Page 4 of The Musician and the Monster

He had little sympathy for those who broke the laws, whether ones established by the royals or the Goddess herself. He, of all people, knew the danger of such transgressions. The laws weren’t just there to protect the innocents, but to guard the doers themselves from the consequences of their actions. And oh, those consequences could be terrible indeed.

“It’s still a dead man in the streets, Lord Winterbourne.” The mayor raked a hand through his brown hair, causing it to stand on end. “I’ve had citizens at my door all day yesterday and since dawn this morning demanding action.”

Drystan reined in a sigh. So he’d heard half a dozen times now. It wasn’t like he could miss the gaggle of them outside on his way in, either. Drystan’s gloved fingers dug intothe cushioned armrest of the chair as he tried to maintain his calm. “It has been some time since there was an incident of this nature. We all hoped that this beast had left us for good.”

“But it hasn’t!” The mayor paced in front of his desk with a startling lack of decorum, the complete opposite of Drystan.

Drystan rose to his feet, and the smaller man stilled, stiffening his spine in an effort to make himself taller and more imposing, not that any of it helped.

“I assure you,” Drystan began, “this monster will no longer be a threat to you by the end of winter. I will see to it myself.”

“W-Winter,” the man stammered. “That simply won’t do.”

“It’s the best I can promise.”

The man’s face began to purple in rage, but Drystan was done listening to his ravings. “Good day, sir.” He gave a stiff bow, though the man deserved nothing from him.

“T-Then I must take matters into my own hands.”

The comment made Drystan stop and glance back over one shoulder.

The mayor swallowed, seeming even more uncomfortable under the Lord Protector’s silent scrutiny. “I will post a reward. Any information about the monster leading to its demise will garner a generous sum.”

Drystan fought the urge to roll his eyes. As if anyone could procure such a thing.

“And I will give the men who petitioned leave to hunt the beast.”

Drystan tightened his hand into a fist. “That will only endanger the people further.”

“We will not stand by and do nothing.” The mayor notched his chin higher. “If our Lord Protector will not protect us, we must do something.”

A grumble slipped from between Drystan’s lips, sounding almost like a low growl. The mayor blanched but held his ground.

The man pushed him too far. Didn’t he know that Drystan worked each day to keep the monster at bay? Worse, the mayor seemed to know or care nothing of the bigger threats lingering in the capital, ones that could easily come to plague this city if Drystan were unsuccessful in his efforts. He couldn’t fail, and this man wouldn’t ruin things for him, for all of them. If he wanted more death in the streets, getting in Drystan’s way was a sure path toward accomplishing it.

Without another word, Drystan stomped from the office, throwing the wooden door open wide and letting it crack against the stone wall.

He scowled at the thing where it dangled from a broken hinge, now limp against the wall. A sudden tingle of guilt rose in his chest, but he batted it away. Good. Let the mayor remember that he was one of the Goddess-blessed, as the commoners called it, one of the nobles of the kingdom with power above normal men, a possessor of magic granted ages ago by the Goddess herself. There was a reason only certain nobles were named Lord Protectors and assigned to watch over the cities of the kingdom. It had little to do with status, a title given by humans, and everything to do with the power in his blood given by the Goddess. Sometimes people forgot that, especially in Teneboure, where royalty and nobility rarely tread.

“Lord Winterbourne.” Jackoby, his butler and confidant of many years, waited outside the mayor’s office. He bowed before giving a meaningful look at the ruined door.

Drystan sighed. Just the sight of his friend calmed him and cleared his senses. His weathered but balanced features consistently exuded an air of peace that Drystan couldn’t help but envy. More importantly, though, with one look, the man reminded him of his greater task. He wasn’t here to make a scene. Far from it. Any ill reports sent to the king could be his downfall, and he couldn’t allow that. More rested on Drystan’s shoulders than his own reputation, and that was precarious enough.

“The carriage awaits, my lord. I had Kent move it to the back to avoid the crowds.”

“Good. Thank you.” At least one of them was thinking on their feet. The mayor’s office lingered in the new portion of the city near the small train station—or the city’s only connection to society as some called it. It was a wonder they decided to build the line so far north at all, the steam train being a new invention to the country as a whole. The nobles, too, flocked to new homes on the southern side of the city, content to let the northern end, where his manor resided, rot. A trend he was grateful for, given the peace and privacy it offered. Though their country of Castamar kept itself cut off from most of its neighbors, isolated on the northern end of the Cerulean Sea, the nobility constantly looked for ways to connect their country within. At least it had made his journey to this city easier.

They stalked silently through the halls, slipped out the back entrance, and into the shuttered carriage. No sooner were they in than Kent had the horses in motion, not needing to be told his lord’s wishes.

“Well?” Drystan asked Jackoby, who occupied the seat across from him. While Drystan had entertained the mayor, Jackoby had a separate task to see to.

“It is as you feared, my lord.”

Drystan waved his hand. “No need for formalities here.” He’d known Jackoby much of his life as the man had been loyal to his parents before him. More than that, though, Drystan no longer felt like he deserved any kind of honor or title. His foolish choices, those of a young man who didn’t quite understand the world yet, had seen to that.

Jackoby nodded once before continuing. “The young woman involved in the incident was a Miss Ceridwen Kinsley. It took questioning several people, but I was able to confirm, to the best of the individual’s knowledge, that she is the young woman who plays on the rooftop.”

Damn.He pursed his lips and stared at the window of the carriage, not that he could see anything beyond the tightly pulled curtains. He loved to hear her play. It was one of the few things, perhaps the only thing, that gave him true calm and settled the agony within him. The soft tunes that floated in through the open windows of the manor some nights were all that held him together and let him focus on his mission.

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