Page 68 of The Musician and the Monster

Running would have been easier. Or shunning him and never looking back.

But somewhere along the way, she’d unwillingly given him a part of herself. Never seeing him again would mean losing that part forever.

A tear leaked down her face. “Can you win?” she whispered.

“There’s always hope.” His voice reflected little of it.

“What can I do?”

“Your music helps me. I can’t explain it, but it soothes the monster. If you play for me, I might be able to control it long enough to finish the blade.” He rose, movement stiff as if his very body ached, and crossed to one of the shelves.

The object he selected did not stand out among the rest. Others held more sparkle and grandeur or more sense of mystery and macabre. The blade he carried to the altar lacked any adornment, all gray metal without shine or frill. The blade itself was shorter than Ceridwen’s forearm, with a simple hilt crossing perpendicular to the blade just above the grip wrapped in plain strips of brown leather.

“The Gray Blade.” He laid it with reverence upon the altar as she rose to stand near his side. “Or it will be, if I can complete it.”

In this position, she recognized the blade from the last time she’d stood there. Then it had been encircled in patterns of blood.

“You need magic to complete it? I think you were working on it when I came here last.”

“Yes. If I can finish it, the blade should nullify the magic of anyone it pierces, though no one has seen a completed one for an age. It’s my best hope.”

She nodded numbly, examining the blade. “What if I played for you while you work?”

“No.” The refusal was quick and definite, shaking in the air between them. “It’s too dangerous. If the beast were to emerge anyway—” He shook his head.

But he was almost out of time. Her family had always looked forward to midwinter. The darkest and coldest of days. Once it passed, they would begin the countdown to spring, half the winter gone by. Despite the long night, the day gave hope to people far and wide that warmth and sunlight would bless them once again. But what was a joyous day for most wouldn’t be to him. It was a deadline. An ending. Possibly a deadly one.

Lightning zipped up her arm when he closed his hand over hers. “I won’t have your blood on my conscience too.”

She placed her free hand over his, where it still rested on her other. “And I won’t have yours on mine.”

It was her choice, her life and fate. She’d stay. She’d help…as best she could.

Chapter 31

Drystan

In the few days since her return, Ceridwen settled back into life at the manor, livening the place up instantly. Though Drystan thanked the Goddess on his knees for her return to his life, he also guarded his optimism. It was impossible to miss the way she jumped at unexpected sounds or seemed to stay in her room more than she had before. When they were together, her gaze often drifted to any shadowy places in the room. He knew what she saw there—ghastly visions of his alternate self.

It would be easy to lie and tell her she would be safe, that his monster would never harm her. But though her voice had stopped him twice, he couldn’t offer that false hope, no matter how much he wished it. It was best she stayed far away from him and from danger.

For that reason, he kept a careful distance between them and didn’t invite her back into his tower. That, and he could never let Malik deduce what he worked on up there. His cousin believed Ceridwen a romantic intrigue, and that was far safer than him knowing the effect her music had on his monster.

Ceridwen still played for him each night, usually alone, though sometimes during the day, she would play for him too, usually with Malik and some of the staff in attendance. He hadn’t known how many of his servants had lingered in the halls to hear her songs, but the confessions had slipped out slowly during her absence, the loss felt by many. It cheered Drystan to see those he cared for enjoy her music, and Ceridwen was more than happy to play for them as well. One evening, she even disclosed to him a secret dream from her youth of being a musician beloved by the masses. If he could make her dream happen, in even this little way, he wanted to. Whatever comfort and joy he could give her before he left for the capital, he owed her.

That was one reason he allowed her sister to visit and Ceridwen to leave the manor and visit her family as well. Drystan had been tense during the duration of Bronwyn’s visit for tea the day before, but the young woman had come and gone without issue. Even Malikgave the sisters peace to enjoy one another’s company. Recent news from the mayor’s office said that her brother’s unit had been deployed to the capital for the remainder of the season and through spring. Something about a training rotation. Drystan thanked the Goddess not to have the young man around to stir up more trouble, but he couldn’t hold back the pesky bit of worry that clung to the shadows of his mind. If anything happened to him, Ceridwen would be devastated.

That morning, Drystan had retreated to his one oasis within the manor outside Ceridwen and her music. The rose garden within the greenhouse.

There was something refreshing about spending his time among the plant life, pruning the bushes into perfection, and getting a little bit of dirt under his nails in the process. As a child, his mother had often scolded him, declaring the hobby below his station and something that should be left to the servants. No matter her ire and his love for her, he couldn’t quite abandon his passion for plants and making them grow. After her death, it was one of the few places that gave him peace. It was the same at this manor, and thankfully, no one tried to talk him out of it.

Drystan’s acute hearing alerted him to someone’s approach as he knelt among the roses, pruning away a cluster of browning leaves off a bush. A servant would have given him a clue of their approach, and Malik was never so quiet. His pulse picked up as he glanced over one shoulder and confirmed his suspicions.

Ceridwen looked resplendent in the morning light filtering in from the glass roof overhead. She wound her way through the rows of vegetables that supplied fresh food for the manor even in the depth of winter.

“Ceridwen.” A grin stretched his features before he set his clippers aside and rose to his feet.

She smiled in return, an act that sent his heart kicking against his ribs. That she could still look at him that way, even knowing what lurked beneath his skin, was a miracle in itself.

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