Page 22 of The Artist and the Dragon

“Besides…” Bronwyn crossed her arms. “If you two keep yelling, half of the castle is going to know exactly what happened before dawn, and I thought you didn’t want that?”

“No,” Drystan grumbled.

Gwen, brave woman she was, was the first to approach him. “Now, now. Let’s calm ourselves.” She wrapped an arm around his shoulders and turned him toward the chair. “It’s been a trying night.”

Malik nearly snorted.To say the least.

Drystan sighed, and that exhale of breath diffused much of the tension in the room. He hung his head for a moment before raking his hand through his hair and glancing at Malik. “I’m sorry.”

Malik blinked. Anger, he’d expected. He was used to that. Apologizing? That was new. Ceridwen’s work, he was certain.

“I’m sorry,” Drystan repeated. “I just…” He trailed off, glancing to where his wife slumbered.

Malik followed his gaze, hand tightened into a fist. Whoever harmed her must never have met her. If they had, how could they ever choose such an innocent victim? But then, they recruited children to do their dirty work, so who knew how low they were willing to go?

“I know,” Malik said. When his mother had died, when he’d discovered his father was likely responsible… Well, he tried not to think about those days too much. It was a chapter he wished to erase.

“Good.” Bronwyn stepped back into the fray, hands on her hips. “Now, how do we wake my sister?”

Drystan hung his head once more, a clear sign that his healing spells had done nothing. It made sense. There was no physical injury here that magic could weave back together.

“We would have to understand how the curse works and design a counter,” Malik said. And that wasifthey could figure out the spell to place such a counter.Ifthere even was a counter. The threat alluded to it, but the villain might plan to let Ceridwen die no matter what Drystan did.

“You have to understand dark magic?” Bronwyn confirmed.

Everyone looked at Drystan, the only dark magic wielder in the room. The only one on their side at all, most likely. They’d done a fair job eliminating or scaring off the others they’d identified.

He didn’t look up this time, simply hung his head like the weight of the whole world rested upon it. Malik supposed the weight of his cousin’s worlddidrest upon him.

“And if we can’t? Is there another way?” This question, Bronwyn directed to him.

There was one sure way to destroy any spell. “If we kill whoever worked the spell, it will break.”

She nodded slowly, her gaze drifting away. “Then we have to find this dragon and slay it.”

Chapter 10

Bronwyn

Bronwyn’snailsdugintoher palms as she tried to tighten the tourniquet on her emotions. The pain was welcome, almost pleasant. And only fair, since her sister was the one suffering. Again. She cast a pained glance toward the bed, where Ceridwen lay eerily still and serene in cursed sleep.

The dragons had done this to her, those bastards. Hurt her sister, who saw the best in everything and was a light in the world to so many. Delivered their vile curse via her wedding presents, no less. Did they know no shame?

No, of course they didn’t. Anyone who would hurt Ceridwen had to be the lowest of the low.

All that filled her chest was an empty hole, one that pressed out against her ribs and throbbed with loss. Only once before had she felt anything like that—years ago, when her mother died. Ceridwen might be alive, technically, but the disbelief, the agony, was still the same.

Every time she closed her eyes, she returned to that moment. She’d held her sister’s unconscious body, staring in shock and disbelief. The world had crumbled around her, dropping her into the darkest bottomless pit. There had been nothing but an endless feeling of falling, of being unable to steady herself. Even now, her breaths were shallow, like there wasn’t enough air in the room. And no matter how many times she pinched herself, she couldn’t wake from the nightmare.

That was what it was, a waking nightmare with no escape. None but dark magic or the death of another.

“You want to keep this quiet?” Malik asked the room, but Drystan in particular.

Those present were the only ones who knew of her sister’s situation, or so they hoped. It was luck that her brother had been just down the hall conversing with the guards when they heard her cries. They’d rushed to her aid, and her brother—her reckless, hot-headed, sometimes-idiot of a brother—had managed to find clarity in that moment of panic where she could not.

He’d sought Drystan and Jackoby straight away. Hadn’t let the guards leave. Hadn’t sounded the alarm. Because somewhere in his years of military experience, he’d learned a valuable lesson: never let your enemy know your weakness. And this? This was Drystan’s weakness. If the people knew what had happened to Ceridwen, their queen, how could any of them feel safe? How could they be comforted knowing that the person who balanced their king was potentially lost?

Malik may have placed the crown on Drystan’s head, but it was Ceridwen who’d won the people when they might otherwise have balked at a king who could become a monster.

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