Page 69 of The Artist and the Dragon

The lightness of spirit lasted until Malik located Bronwyn’s box of paints and the two now-dry works of art resting on a table.

“Damn.” Malik frowned at a smudge of dark paint that marred a scene of fluffy white sheep in a field of wildflowers. He leaned in. “Who would be so careless to—”

The words died on his tongue. Quickly, he looked around, confirming that he was alone in the room. It wasn’t a paint stain that discolored the sheep. The detection spell woven into the artwork had been triggered. Heart in his throat, he looked at the other.

There, as he feared, was a dark blot on the white roses in their vase.

There was someone with dubious intent in the opera house. That alone was enough to make him grind his teeth. Worse was the thought blaring in the back of his mind: the opera house might be in trouble—it could be the Dragon’s next target.

And he had a feeling he already knew when disaster might strike.

Chapter 29

Bronwyn

Bronwynoftenfavoredcountrylife to that in the capital, but there were a few things about city life that she truly appreciated. The access to art, music, and plays, of course, but also the variety of little cafés and the delightful confections they sold. Being the queen’s sister often garnered her more attention than she preferred, so she didn’t spend as much time visiting these places as her heart desired, but meeting Charlotte was an excellent excuse to do just that—royal guards and the commotion they stirred be damned.

If nothing else, the soothing aroma of tea and mouthwatering hint of sugar in the air bolstered her spirit enough that she managed a smile and small talk once her companion arrived. Bronwyn had already reassured her that she was quite all right after leaving the party early the other night.

“This really is such a delightful little place.” Charlotte beamed as she stirred her tea, dissolving another sugar cube in the steaming water. Bronwyn was never one to shy away from sweets, but she preferred her tea plain, not … well, not liquid candy or whatever concoction the other woman brewed in her cup. “How did you find it?”

The café wasn’t much to look at from the outside, but inside, its décor was cute and whimsical, done in pastels that evoked images of a garden party. Many of the patrons appeared to be more middle class based on their attire, which was part of why Bronwyn favored it so, but Charlotte did not seem to mind that she was likely the wealthiest woman in the building.

“I chose it for the food, actually,” Bronwyn said. “They get their pastries from a bakery that I enjoy.”

One Malik had turned her on to. She’d looked into it when she’d requested someone fetch her a batch of those heavenly jam puffs. On that subject, it was very hard not to think about that day in the opera house—Malik wiping the filling from her lips and sucking his finger into his mouth with a groan of delight.

Bronwyn shifted in her seat and savored the burn of a long sip of tea.

“Any word from your sister recently?” Charlotte asked.

The question hit a little too close to home. Bronwyn nearly choked. She covered her mouth, trying to disguise the reaction as she set her tea aside.

“Only the most basic of updates,” she replied. Then, with the most mischievous look she could manage, she added, “I’d like to think she’s a little too preoccupied to be bothered with many letters.”

Charlotte giggled. “One can only hope.” If she knew Queen Ceridwen lay cursed and dying instead of enjoying private time with her husband, she either did not care or did an excellent job of hiding it.

Bronwyn made a show of pretending to think hard before asking, “You weren’t at the wedding, were you? I don’t recall seeing you there.”

“No,” she replied flatly, her features turning a little downcast. “Unfortunately, my brother and I did not receive an invitation.”

Was that why she’d done it? Could it be so simple and petty as that?

Bronwyn barely reined in a sigh. Here she was, damning her friend when she didn’t even know for certain she’d been involved.

The locket hanging around her neck suddenly felt heavy. She yearned to check it, to see if the spell tucked carefully inside had activated. It had been clear before Charlotte arrived, but there hadn’t been a good moment to look since. That, and it would be a lie to say Bronwyn didn’t dread the results. Either her would-be friend was guilty, or it was another dead-end. Both outcomes led to sorrow.

They talked of various lighter subjects for a while until Charlotte stopped a waitress to request a new pot of tea. The two women became locked in discussion about the different varieties available and their nuances.

Bronwyn’s fingers found the locket and closed around it. It was the perfect moment to check if ever there was one. Maybe she should leave it to later. Wait until Charlotte had gone. But the idea of waiting, or of something else possibly adding confusion to the result, left her feeling worse.

Someone exited the building, and through the open door came a burst of commotion and chanting from outside.

“What in the blazes—” The waitress broke off, turning to the front of the store.

Charlotte rose to her feet, the tea forgotten. The fine hairs on the back of Bronwyn’s neck rose. Everything in her told her to turn and look, but she needed one mystery solved first.

Bronwyn flicked open the locket with her thumb, glanced down, and—

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