Page 86 of The Musician and the Monster

“You brought me back.” His voice was gritty, rough like the sandy soil near the sea’s edge.

Hesitantly, she met his gaze. Ceridwen’s lips quivered with the emotions coursing through her body. Without thinking, she lunged for him and flung her arms around his neck. He gave a slight oomph as she landed against him, their bodies tilting backward until he righted them and clutched her in return.

“It wasn’t a dream. You saved me. You…you sang.” Awed wonder rang in his tone.

“I did,” she mumbled against his chest, still trying to rein in the tears wetting his warm skin.

Drystan drew back, quickly taking stock of her with his gaze and holding her face in between his palms. “Are you—? What I did—” His breath hitched as he beheld the blood on her dress.

“I’m fine,” she promised. A little sore, achey, and with a few new bruises, no doubt, but so much better off than she could have been.

“But the blood—”

“It’s not mine,” she said in a hurry.

“Goddess, Ceridwen.” His voice cracked over her name. “I could have killed you.”

“You didn’t,” she promised, placing her hand atop his where it still lingered on her cheek.

“But I knocked you away. I hurt you.” Drystan slid his palm down her neck, her shoulder, and to her arm, as if he needed to touch her everywhere to assure himself she was whole.

“It wasn’t you. Not really,” she said.

His pupils flared, and then his arms were around her again, pulling her back against his chest and cradling her close. “I’m sorry. So sorry,” he whispered against her hair, a kiss following in the wake of his words.

Malik cleared his throat behind them. Ceridwen twisted around just enough to catch a glimpse of him from the corner of her eye. A hint of amusement lit his face. “Should I leave you two alone?”

“Malik. Damn it all, I…I almost….” Drystan’s voice cracked once more as he beheld his cousin.

Malik shrugged with a grimace. “I’ve had worse. A few more spells will fix this up.” He held up his arm. Angry scratches were visible through the shredded fabric of his sleeve. His earlier spells had healed some, but not all, of his wounds.

Drystan drew in a shaking breath and released Ceridwen from his embrace.

To Malik, he asked, “Can you help me downstairs? We’ll clean up this mess later.”

Malik nodded in return and offered a hand to Drystan.

Ceridwen scooted away, averting her gaze once again as Malik heaved Drystan to his feet with more groans and grunts. The change took a toll, a physical one as well as mental it seemed. Her flute had been discarded on the floor. She picked it up with care, placed it on the chair, and hurried down the stairs without a backward glance.

Chapter 39

Ceridwen

In Drystan’s room, Ceridwen caught sight of herself in a long mirror. Bloodstains marred the skirt of her eggplant dress, likely from the cup that had been knocked upon the floor. More tainted her hands and arms. Some of her hair had gone askew and fallen from the simple ribbons she’d tied it back with that morning. It hung like thin, pale vines that curled down her chest.

A chair creaked as Malik settled Drystan on it.

“No wonder you wear so many different outfits,” Malik mused. “And I thought perhaps you had a taste for fashion.”

A bitter chuckle filled the air. “I did. Once.”

Wood slid against wood. Fabric ruffled as she busied herself staring at nothing on the wall. Water splashed as Drystan hastily cleaned away the blood on his skin.

“Those will do,” Drystan commented to Malik.

From the corner of her eye, Ceridwen caught him bringing clothes to Drystan, whose naked form was hidden from her view.

“I’ll leave you,” Malik said. “I need to see to my wounds.”

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