Page 19 of The Artist and the Dragon

“Bronwyn?” Ceridwen blinked up at her, glassy-eyed. She’d smeared the blood from her finger across her forehead. “I feel…”

Suddenly, she went limp, like a puppet whose strings were cut. Her eyes slid closed, and she tilted and fell, slumping heavily against Bronwyn’s chest.

“Ceridwen!” she screamed. Panic tingled across her skin. Her heart was trying to claw through her ribs. “Ceridwen!” She turned her sister in her arms as best she could, gently shaking her.

The doors burst open—likely the guards having heard the screams—but Bronwyn didn’t look. Didn’t care.

All she could see was her sister: head lolling, eyes closed, and still as death.

Chapter 9

Malik

Malikkneltbeforeayoung boy no more than six, who sniffled and rubbed at his eyes and nose with his fist.

“It’s okay,” the prince said in his most soothing voice, trying to calm the boy. “You’re not in trouble.”

A short time ago, Malik had returned to the castle with news of the latest disaster only to discover Kent, the under-butler, waiting for him with an update on the wedding investigation. They’d suspected one of the castle staff must have assisted the dragons in planting their spell-work, and it turned out they’d been right. Only, Malik had never expected the culprit to be so young, or so innocent.

“I—I—” The boy sniffled.

“Calm now, Harri.” The boy’s mother crouched behind him, her voice wobbling, her arms around him—probably half in comfort and half in fear that her son might be stolen away for his unfortunate part in the disaster. As if Malik could be so cruel to a child. “Tell His Highness what you know.”

The young boy, Harri, had been the one to weave a ribbon through the chain of the chandelier, a ribbon spelled with nasty dark magic. He’d been unaware of what it contained, or so the mother claimed. Rather, someone had paid the boy to do it, saying it was a good luck charm. How the dragons had managed to activate the spell at the right moment was still a mystery. Malik refused to believe the timing was simply luck.

Harri’s mother, a kitchen maid, had discovered this days ago but had only come forward to Kent today, begging that her son be spared for his naivety. As it turned out, someone else among the staff had caught wind of the affair and threatened to turn the poor kid in if she didn’t come forward.

The loyalty, however valuable, tasted bittersweet. If only they could all understand that Malik was nothing like his father.

“I’n didn’ know.” The boy sniffled. “They give me two gold coins to add it when I filled th’ lamps.”

Disaster at such a low cost. He nearly tsked.

“And who was it? Did you know them?” Malik asked.

The boy shook his head vigorously.

“What did he look like?” Kent asked.

Harri blinked up at where the under-butler stood, arms crossed, beside Malik. The boy hunched in on himself. Ridiculous, since Kent was possibly one of the most charming men on staff. His luck with the ladies, and the men, proved as much, though his debonaire looks seemed to have little effect on calming the child.

“No detail is too small,” Malik said.

“They…” The boy looked to his mother, who nodded for him to continue. “They were a woman.” Then, belatedly, “Your Highness.”

Malik’s brows rose. “A woman?” Now that was unexpected. King Rhion’s followers had been exclusively male. His father hadn’t placed as much value in women, which spoke as poorly of him as any of the horrible things he’d done despite how long a list that was. They hadn’t considered that the new leader of the dragons might share differing views … on some things, anyway. “Tell me about her.”

“She was a fine lady like. Dark hair. Could a’ been lighter.”

“How old was she?” Kent asked.

The boy chewed on his bottom lip, clearly unsure.

“About my age?” Malik asked instead.

The boy swallowed and gave one nod. “A young lady. She seemed k-kind.”

“Anything else stand out? Scar? Jewelry?”

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