Page 81 of The Musician and the Monster

“We did. We do.” She held her hands aloft, staring back and forth between both men. “But you two have to talk. No more secrets. No more games.”

Drystan’s chest rose and fell as he searched her face, trying to ponder out her meaning. To his surprise, Malik turned to him and stared him down in somber silence until Drystan met his steady gaze.

Finally, Malik spoke. “I don’t practice dark magic,” he admitted. His voice lacked all humor and playfulness.

Drystan stared at him, unmoving. “I’ve seen you drink blood. We drank it together.”

“I throw it up. Ceridwen caught me in the act.” Malik’s shoulders slumped.

Impossible.It couldn’t be true. “But your father…”

“Would kill me if he knew. Or worse, force me to use the dark magic,” Malik finished, leveling Drystan with a hard look.

The world spun around him. Drystan placed a palm on the tabletop for support.

“He already thinks me weak. Worthless,” Malik continued, letting all his bitterness leak into his tone. “That’s why he chose you, after all. The nephew who did what his own son couldn’t, or rather, wouldn’t do.”

Malik stood still as a statue, only his throat bobbing as he swallowed. His admission hung heavy in the air.

It couldn’t be true. It went against everything Drystan believed, all that he’d been so sure of. But there was an honesty in his cousin’s expression, a vulnerability he hadn’t seen since they were young. The man before him suddenly reminded him of that boy, the innocent kid so like his mother in his kindness and humility. But her death years ago had changed him, or so Drystan believed. It turned him more like his father with his mercurial ways, tricks, and false smiles.

Unless…it hadn’t.

Drystan looked at Ceridwen out of the corner of his eye, catching her slow nod where she stood silently by. This was his decision, his call, but she believed Malik. Perhaps she hadn’t meant to betray him but to give him another weapon in his fight. Could it possibly be true?

With a silent prayer to the Goddess, Drystan heaved a heavy sigh. “I won’t tell him. I plan to kill him instead.”

Malik blinked, his only movement as he took in Drystan’s words. Finally, Malik whistled and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Well, I sure hope you have a good plan.”

Tension slipped from his shoulders, all that pent-up worry shifting in an instant to a heady rush of adrenaline that sent his body humming.

“I suppose you’ve been working on something up in that tower of yours,” Malik continued. “So how can I help?”

“You’d go against your own father?” Drystan asked.

“With pleasure. He’s made my life a misery, and my mother…” He shook his head. “It’s only a matter of time before he stages my own disappearance. A permanent one. I’d guess he’s done plenty to you as well.”

“More than you can imagine.” So much more.

Malik raised his brows. “I can imagine quite a lot. I know why and how my mother died, and I can hazard a guess why you want him dead as well.”

Malik’s mother? She’d been the sweetest woman he knew, taken by an illness far too young. But that was what he’d been told, like the whole kingdom believing him dead for the murder of his parents. How many lies had the king spun in his quest for power?

“I didn’t kill my parents,” Drystan said. Those old memories tried to creep in again, to hunch his shoulders and squeeze his throat until he could barely breathe.

“I see that now, because of how you are with her.” Malik nodded toward Ceridwen.

She crossed the short space to Drystan and wove her arm through his, leaning in close, offering support without even a word. Her touch alone sent his nightmares fleeing back to the recesses of his mind.

“So you’ll help me kill the king,” Drystan said. “You’re that eager for the title yourself?”

“No,” Malik snapped. “I never want to be king.”

The sincerity in his words made Drystan rock on his feet.

“To have my life scrutinized at all times… The responsibility…” Malik ran a hand through his hair, mussing it up. “I just want my old life back. A spare royal with no expectations.”

“You swear it?”

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