Page 3 of The Musician and the Monster

Bronwyn rubbed Ceridwen’s arms. Gerard knelt and touched her face, Father wobbling behind him. Their mouths opened and closed, but only distant sounds filled her ears. Very slowly, their words came back as the shock dimmed and her heart slowed.

“—wrong, Ceridwen?”

Her hand trembled as she lifted it to touch her face. “I’m all right.”

Other than a bruised back and throbbing head, the words were true. She sat straighter, wincing against the ache where she’d struck the cobblestones.

Boots thumped across the ground and splashed through puddles as Jaina ran up, holding a lit torch. The color leeched from her face, her hand flying to her mouth as she took in the scene. “Sweet Goddess, what happened? Are you hurt?”

“The blood…” Bronwyn touched Ceridwen’s neck. Her hand came away wet and red.

“It’s not mine.” Water from the puddles on the street soaked into Ceridwen’s backside through the material of the dress. She felt horrid and likely looked even worse.

“Where—” Jaina started.

“The monster,” Father answered. “The one the men spoke of.” He swayed. Only Gerard’s quick movement and arm around his shoulders kept him on his feet.

Ceridwen shuddered. She hadn’t considered the risk before rushing out to stop the thief. They’d heard rumors of a monster roaming the streets some nights, but Ceridwen thought it idle gossip or delusions conjured in the wake of too much drink. At worst, perhaps it was a dog gone rabid or a wolf that had slunk down from the mountains. But the creature she’d seen was no wolf, nor man, and certainly no illusion.

“It’s been weeks since the last sighting. Could it really be?” Bronwyn asked as she helped Ceridwen rise. All the aches from her fall made themselves known anew.

Father and Gerard looked between each other, neither speaking.

“Father?” Ceridwen prompted. If he’d heard more, he’d yet to tell them about it.

“We’ll speak inside,” he responded.

Bronwyn picked up a silver object, long, slender, and precious, and offered it to Ceridwen. “It doesn’t look too bad,” she said, fingering one bent key.

“Thank you.” Ceridwen took it. If her flute was all that was broken, it would be a gift from the Goddess indeed.

“So much blood…” Jaina said.

The group turned to her. Jaina peered down the street toward where the monster had set upon the thief.

Ceridwen’s breath hitched as she beheld the ever-growing dark puddle and the figure lying within. The last remnants of her dinner threatened to come up onto the street. After the brief encounter with the monster, she’d nearly forgotten the thief.

Bronwyn took a step forward, but Father threw out his arm, warding her back. “Stay back, girls.”

Gerard guided Father over to the body. Jaina trailed after them, holding the torch. In moments, its light would illuminate the fallen man.

“Don’t look.” Bronwyn wrapped her arms around Ceridwen and turned away herself, but Ceridwen had to see, had to know. A thief the man might be, but no one deserved such a fate.

Bile burned the back of her throat as a bloody face and matted hair came into view. When Gerard swore and reached for a pulse, she finally glanced away. He wouldn’t find one. Glassy eyes had looked right at her from a head twisted around in the wrong direction.

Chapter 2

Drystan

Drystan Winterbourne sat stiff and stoic in the mayor’s office as the sweaty, red-faced man berated him for another attack by a monstrous beast—one that the mayor believed Drystan ought to have been able to take care of months ago.

That was the trouble with mayors, especially ones of such out-of-the-way cities such as Teneboure. They were often left to their own devices, given leave to run the city on behalf of the king since such a small city was beyond the king’s notice. Its remote location, small size, and general unimportance were precisely the reasons the king had chosen this, of all places, to send Drystan as punishment for his failures in the king’s service.

In truth, the mayor should be glad. The city hadn’t warranted the presence of a noble, a Lord Protector, for years before Drystan was assigned—or rather, exiled—there during the past winter. Having a Lord Protector in residence would give the upstart mayor some credibility among his peers should he ever choose to leave for a more opportune post.

“This wasn’t just another case of missing animals or an injured drunkard,” the mayor said. “A man was murdered in the streets!”

“A thief,” Drystan corrected. “And stealing from an already poor family, according to what you told me earlier.”

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