Page 51 of The Musician and the Monster

Bronwyn stared at her sister hard, trying to figure out what she wasn’t saying. They knew each other too well. Ceridwen would have to tell her. Later.

“Yes. He knows. He tries to…” What could she possibly tell them? “Contain it.”

Deep in her heart, she knew he didn’t want to be monstrous or to cause pain and suffering.

“That’s why you left.” Bronwyn pinned her with her steady brown-eyed gaze.

“I couldn’t stay. Not after…” The tightness in her throat swallowed up her words. Instead, she pulled up the edge of her damp and dirty hem, showing the ruined boots below. A dark stain spread out on one side where her blood had soaked through the puncture holes.

The sight had Jaina wobbling in her chair before she sucked in a deep breath and gripped the cushioned arm for support. With a shake, she came back to the present. “Dear girl, why didn’t you tell us straight away?”

It wasn’t the worst injury she’d ever had. When they’d lived in the countryside and been able to afford horses, a new mare had bucked her off onto packed dirt interwoven with tree roots. Every part of her had screamed in pain. It’d taken weeks to heal then, and only the village doctor’s careful work ensured she had no permanent disability.

The fear of Drystan’s monster had been much worse than the wound it inflicted, and in her flight of terror, she’d nearly forgotten the injury all together.

“It looks worse than it is,” she said, covering the offensive sight. “But I couldn’t stay there. Not with something like that in the manor.”

“I’d say not,” Jaina replied, making the sign of the Goddess again. “We need to tell someone. The mayor. The watch. Perhaps—”

“No,” Ceridwen snapped, shocking both Jaina and her sister.

“Whyever not?”

Because they would find out Drystan’s secret, too, or bring some other disaster down on his head. They might kill him. The monster would certainly kill innocents if unleashed. She couldn’t have his death on her conscious, but could she let the monster run free? “I can’t explain. But you cannot repeat this. Please. If you love me, don’t speak a word of what I’ve told you.”

Jaina still fussed, but Bronwyn nodded slowly. “There haven’t been any more attacks in the city since you left.”

A surprise given how often she’d heard the monster in the manor, but also good news. Ceridwen sat a little straighter. Perhaps Drystan truly was close to containing it somehow.

“We won’t tell,” Bronwyn promised, staring hard at Jaina, who finally nodded.

“I’m so sorry about the money,” Ceridwen said, changing the topic. “There won’t be any more now.” Hopefully he wouldn’t request they return his payments since she leftso abruptly.

Bronwyn laughed.

Both Jaina and Ceridwen swiveled to stare at her as she reeled in her humor. “That’swhat you’re worried about?” She shook her head with a smile. “We’re fine, Ceridwen. We have more than enough now. We’ll get by. I’m just glad you’re home. We’ll put this behind us like a bad dream—a profitable one.”

Ceridwen wished she could believe her, but somehow, she knew they hadn’t seen the end of the Lord Protector—or his monster.

Chapter 24

Drystan

Drystan didn’t bother leaving his tower until the morning after Ceridwen’s departure. When he finally gathered the will to descend the stairs, his stomach rumbling from the lack of food, he found Jackoby waiting at the bottom.

The man said nothing of Drystan’s disheveled appearance, simply bowed at the waist with a polite, “My lord.”

He’d never felt less deserving of the title. From anyone else, he might have seen it as a mockery, but Jackoby’s loyalty and sincerity never faltered. How he managed to deserve such a man in his life, he couldn’t quite say. Jackoby had been loyal to his parents before him, raised in their service since his boyhood. Perhaps it was easier to stay in his employ after their deaths than seek out someone else, but that didn’t stop most from doing so. Even in his darkest days, Jackoby had been there to make sure he ate, saw to his needs, and kept going, even during the times when Drystan hadn’t wanted to.

His butler, his friend, knew exactly what lurked under his skin and the horror it could conjure, but he never once turned his back on him.

“She’s gone,” Drystan said. Even if not for the sight of someone fleeing from the manor the day before, he could sense a difference in the very air, a void of emptiness no one else could fill.

“She is,” Jackoby said. “I’m sorry. Truly. I tried to stop her.”

“Perhaps it’s for the best.” No one could blame her for fleeing after what she had learned.

Jackoby huffed. “She helped you. We all saw it.”

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