Page 56 of The Musician and the Monster

She spun around, desperately seeking the source of her name. The rooftop was empty, but near the edge, the snow had been marred and scraped away as if someone had climbed onto the roof from the street below. Yet she’d never heard a sound.

She hustled through the packed snow to the edge of the low railing. Her hand found purchase in the marred snow, the imprint almost warm under her glove, as she gazed down into the street below. Empty. No Drystan, no monster, nor anyone else. With the snow shoveled in haphazard mounds and the tracks of many footprints and animal hooves in what remained, finding fresh tracks proved impossible. Yet she knew what she’d heard, what she’d felt.

“Drystan…”

Sleep did not come easily after the strange, almost encounter the night before. When the rooster finally crowed with the dawn, Ceridwen had already been awake and staring at the dark ceiling of her room. She slipped back inside after feeding the animals to hear a deep pounding echoing down the stairs from the main hall. Someone knocked at the front door. Aggressively.

They weren’t expecting anyone. The whole town would be busy preparing for the winter ball that evening, yet this visitor had no intention of waiting. Or being polite.

Only one face came to mind, and that image had her rushing through the halls toward the door. When she finally made it there, lightly huffing for air, Bronwyn had arrived from somewhere, only a few paces behind her.

Ceridwen’s pulse raced with excitement as she closed her palm around the heavy metal handle and pulled. The sight that greeted her, however, sent her heart plummeting into her stomach.

Malik stood on the doorstep, dark hair slightly tousled. His green eyes sparked with mirth, and his characteristic smirk pulled at one corner of his mouth.

Of all the people Ceridwen imagined showing up at the door, he’d never come to mind at all.

“Hello again, dear Ceridwen.”

“Is that…” Bronwyn began.

Malik’s brows rose as a grin stretched wide across his face. “Oh, so you’ve heard stories about me, have you?” He brushed by her and strode toward Bronwyn. To her sister’s credit, she held her ground and stared him down.

“No. I haven’t spoken of you at all.” Ceridwen stepped in front of Malik. “You’re not welcome here.”

Malik cocked his head to the side.

“She said you’re not welcome here,” Bronwyn echoed in a show of solidarity.

His grin dropped into a dramatic frown. “Really, that’s such a pity.” He leaned on the wall, showing no intention of leaving. “Though before I go, tell me one thing. Why did you leave him?”

Her heart skipped a beat. “That’s not your business.”

“Oh, it might be,” he said.

His gaze settled on Ceridwen like a slimy eel as his lips quirked up in one corner. That’s right. He’d been sent to watch Drystan, to report on his actions. Turning into a monster would certainly be a mark against him.

“We had a disagreement.”

“Is that all?”

Ceridwen pursed her lips and held her ground.

“Well, just adisagreementdoesn’t sound too bad. Perhaps you’d consider returning?” He cocked his head in question.

Her brows furrowed. “Why do you want me to return?”

He smirked. “Who doesn’t want a pretty view around such a dreary manor?”

Ridiculous.She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned at him. Bronwyn rolled her eyes.

“But honestly, you help him,” he added, his smirk smoothing out into something resembling a decent gentlemanly demeanor. “The last time I was here, I saw a glimmer of the man he used to be, and perhaps could be again—with your help, that is.”

“You want to help him?” Ceridwen asked, incredulous.

“Maybe, depending on his intentions.”

So vague. Just like Drystan’s letter. Some puzzle piece eluded her, but Ceridwen couldn’t begin to find it or determine where it fit.

---