?

One man’s attention slid to her and held. Almost as if he’d heard her, though she knew it to be impossible.

“Come along, Miss,” the coordinator instructed. Behind her, Bronwyn raised her brows and cocked her head. A question and a reminder.

Ceridwen locked eyes with the young man on the stage one last time, drinking in the support he offered, before she ascended the rest of the way onto the platform.

Bronwyn opened the flute case and passed the precious instrument to her. “You’ll be fine. It’ll all be fine,” she whispered.

If only Ceridwen had her confidence. With a tight smile, she took the flute and crossed the stage. Her heels clicked along the wood, barely audible, as the crowd quieted.

The coordinator followed. Her voice rang loud and clear as she introduced the next act. “Miss Ceridwen Kinsley, playing the three movements ofThe Blessings of the Goddess.”

A few heads turned, accompanied by soft murmurs as the song name floated through the crowd.

A familiar tingle traced over Ceridwen’s back, igniting a true smile on her face. They could do this.I can do this.

Mother, are you watching tonight?

Chapter 50

Drystan

Achange came over the audience as Ceridwen played. They didn’t talk to one another, carrying on as if the performer wasn’t even there, as many had with the first two. Instead, men and women stood transfixed, listening to her beautiful song spill out into the night. Some of the guards on the upper-level walk relaxed their stances. One of Drystan’s fellow dragons almost seemed to nod off, his head sliding forward before quickly snapping upright. But most amazingly, perhaps, the king sat absolutely still, not twitching nor moving as he often did.

There was a power in her music, strong as any magic.

But of all the people present, Drystan was the one who could not relax and enjoy the wondrous tune. Instead, every bit of him was on edge, standing there in the shadows as one of the king’s loyal dogs. Guards wouldn’t be seen as a threat this night, just a normal precaution. The very present stance of three dragons a bit behind the king? That was a message, a reminder to the nobles—those forced to attend and those who came eagerly—exactly who was in charge and what might await them should they step out of line.

They were lucky the king hadn’t decided on more. Drystan could no longer be sure how many the king’s dragons numbered. A few identities he knew, but many were a secret or falsified, just like Drystan Winterbourne. Even if they were successful this night, enemies, those loyal to the king, would still lurk in the shadows. Whether they would act out or fall in line, who could say?

Ceridwen drew the song to a close, the familiar last notes of the second movement ofThe Blessings of the Goddesshanging in the quiet evening air. Per the schedule, she should play the third, the rare piece that had commoners and nobles alike flocking to the opera house.

Instead, Ceridwen lowered her flute, stood a little taller, and stepped closer to the edge of the stage, staring out over the crowd. Drystan held his breath as she began to sing.

“Once a king and queen of light ruled the kingdom touched by night. Together they fought back the darkness to bring peace to all who lived within. But darkness grew where light had shone and rose among one of their own. The son of light fell to darkness, tricked by the king’s only brother.”

Restlessness swept through the crowd. Murmurs rose. The fine hairs on the back of Drystan’s neck stood on end.

“The monarchs sought to save their son. Too late. The king’s brother had won. The house fell ’til only the son remained. Blamed and accused, his death was faked.”

“Enough.” The king’s voice cut through hers, drawing the song to an abrupt halt. The noise of the crowd continued, building in earnest. Drystan closed his fingers around the hilt of the sword strapped to his side. It was a normal one, refined yet simple. The Gray Blade was sheathed inside his coat, out of sight and awaiting the perfect moment for its use.

Slowly, Ceridwen turned to the king, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

King Rhion jumped to his feet and flung out a hand encrusted with sparkling rings, pointing at the woman Drystan loved. “She sings the truth!”

Gasps rang out through the crowd. Malik leaped from the edge of the royal box and onto the stage. It took everything Drystan had not to join him.

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