Chapter 8
Lord Winterbourne closed the door to the study behind Ceridwen, sealing them in the room together like corpses in a tomb. He crossed the room to a table near the cold fireplace and poured himself a glass of dark liquid. Only the dim wall sconces illuminated the space tonight, and those gave little comfort and no warmth, just like the rest of the manor.
“The flute is over there.” He gestured to the shelf where Jackoby had set the instrument that morning. Books flanked it, as well as the various other objects and trinkets that sat upon the shelves, including a miniature violin and other curiosities.
Ceridwen crossed to the shelves. Her hand hovered over the instrument while she scanned the various books. Only one title tugged her memory, an old history with a tattered binding. The others were a mystery, one she ached to explore. They’d had so few books growing up, less than two shelves worth in her family’s meager study, and each she treasured.
“Come sit over here and play.” Lord Winterbourne pointed to a chair near the one he’d occupied earlier that day.
Ceridwen jumped at his voice, the cool metal of the instrument digging into her palm where she gripped it too tightly. “Is no one else joining us?” she asked, turning to the sound of his voice.
He took a seat in the same chair he’d occupied that morning, with the glass of dark liquid raised aloft in a hand, elbow rested on the arm of the broad chair.
“No.”
Father wouldn’t like this. Not at all.Nor would any of the upper-class women, such as Elspeth. Ceridwen could almost hear her disapproving voice, see the lace fan waving in her hand, as she would say, “A young woman alone with a noble? A Lord Protector no less? How untoward. Truly shameful for her family and the supposed gentleman.”
She swallowed against the tightness in my throat. “Perhaps I could play outdoors—”
“No.”
Ceridwen halted halfway to him. “Is that your answer to everything? No?”
A whisper of amusement resonated from his chair. “No.”
He’d been kind to her, especially after her slipup at dinner. But the thought of spending so much time alone with him made her squirm.
She sucked in a steady breath and asked, “Would it be possible to have my balcony unlocked so that I can play outside after I play for you?” Every night that it did not rain or snow, Ceridwen played for her mother, even in the dead of winter when her hands went numb after only one song. At least, she had before the monster attack. The last few days, she’d been out of her routine, and she longed to return to it, to show her mother she hadn’t forgotten her, even if she was staying in this manor rather than her family’s home.
She’d taught Ceridwen to play outside when she was still a young child. The stone bench under the sprawling limbs of the great tree on the south lawn had been their special place. After she passed, Ceridwen still played under that tree, mostly at night, when the sound of her song could carry to her mother in the halls of the Goddess, unimpeded by the noise of day. Her biggest fear in moving to the city was that her mother would no longer hear her songs, yet every night she’d played, she could feel her mother’s eyes on her, even from the beyond. Somehow the feeling was even stronger here than their country home. To not be able to play to her for however long she resided here was unthinkable.
Don’t tell me no, she prayed as she took the seat across from him.
“Hmph.” The glass clattered onto the table, empty. His heavy beard hid much, but Ceridwen could have sworn the hint of a smile pulled at his lips. “It’s dangerous at night, especially for a young woman alone in her room.”
Heat fled her body. “The monster? Surely with the walls…”
“You think they can keep it out?” His tone held mockery despite the twinkle in his eyes.
“You’re a noble lord.” She’d always heard many nobles had power beyond common men. “Can’t you do something about it?” As heavy silence lingered, the frustration bubbled up within her, spewing out into words. “What kind of lord cannot protect his own home, much less the city he’s sworn to watch over?”
A deep growl rumbled from his chest, more animalistic than human. Shivers crept down her back. Gooseflesh rose on her arms. Before she could think, she leaped from the chair and retreated several steps before his voice rang through the air.
“Enough. No more of this.” He slammed a gloved fist onto the arm of the chair. “Will you be playing for me, or should I find another musician who is interested in my employ?”
Ceridwen’s legs froze under her, halting her retreat. Another retort yearned to be yelled at him, but her voice wouldn’t comply, even for that. This man caused her to lose her temper more than all others combined. Bronwyn would be proud.
Unfortunately, he was the one man she could not afford to offend, not if she were to have hope of providing for her family.
Reluctantly, she reclaimed the wide chair of dark wood and crimson fabric that faced his matching one. Playing for her mother was easy, but this man… He refilled his glass from a decanter on the table as she adjusted her seat and lifted the flute from the side table.
“Apologies, Lord Winterbourne. Playing outside is important to me, and I feared not being able to do so while I stay here.”
He nodded absently, his features giving nothing away.
At length, he said, “Your room is warded. It should be safe from the monster, but I cannot offer the same protections on the balcony.
“Warded?”
He raised one dark brow. “Surely you know that some nobles can work spells?”
She swallowed and gave a short nod. Yes, she’d heard that. The most powerful of them could work magic even beyond their enhanced strength and senses, but she’d never seen it, never had the chance to meet a noble. In all her years, she’d heard no more than what rumor and histories could teach her, and that was often vague at best, prone to dramatics.
“You should be safe from the monster inside your room,” he replied.
“Thank you, my lord.” She didn’t understand the method of it, but the protection was a blessing all the same.
“I shall consider your request,” he said, seeming much calmer now. “For now, proceed.”
She closed her eyes, blocking out the man beyond and the unfamiliar room around her. Ceridwen’s thoughts drifted away, far from the worries of the day as she raised the instrument to her lips. The melody flowed out, smooth and even. The walls of the room echoed the notes, but that, too, she tuned out. Only music remained, staccato notes teasing the tale of a hunt for the great stag of the northern wood.
When that song came to its end, she played another, her fingers flying over the keys by memory. A third followed. And a fourth.
She opened her eyes as the last song drew to its close. Soft, mournful tunes hung in the air long after she lowered the flute into her lap, the last remnants of lovers parted by death.
Not a sound came from the chair where Lord Winterbourne sat. His glass stood empty on the side table with the decanter. Had he not blinked, she might have thought him asleep with his eyes open.
His steady regard reached into her soul, tickling something she never expected. Heat rose to her cheeks. Ceridwen licked her lips without thinking, staring at the noble across from her.
Did he watch me like that the whole time? With eyes that I could drown in?
She waited for him to request another song or dismiss her.
He did neither.
“Thank you,” he said at last.
His deep timbre rolled across her skin, sending a shiver down her spine. The rich voice held all softness and silk compared to the sharp, biting tone he’d used earlier.
Lord Winterbourne rose in a fluid motion and crossed the room to a large cord hanging from the wall. A bell rang in the distance, barely audible through the walls of the study.
How had two words affected her so? Ceridwen’s restless hands found a home in the skirts of her dress as she waited to be dismissed, escorted back to her room, anything. The thick silence that hung between them threatened to undo her. Not to mention the feeling of his gaze sliding over her skin, all honey and velvet.
A sigh of relief escaped her lips as a soft knock came at the door, and Jackoby entered. He dipped a bow to his lord before extending an arm to Ceridwen.
As she slipped her arm through the butler’s, Ceridwen looked back once at Lord Winterbourne. The sight sent a shard of ice through her heart. Red eyes.
She blinked, and they were gone. So fast, the odd sight came and went. She shook her head, clearing the image, which must have been some trick of the light.
“Good night, Ceridwen,” Lord Winterbourne said as Jackoby led her from the room.
The noises that woke her could have raised the dead—shaken their spirits out of the Goddess’s hallowed halls. Even her Eidolons—or Saints as the southerners liked to call them, those special humans who’d so embodied one of the characteristics she favored as to earn their own form of immortality in her service—would have been moved by the sound.
Deep growls rumbled through the quiet night—an animalistic howl unlike any wolf she’d ever heard. Worse, the sounds came from nearby, possibly within the manor walls.
She yearned to pull the covers tighter and block out the chilling symphony when the sound changed to a soft keening that threatened to crack her heart in two.
Hesitantly, Ceridwen slipped from the bed, ignoring the cold touch of stone on her skin as she traced to the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the right side of the room. Darkness reigned beyond. Earlier in the day, she’d been so adamant about letting in the light and illuminating this gloomy manor, and the kindly housekeeper, Gwen, hadn’t seemed to mind.
Were the curtains drawn in order to hide from the monster?
The balcony stood empty, its stone stark white in the moonlight shining down overhead. Only the shadow of the tall tower marred its surface.
Could the monster come within the manor walls? Would it? Lord Winterbourne himself seemed skeptical that the walls could keep it out. Despite her one horrific encounter with the beast, the pitiful sound ripped her heart anew. Did it suffer? Was that why it killed and maimed? Her palm rested against the cool glass, letting the night slip under her skin with the dark thoughts.
A sharp whine, more pained than terrible, crawled in through the cracks between the window panes and balcony doors.
How had she missed these sounds all the nights she’d played on the rooftop? Unless the monster stuck close to the manor or the forest beyond.
Ceridwen prayed to the Goddess for safety, for herself, her family, and the whole of the city. She beseeched her Eidolon of Protection, asking for him to watch over them all as well. If the Lord Protector, who was meant to represent him on this plane, would not protect the city, perhaps divine favor would, should her prayers be answered. Odd though it may be, she prayed for the monster too—for whatever it was to find peace, if even in death.
Sleep did not claim Ceridwen until long after the sounds vanished from the night. When it did, dreams reached her. In them, she played her flute on the rooftop of her family’s city home while Lord Winterbourne watched her with red eyes.