Page 71 of The Artist and the Dragon

Chapter 30

Malik

MalikwatchedBronwynasshe stared out the window on the carriage bench across from him. She’d been quiet all day, more reserved than he’d ever seen her, as if all the nastiness of the world was finally starting to wear her down.

More than anything, he wanted to pull her into his arms and soothe her worries. But he wouldn’t press her, not on that, anyway. He' meant every word he’d said after the party. He would be there when she was ready. However long that took … and however difficult the waiting.

She’d told him about the protest the day before, as well as the results of her afternoon tea with Charlotte Davies. The appointment had been cut short, but she’d gotten the information they needed. Miss Davies wasn’t using dark magic or harboring any dark spells, at least not then. Still, Malik refused to consider her innocent. He didn’t believe in coincidences, not really, and in his eyes, her unique ring made her a suspect until they found evidence to the contrary.

Not that he would tell Bronwyn that. He sensed that she desperately needed some good news to cling to, and he wouldn’t be the one to spoil it.

Besides, they had bigger things to worry about, plans that might finally reveal the real players at work.

The carriage rocked to a stop in front of the opera house. He’d made sure to request a coach without the royal seal or colors on it. Something more discrete for their outing.

“Are you sure you want to come?” Malik asked. “I can handle this myself if you’d rather not be involved.”

“No,” she said at once, seeming to snap out of her thoughts. “I want to help if I can.”

Drystan had been strangely pleased when Malik reported finding the presence of dark magic at the opera house. That made sense, though; any good lead or opportunity brought him one step closer to saving Ceridwen.

Bronwyn had been less pleased. Though no one could doubt her love for her sister, upon hearing the news, her eyes had turned glassy. She’d waffled between sorrow and anger.

Similar emotions had plagued Malik. Finding the presence of dark magic there, reasoning that it could be a target, felt personal somehow, like the dragons had planned an attack where it would hurt the most.

But then, it wouldn’t be the first time they tried to cut the royals where they would bleed the worst. They’d done just that with Ceridwen. Who knew how many other attempts they’d made that never came to fruition?

Malik had sent word ahead that he and Bronwyn were coming. Wynni was waiting for them in her office. The gaudy room, decorated in pink fabric and gold-painted wood, was about the most atrocious space imageable, yet it fit Wynni to a tee. He supposed when one had the fame and financial success that she did, one could arrange one’s office however they liked.

The opera house owner’s usually bright aura was subdued as she gestured to the open chairs on the other side of her ostentatious desk. Malik and Bronwyn sat. “I suppose you’re not here to tell me that you’re finally engaged,” she said without preamble.

Bronwyn stilled as if she’d been turned to stone. Her eyes flew wide. A flush broke out across her chest.

“Unfortunately not, no,” Malik replied after he, too, had had a moment to recover from his shock. He’d expected direct questions after his letter, but not …that.

“Thought not.” She sighed heavily and leaned back in her chair. “Though a woman can wish, can’t she?”

A wish he shared. One he was determined to make true … someday. But that day was not today.

Wynni’s eyes suddenly narrowed. “He didn’t break your heart, did he?” she asked Bronwyn. “Because if he’s gone on some foolish noble tirade or denied his feelings—”

“It’s not that,” Bronwyn said quickly. “It’s— This is not about us.”

One carefully painted brow arched upward. “So, there is an ‘us?’”

“Wynni…” Malik warned, even as Bronwyn frowned.

“Oh, fine, fine.” She waved her hand back and forth. “So, what is this urgent matter that’s taking me away from our final rehearsals?”

Malik and Bronwyn proceeded to tell Wynni a summarized version of their struggles against the dragons, both since Drystan had claimed the throne and, more importantly, since Ceridwen had been cursed. It was a risk, letting anyone in on their secrets, even someone he trusted as much as Wynni. But the truth was, they needed help, and if the premiere of the new opera was to be a target, sheneededto know. Even Drystan had, reluctantly, agreed on that front.

One slip to the wrong person, one individual running off to spread rumors of what was really happening in the castle—about the cursed queen, the fake wedding moon, how close the dragons were to truly ending the king’s reign and sending the country into chaos—could be the straw that broke them.

But without risk, the odds of victory diminished every day.

It didn’t take long for all traces of humor to flee from Wynnifred, or for her to grab a bottle of spirits from a desk drawer and pour three glasses. Even Bronwyn took a sip and, rather than being disgusted as he expected, seemed to appreciate the strong beverage.

“Damn.” Wynni took a swig of whiskey. “I knew there was something more going on, but I never imagined… Damn. That poor girl. Just when all was looking so bright and right in the world.” She stared at the bottle in silence before looking back at Malik. “And my opera house is to be the next target of one of these accidents, you think?”

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