Page 99 of The Artist and the Dragon

She could wait. However difficult that was. The minutes had never passed quite so slowly as they did that morning. She paced alone in her room, begging the sun to rise faster.

When her carriage finally stopped in front of the Davies’ manor, she sprang from it like a buck through the trees, barely remembering to tell the driver to return in an hour. They might not be done by then, but oh well.

Her father, and Malik for that matter, would have a fit if they discovered she hadn’t brought a troupe of castle guards with her. But she was just visiting Charlotte, for goodness’ sake. Arriving with an entourage of men and women in tow felt wrong. That, and she wasn’t about to let anything—like the presence of a few additional guards—change Charlotte’s mind about speaking with her.

Besides, what need did she have of them when the inspector’s men were still all over the place? Charlotte might be willing to speak to her, but it seemed she still spurned the city officials. Just as well.

Bronwyn sighed, shaking her head as she spied the same two men at the gate as the other day. At least they knew who she was now.

“Miss Kinsley.” The men bowed at the waist.

“I’m here for tea at Miss Davies’s invitation.” The men looked at one another uncertainly, and Bronwyn nearly groaned in frustration. They weren’t going to try to deny her again, were they? “See, I have her letter right here.” She held it out to them, but neither man moved to take it.

Now that she took in the small yard beyond the gate, there seemed to be even more people present than before. Strange.

“Well? Will you let me pass?”

“You see…”

“What? Are you denying her visitors now? The inspector and I have an agreement.” It was from the other day, but surely, it still held. She would tell him anything of note, especially if he could help her track down the dragons.

“That’s not it, Miss Kinsley,” the quieter of the two said, stepping up where his companion seemed at a loss for words. “It’s just that, well…” His gaze darted before settling on her once more. “Miss Davies was found dead this morning.”

Bronwyn blinked at him, the words not registering.

And then they did. All at once and with the force of a horse’s hoof to the chest.

Charlotte’s letter fell from limp fingers. Bronwyn stumbled back, curling in on herself.

“Miss!” The man who’d spoken rushed forward, grabbing her arm to steady her, probably worried she’d faint on the spot.

“She’s…” She could not form the words over the silent scream echoing through her head.Dead. Dead. Dead.

But she’d just written the evening before. She’d invited her over. She’d been grieving but certainly lively, full of the same vigor and passion Bronwyn had become familiar with.

Tears blurred her vision and fell to the flagstones.

It was all too much.

“Miss! Your Highness!” The other man was there opposite his companion, stumbling over his titles but with kindness in his voice. The accent he tried to hide slipped back in full force. “I’m sorry. Mayhaps we shouldn’ a said.”

“Should we call a carriage? Where are your attendants? Should we take you inside?”

Nowthey offered to let her in. She sniffed, wiping at her tears and trying to clear her eyes. Crying wouldn’t help. It never did.

“The staff is in a state, but—”

“No. No thank you.” The voice that came out was far stronger than she felt. She was on the verge of falling to pieces, and in that house, surrounded by whatever traces remained of her friend, she really might. Oh, why, oh, why had she chosen this of all times to shirk her guards and send the carriage off?

Fate was a bitter mistress sometimes.

“How did she…” Bronwyn looked past them at the house. No wonder there were so many more people present today. They weren’t just investigating the sister of a man responsible for the opera house disaster. They were inspecting a murder scene.

“We’re still investigating how someone—” He snapped his mouth shut. “We’re still investigating.”

Her doom had not been by her own hand, then.

“I understand,” Bronwyn replied. She did. Likely more than most. There was little doubt in her mind what had happened. Charlotte knew valuable information. She knew the dragon’s identity. And she was going to speak. Somehow, he, whoever he was, had learned that and taken drastic action.

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