Page 38 of The Musician and the Monster

Lord Winterbourne ordered Jackoby and Kent to bring her back to her room while his cousin laughed at the mess of their dinner. The entire time, Drystan’s voice had been cold and callous. The previous night felt more like a dream or a tricky snow phantom than an event that had actually occurred.

When they’d come upon Gwen in the hallway, her eyes had widened, and a lightly wrinkled hand had moved to cover her gaping mouth. She hadn’t left Ceridwen alone since. Gwen said nothing of their guest but did her best to distract her charge with talk of clothes, plants, and tales of the capital.

“All of this was during the late king and queen’s reign?” Ceridwen asked in response to Gwen’s story—a happy one about the former monarchs and the prosperity they brought to the people.

“Oh, yes,” she replied. “Before that…well, those were dark times indeed. I still remember the constant worry and fear. Those times cannot return, no matter the cost.” An uncharacteristic sharpness clung to her words with a passionate fervor.

The dark king was dead. His grandson, the prince who’d fallen to his grandfather’s dark magic, was dead. But if two monarchs could fall to its embrace, what prevented the others?

“You worry about King Rhion. Could the darkness pervert him the way it did the prince?”

Silence reigned. The nonanswer was answer enough. She thought it could, and it worried her, where even the monster haunting this city did not. Ceridwen shivered, sending ripples through the water.

“My sister still lives in the capital with her family,” Gwen said at last. “She sends me letters from time to time. The stories out of the capital are not ones that anyone wants to hear.”

Elspeth had said the same, and Ceridwen had heard the rumors. Death. Whispers of dark magic. Not to mention the king’s erratic behavior of late. “Do they have a monster like ours?”

“Possibly several— Well, it’s hard to be certain. Rumors and all. And I should not have told you. Lord Winterbourne would not approve. But things are certainly dark indeed.”

More monsters like ours…worse ones?And what did the king do about it? The former monarchs would never have let this happen.

Taxes. Death. Dismissing his counsel. King Rhion was a plague on them all. Ceridwen took out her frustrations on the water, sloshing it dangerously close to the edges of the tub.

“Ceridwen.”

She snapped her head up at the sound of Gwen’s voice.

“This knowledge does not leave the manor. Some nobles do all they can to keep word from leaving the capital, and it cannot spread here. They’d find out where it came from.”

And that would be bad for all of them. Whatever the nobles had done, it had not been enough. The gossip had begun to spread before she’d come there. Ceridwen thought to mention it but nodded instead.

“Are you doing okay in there?”

“I’m fine.” Not at all. But the bath wouldn’t be what killed her. Drystan’s curt words, the monster, or Malik’s games would do that easily enough if they continued.

“Why don’t I go bring in a comfortable nightdress for you to change into? Oh, and I could fetch some rose water. That might do nicely to ease your worries. Or perhaps some hot tea? Yes, I think I’ll have some brought up with the tray.”

Gwen’s kindness eased the stiffness from Ceridwen’s shoulders where she hunched in the water, but her care would not be enough to heal her inner wounds. “Tea would be lovely,” Ceridwen said.

“Perfect.” Gwen rose from her perch and ventured toward the exit. Before she closed the door behind her, she turned back. “I’ll— Oh. One moment.” She called the last partout louder than usual. Someone must be at the door. Probably a maid with a dinner tray since this evening’s meal had been thoroughly ruined. “I’ll be back with your clothes,” she finished.

With effort, Ceridwen rose from the tub, gooseflesh breaking out over her skin from the cool air. A thick towel, so much finer than the worn, holey ones she had at home, embraced her body while she used a smaller one to rub the water out of her clean hair.

The oddity of having someone wait on her still sat uncomfortably, but Gwen had been determined, at least tonight, to make sure Ceridwen was well cared for. It reminded her so much of Bronwyn or Jaina tending to her when she’d been ill last spring that she did her best to enjoy it. At least this time, she wasn’t waiting for the Goddess to claim her, though there was a moment during dinner when she’d briefly considered asking her to.

Ceridwen expected a nightdress, but the outfit Gwen helped her into moments later was just as fine as the one she’d worn to dinner. The dress was lined cotton in pale blue and white, with dark-blue ribbons accenting the trim. A wearable cloud meant to comfort on this dark night. Another blue ribbon tied back her hair, which Gwen braided behind her head. It’d be wavy instead of its usual straight by the time it dried, but Ceridwen didn’t mind that a bit.

Her bare feet halted on the cool stone floor as soon as she entered the bedroom proper from the little bathing room. Drystan stood near the fire, his hands behind his back.

“Ceridwen,” he said, turning to her.

A thousand emotions flowed with one word, yet his face still remained stiff.

She flicked her gaze to Gwen, who’d come to her side, not bothering to hide the hurt and betrayal in her wide eyes and parted lips.

Gwen winced. “He asked me not to tell you.” Her gaze drifted to Drystan. “I’ll be going now.”

“Wait.”Please.

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