Page 66 of The Musician and the Monster

“Of course,” Drystan replied.

A smile crept to her lips without thought. “Then I accept.”

Ceridwen made to rise, but Drystan’s quick reply held her down. “Wait.”

The air rushed from her lungs as she slipped back into the leather.

“Take a walk with me first.” He held out a hand to help her up. “I want to tell you more about my monster. You deserve to know that before you finalize your decision.”

Chapter 30

Ceridwen

When they exited the study, the halls were no longer empty. Gwen rushed up immediately, wrapping Ceridwen in a tight hug. Kent stood nearby, a broad smile on his face. Even Jackoby looked pleased.

“Oh, we’re so glad you’ve returned,” Gwen said, nearly squeezing the breath from her lungs. She drew back to look her up and down. “I’m so terribly sorry about what happened before. I worried you’d never forgive us.”

In truth, she hadn’t, not fully. They’d lied to her. She understood now that they’d done it to protect their lord, the one they’d served for years in some cases. However, their defense of him did not fully erase the slight against her. Not that they owed her anything.

“It hasn’t been fully decided yet,” Drystan said, saving her from a response. “Though if Ceridwen agrees, Miss Bronwyn will be visiting us more often. Perhaps you could give her a quick tour of the manor while I talk with Ceridwen?”

Gwen switched to fussing over Bronwyn, much to her sister’s discomfort, and led her off with the rest of the group. Drystan didn’t say the destination he had in mind, but once they stepped into the spiral staircase, Ceridwen’s suspicions were confirmed. Her chest rose and fell, one deep breath after another, as she willed herself onto the stairs. Thick silence hung between them, full of so many unsaid words and emotions. They continued up the steep stairs, past his living quarters, to the top floor of the tower.

The mess and destruction his monster had wrought were gone. Likely cleaned by Drystan’s own hand unless he’d decided to finally let others in the tower. The stone altar sat empty. Orderly shelves lined the walls. The grand desk had been organized, and the shattered chair had been replaced with a new, slightly finer one carved to illustrate vines and plant life. A winter breeze stirred through the windows, though that wasn’t what made her shudder and hug her arms about herself.

Ceridwen waited for the monster to reappear from the shadows, to leap at her, and try to tear out her throat. Logic did nothing to calm her fear as she hesitantly staredat Drystan. His eyes did not change, nor did his body shift and bend. He was simply Drystan.

For now.

“Ceridwen…” He reached for her, but she stepped away.

“What did you want to tell me?”

He sighed and walked to the opposite side of the altar. “I promised to explain, to tell you about the monster and what happens to me.” He paused, placing his palms on the stone. “It’s a side effect of my magic. When the Goddess gifted some of us with it generations ago, she did it in two forms. Light and dark.”

Ceridwen nodded. Everyone knew the lore, at least anyone who bothered to read and learn it. Though even if they hadn’t, everyone had heard stories of the former dark king who wielded darkness and how his son, King Jesstin Ithael, and Jesstin’s queen, Manon, used the light to overthrow him.Goddess grant them peace. The Ithael line knew such extremes. Powerful darkness, but also powerful light.

“The magic that most everyone knows is the power of light. It heals, protects, strengthens, and many other things. But darkness…” Drystan continued. “It offers strength and power far beyond the light. But it’s hard to control—the Goddess’s punishment for giving into temptation, I suppose. When someone uses dark magic, it can become wild and control them—take on a life of its own.” His eyes held a solemn truth he refused to speak.

Ceridwen’s legs shook beneath her.Oh Goddess…Her hand flew to her mouth, holding in the horror threatening to crawl up her throat.

Somber resignation flashed across his features before he clenched shut his eyes. “And that’s why I wanted to tell you before you agreed to stay.”

She stumbled forward, gripping the edge of the altar for support. “Why?”

“I didn’t want to deceive you into staying again when—”

“No.” She shook her head. “Why use the darkness?”

He looked away and sighed. “I need the power it offers. Light magic alone isn’t enough. But using dark magic stirs the monster within me. I could wake it on my own, give myself over to it to satisfy the dark urges under my skin. I do sometimes. But if I don’t, and I dip too much into the dark ways, the monster wakes whether I want it to or not.”

“But why do you need it?” He was a noble already. Powerful. Wealthy.

“Revenge.” His gaze turned steely, hard as the frozen ground. “My family was murdered. My reputation destroyed.”

Her heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t known, had no idea. But it made sense—the terrible kind that stirred a desperate ache deep within. Why else would such a young lord hold the title himself rather than his father or another more senior relative? Why would he be here with only servants for company if any close family were still living?

Drystan looked away, out at the wintery landscape beyond the window. “I intend for the one responsible to pay dearly, but the power of light alone will not be enough. They wield the darkness, and only with the power of darkness and light can I hope to craft the blade that can kill the demon lurking in the capital.”

---