Page 65 of The Artist and the Dragon

“Oh, Bronwyn!” Jaina hopped up from her seat, a book still in hand.

“What is all this?” Bronwyn asked, bewildered. They did all like to read on occasion, but usually one book at a time. Maybe two. This … this was something else.

The plump woman sidled up to her, drawing her toward the seating area where Father and Gerard pored over two other tomes. The book spread out in Gerard’s lap was so large one half of it tipped onto the cushion next to him. “Well,” Jaina started, lowering her usually loud voice to a whisper, “His Majesty and His Highness were spending so much time combing through these books looking for solutions that we thought we might help. Give a different perspective, as it were.”

That was … a surprisingly good idea, actually.

Before Bronwyn could voice that, however, Jaina seemed to remember something and crossed to a nearby table. “Oh! And we received another letter this morning from the lovebirds on their wedding moon.” She gave a dramatic wink as if Bronwyn didn’t understand the subtext of the words.

Bronwyn took the offered letter. Half the wax seal still clung to it. “Good news, I hope?”

“Mmm,” Jaina replied noncommittally. “They still keep having to turn away nosy visitors. The nerve of people, trying to disturb a couple during such a time.” She clucked her tongue. “And I’m not sure. I do wish I knew Miss Lydia Ainsworth better. She’s always such a happy, bouncy little thing, but that makes it harder to understand her sometimes, you know?”

“And?” Bronwyn tried to keep the irritation from her voice as she flipped open the letter and started reading it herself.

“Well, it seems like things may be a little … tense between her and Adair? It would be such a shame if they turn out not to be well-suited after all. Adair has been so keen on her these past years.”

“Better they find out now than later,” Father called from the sitting area.

Bronwyn folded up the letter. It did seem like her brother had done something toannoyhis pretend bride, though that wasn’t entirely a surprise. He might simply have taken to drinking too much with little else to occupy him. Bronwyn loved her brother, truly, and wished the best for him, but he was his own worst enemy at times. Goddess willing, he wouldn’t bungle things badly enough to cause real harm—to his relationship or their ruse.

“So”—Bronwyn set the letter aside and gestured to the room—“have you found anything in all of this?”

“Oh, the books are fascinating! Truly!” A spark of excitement glimmered in Jaina’s eyes as she drew Bronwyn down onto the settee next to her.

Gerard, ever calm and pragmatic, shook his head slowly. “Nothing to save our dear girl.”

“Not yet,” Mr. Kinsley amended.

Bronwyn’s heart sank, but Jaina was not deterred. “Do you know why the dragons—those vile ruffians—call themselves that?”

“After the legendary creature of old, yes?” They tainted the noble creature’s legacy with their use of its name. One more sin to add to their long list.

“Yes, but not only that. One of these books discusses at length the ability for those with the blood of the Goddess tobecomea dragon. Can you image that? A man becoming a creature of legend.”

Those loathsome cultists had found a way to become creatures all right, but they were more wolf-like in shape, with leathery, stretched skin similar to that of a bat. A far cry from dragons of myth with their brilliant scales, wings, and lizard-like appearance.

It was hard to image that a person with Goddess-touched blood could become something other than a thing of nightmares, but months ago she’d have said a man becoming any kind of literal monster was impossible, too.

“So, a powerful magic user might become a dragon somehow?” Bronwyn asked. “How does that help us?”

“It doesn’t,” Gerard said, not looking up from his book.

Jaina scowled at him. Then, with a huff, she turned back to Bronwyn, smoothed out her features, and opened her mouth to continue.

Before she could, the muffled grinding of stone came from the back of the room. A phantom draft made the tapestry hanging there—a depiction of the Goddess bestowing her blessings upon a king of old—twitch. Someone had opened the secret passageway.

Gerard leapt into action like the trained soldier he’d been in his youth, hurrying to lock the sitting room door lest anyone discover their surprise visitor. Only a handful of people knew about the secret passage, which connected to the royal suite, and most of them were already in the room.

The heavy tapestry flapped open to reveal Drystan, whose arrival she’d predicted, and an unexpected second person. Her heart skipped a beat and broke into a gallop. Malik panned his gaze across the room, going still for just a moment when he spied her. A soft smile, there and then gone again, flitted across his face before he let the tapestry fall. The stones began to move back into place behind him.

“We have news,” Drystan said.

It was clear from the tone of his voice that this news wasn’t anything good, yet Bronwyn’s father still half-stood from his chair. “Ceridwen?” The hope in his voice pierced her heart.

Drystan pinched his eyes closed before giving a short shake of his head. Though she’d known the moment they entered that Ceridwen’s condition must be unchanged, Bronwyn’s heart sank a little anyway.

“There’s a flaw in the spell we’ve been using,” Malik said, getting straight to the point. “It seems it only works when close to an active spell or someone who has used dark magic quite recently.”

---