Page 50 of The Musician and the Monster

The moment the front door shut, she wrapped Ceridwen in her arms, encircling her in the warmth of her body and the thick shawl she’d held closed over her arms and shoulders. The scent of fresh-baked bread and spice clung to her, lulling Ceridwen into the comfort of her arms.

“Dear girl, what’s wrong? And where are your things?” she asked.

“Ceridwen?”

The voice Ceridwen missed more than all the others jolted through her like lightning.

She raised her head from Jaina’s shoulder, sniffling away her tears. Bronwyn stood in the doorway, gaping at her sudden appearance. A fine dress hugged her curves in layers of dark blue with lace and ribbons in cream. The heavy skirts falling from her waist spoke to warmth yet held an air of fashionable elegance as well.

Her sister had not owned such a fine dress before. Either Father finally allowed her to find a patron for her art, or even more impossibly, had her stubborn heart been swayed by a suitor who saw fit to shower her with luxurious gifts?

“Bronwyn.” Ceridwen wiped at her face with a cold, bare hand.

Jaina stepped away as Bronwyn rushed to fling her arms around her sister. Ceridwen practically collapsed against her, sobs coming anew.

“Your father and Gerard are out,” Jaina said with a little sniffle of her own. “But I’ll bring us all some tea, and then perhaps you can tell us what’s happened.”

Bronwyn guided Ceridwen into the sitting room while they waited for Jaina. Here, too, she noticed changes: a new rug to replace the old one that had worn thin and bare, a soft blanket of fur folded over one arm of the sofa, and repairs to the cracked stone ofthe fireplace. Even the musty scent that always tainted this section of the house seemed fainter, replaced instead with sweet, fresh pine.

“The first payment showed up a few days after you left.” Bronwyn shook her head with a smile. “So much gold that Father raged against that stern-looking servant with the frock of white hair on his brow and said he hadn’t sold his daughter off permanently.”

Her description of Jackoby almost tugged a smile from Ceridwen’s lips. Almost.

Unlike Jaina, Bronwyn hadn’t asked what was wrong. She knew her sister would tell her when she was ready. Instead, Bronwyn took to distracting Ceridwen’s thoughts with all she’d missed and that hadn’t made it into a letter. Adair had finally requested permission to court Lydia. Her father rejected the initial request, but a second more adamant plea earned a grudging allowance with a reminder that many other, more suited, gentlemen sought her hand.

Father’s health had improved with new medicine, as she mentioned in her letter. So much so that he could move about on his own and go into town as he had today.

Drystan had sent money to the family as promised. More than Ceridwen could fathom for her meager service. Enough to buy medicine, pay off the most urgent loan repayments, and supply some simple upgrades for the house.

“We didn’t expect any more, not after that first generous gift, so we rationed it out. But I made sure Father saw the new physician and spent the money on the treatment he recommended.” Bronwyn smoothed out her fine skirts, no doubt a byproduct of Drystan’s patronage. “If only we could have afforded that years ago.”

Or that old physician hadn’t been such a rotten thief. He’d claimed his tonics could work miracles, but they’d only made their father worse, if anything.

“But then more payments did come,” she continued. “One each week. Sometimes just coin, and other times they contained gifts, like this dress.” She pinched the top layer of fabric and lifted it for emphasis. “Honestly, I tried to reject it. It was bad enough that he wouldn’t let you visit. I didn’t want to like the things he sent, but…”

Bronwyn’s shrug said more than words. She didn’t want to admit to liking pretty dresses. She never did, not even when they were small. But put one in front of her, and she couldn’t resist it, especially not one given for free. It warmed Ceridwen to know her sister had something pretty, something she enjoyed. If they benefitted from her time with Drystan, it was worth all the pain and heartache she suffered now.

“And it’s a good thing too. It wouldn’t do any good to go rejecting such generosity,” Jaina jumped into the conversation as she entered the room, carrying a tray arranged witha steaming teapot, three cups, and an assortment of baked goods that smelled of apples and spice. Nicer fare than they would have had in the past.

After she’d poured tea and Ceridwen started to nibble on the flaky edge of a pastry, Jaina finally asked her questions again. “Your color looks better already. You were white as a sheet on the doorstep. I thought you might have been a spirit sent by the Goddess. Now, will you tell us what had you showing up in such a state? Was he… Did he do something to you?”

She almost choked on the pastry. He had done something to her, but not what Jaina implied. The Drystan she knew would never consider assaulting a woman that way. Yet she never would have believed him to be a monster either. Now she wondered how much she really knew him at all. The thought turned the pastry to ash in her mouth.

“I’ll kill him,” Bronwyn said. “Lord or no, I’ll—”

“It’s not like that.” Ceridwen waved her arms, calming her sister’s burst of anger.

The least she could do was defend his reputation after he’d upheld his end of their arrangement. And he’d done it to a degree she never anticipated. Malik was another matter—one she intended to avoid altogether.

Bronwyn’s lips thinned, but Ceridwen continued, “The monster…the one we saw that night. It lives in the manor.”

“Goddess protect our souls,” Jaina uttered, aghast, before making a circle in front of her chest with her hands—the sign of the Goddess’s protection.

The color drained from Bronwyn’s cheeks. Jaina fanned herself with her hand, blinking rapidly. Ceridwen had only seen her like that one other time, and then she’d fainted upon on the sofa with great dramatics. Jaina had shown less worry when she faced down the bloody monster itself, but the mention of it now, living so close, nearly sent her spilling onto the floor.

The plan had been to tell them everything, but Jaina’s reaction to that one detail almost sent her over the edge. What would she do if Ceridwen confessed that Drystan was the monster she feared? She simply couldn’t mention it, not now.

“Does he know?” Bronwyn asked.

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