Page 52 of The Musician and the Monster

“Yes.” He swallowed, his throat suddenly thick. For a time there, he’d been as close to happiness as he had been in years. But her music, her calming presence, also made him complacent. He risked things perhaps he shouldn’t in his eagerness to finish his task before Malik returned.

The few staff he had knew of his monstrous form but remained loyal. Even so, only Jackoby knew the truth of what he worked on in his tower at night, what caused him to seek out and use the magic that occasionally forced him to become a monster.

“Were you able to finish your work?” Jackoby asked, keeping his words carefully vague.

“No.” Drystan groaned, nearly stumbling. Jackoby rushed to aid him, but Drystan waved him off. He was just weak. Food would help. “I’ll have to try again.”

Creating the Gray Blade, the legendary weapon against darkness, was a tricky affair, even for someone skilled in the arts such as he. If Malik found out what he worked on, or worse, the king, he’d be doomed. He’d never get the chance to wield it and have his vengeance. There would be no redemption for all those who suffered because of the king’s dark inclinations.

“Your cousin may return any day,” Jackoby said.

A fact Drystan was too well aware of. He wouldn’t put it past him to stroll in that very moment.

“Let Kent and I venture into the city. We can try to convince Miss Ceridwen to return.”

“She’s gone, Jackoby.” The pain of saying it aloud was almost too much. “Just see me to the dining room.”

“As you will, but if I can be of assistance…”

“You are,” Drystan assured him. “Every day.”

The older man’s lips thinned. “Not yesterday. The young woman was so determined to leave, and I didn’t want to cause a scene. I unlocked the gate for her. I let her go.” His voice rose uncharacteristically, shaking with emotion as if he’d just committed the worst treason. “It was a mistake.”

“It wasn’t,” Drystan said. “I’m…I’m glad you let her go.”

The look on her face when she realized what he was would haunt him forever after. The horror etched there, the revelation… It was almost too much to bear. Seeing that look on her face again, especially if he locked her within the manor and forced her to linger after that revelation, would be too much. He had enough sins to pay for. He wouldn’t break the lovely young woman who made him feel like a man again.

They walked in silence the rest of the way to the dining room. Jackoby seated Drystan in his traditional chair and called for an urgent meal for his lord. “Something simple. Cold is fine,” Drystan said, though Jackoby ignored him.

He didn’t deserve fine foods. He didn’t deserve any of these people’s loyalty.

A serving maid filled his glass and rushed into the kitchens. When she’d gone, Jackoby turned to Drystan. “Miss Ceridwen left her things in her haste.” He tucked his hands behind his back, standing a little straighter. “Should I have them delivered to her?”

“Yes, but not this moment.” He had no desire to hold her things hostage, and the dresses he’d commissioned were a gift. She was meant to have them when she left, as he always knew she must—he just thought it would be when he departed for the capital, not sooner. Once her things were gone, the last vestiges of her in this manor would be as well, though he had no doubt memories of her would taunt him. He’d picture her everywhere, from the greenhouse and the roses he loved, to the halls, the dining room, and the library. His study would be quiet without her music, as empty as the hole in his heart.

No, he couldn’t quite give up the last bit of her, not yet.

It took two days for Drystan to work up the courage to enter Ceridwen’s former room. Someone had been in, straightening the bed and removing the pitcher of water and cups that had stood on the side table. Even so, the room still held a trace of her scent, one that wrapped around him as he entered, beckoning him to stay.

He warred with the desire to linger there versus the pang of longing it caused. Spending time in her former room, holding her things hostage, wouldn’t bring her back.

Drystan knelt by the trunk at the end of the bed with its worn sides and peeling face. The clasp groaned as he opened it, but the dresses stacked inside rewarded him with another blast of her scent. He ran his fingers over the fabric, memorizing the design so he could remember her in it.

A minute later, he rose, shutting the trunk. With another glance around the room, he noticed another object and stilled. Her flute case sat on the table, her precious instrument no doubt still within. Guilt coiled around him, stringing him up tight. How selfish he’d been keeping her things in the manor. What a coward he was not to face this last bit of her before now. She would miss her flute. She needed it to play for her mother.

Without another thought, he exited the room, determined to find Jackoby or Kent and have them return Ceridwen’s things immediately.

Unfortunately, someone else found him first.

“Ah, there you are.” Malik strode down the hall, his traveling cloak still around his shoulders. An iron brooch pinned it closed, one bearing the symbol of a dragon—a sign of those loyal to the king and within his inner circle.

Drystan’s jaw stiffened.Of all the damnable times for him to show up.“My servants let you in?” He’d gotten through the gate somehow.

“Yes, Jackoby, and what was his name?” Malik tapped a finger on his chin. “Kent?” He shrugged. “They were most accommodating. Should be delivering my trunks to my room right now, in fact.”

“And you just thought to take a stroll of the halls this morning?” Drystan asked, a droll boredom in his tone. It’d be so much easier if he could dismiss him or send him away without arousing suspicion.

“Hmm.” Malik smirked, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. “Actually, I’d hoped to find that lovely young woman staying with you and request a song or two. I have been so looking forward to hearing her play again.”

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