Page 57 of The Musician and the Monster

“Besides,” he added, finally crossing the room and stepping out the door onto the threshold of the house. “We are cousins. What’s family for?”

“I’ll consider it.” Anything to get him to leave and stay gone.

“Good.” He nodded before looking past Ceridwen. His gaze fixed on something, likely Bronwyn, and glittered with mirth before he turned to walk away.

Ceridwen didn’t waste a breath before she slammed the door closed behind him with more force than necessary.

“Who was that?” Bronwyn asked. When Ceridwen turned to her, she slid a metal hairpin into her pocket.That’swhat Malik found amusing? Her sister’s desire to skewer him?

“Drystan’s cousin,” Ceridwen replied, letting all her bitterness fill her words.

A soft whisper slipped through her sister’s lips. “Is he a monster too?”

“Of a different sort.” Though if he turned beastly in the flesh as well, it wouldn’t surprise her.

Chapter 26

Ceridwen

Bronwyn talked Ceridwen into wearing the blue dress embroidered with birds she’d worn to celebrate the first snow. Her sister wore one of her new ones as well—a confection of forest green that accented her eyes and dark hair, reminiscent of their father’s coloring in his younger days.

“Is someone finally trying to attract a husband?” Jaina teased as she came in to help with their hair.

Bronwyn pursed her lips and balled her fists on her hips. She’d never once trailed after a man and had little interest in marriage. Unless, of course, she could find some magical gentleman that adored her painting and didn’t mind the occasional sharpness of her tongue. She’d decided years ago such a man didn’t exist, though. Two weeks in this city had ruled out just about all the men of marriageable age and confirmed her conclusion.

“I can look pretty just for myself, thank you,” Bronwyn replied.

“You’ll be the most stunning woman at the ball,” Ceridwen said.

She rolled her eyes. “A better topic,” her sister began, “is how shall we do your hair?”

“Something that will work with the mask.” Ceridwen lifted a bird mask from the dressing table. It was mostly blue with accents of black, gold, and silver paint, a perfect complement to her dress. Everyone wore masks for the winter ball. Hers was small as masks went, just wide enough to halo her eyes from one edge of the face to the other while leaving her nose, mouth, and hair uncovered, but she preferred that to being weighed down by some monstrosity.

The tradition sprang from many years ago when the locals wore them to ward off the winter sprites said to freeze animals and humans alike within their beds at night. How a fanciful bird could ward off a sprite, Ceridwen had no idea, but the legend brought a playful air to the event that she appreciated all the same.

Bronwyn’s mask resembled a cat, painted in gold and white with hints of orange and brown. No one knew what Adair had chosen, but they’d find out soon enough.

Jaina and Bronwyn wove Ceridwen’s long blond hair into braids and pinned them upon her head like a crown—or a bird’s nest. Fitting, given her outfit.

Once they were dressed and primped, Jaina shooed the young women out of the room. “I’m sure your brother is already waiting.”

She wouldn’t be going with them. Neither would Gerard nor Father. None of them enjoyed such raucous events, despite Father’s penchant for gossip, and with an older brother to escort his sisters there and back, it would not be misperceived for them to attend without their father’s presence.

Adair waited in the front room downstairs. With his crisp shirt, fitted tailcoat embroidered with crimson, and tailored pants, he looked a man above his station. The fox mask pushed up high on his forehead mussed his dark hair at the front where it fell free from the tie binding the longer ends at the back of his head.

Undoubtedly, their father had given him some of the coin Ceridwen earned playing for Drystan. Adair couldn’t afford to waste his money on such frivolous things, not when saving for a wife and a home of his own. He wasn’t that much of a fool, even if he often acted before he thought. Though, with Lydia the object of his affection, perhaps he had sprung for the new clothes himself, if for no other reason than to impress his would-be future in-laws.

He gave a shallow bow. “My lovely little sisters.”

“You make us sound like children,” Bronwyn retorted.

“No one could mistake either of you for a child, especially not with those dresses.” Adair shifted his attention to Ceridwen. “Are we expecting anyspecialguests at tonight’s event?”

The bitterness he managed to inflect into his tone shocked her. Adair had no reason to dislike Drystan other than their one ill-fated encounter and Ceridwen’s temporary residence with him. A fact the family had kept secret lest ugly rumors spread concerning her reputation, and by proxy, the family’s. To the rest of the city, she’d simply been unwell and staying indoors for her health. Ceridwen had told her brother nothing of Drystan’s monster. With his penchant for saying too much, especially after a drink or two, he’d never be able to keep it a secret.

“No, I should think not,” Ceridwen replied with confidence. A society party was the very last type of place she’d expect to see the reclusive Lord Winterbourne.

A steady stream of finely dressed and masked citizens wound their way through the main doors of the public hall. Oil lamp sconces bracketed the doors and had been set on poles leading up to the entrance from where coaches deposited their occupants. Full night had fallen on the world, leaving the lamps, the glow emanating from the windows of the hall, and the dim shine of the moon overhead the only sources of light.

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