Chapter 19
Having Malik in residence was far more of a nuisance than in the past. No sooner had Drystan left Ceridwen’s rooms at dawn than he encountered Malik strolling through the hallways of the manor, probably poking his business into everything. At least the man hadn’t tried to enter his tower. The magical wards he placed upon it would have let him know, nor had he attempted to enter Ceridwen’s bedroom the night before.
Drystan’s fitful sleep had little to do with the too-short sofa he had used as a bed. And while he expected his mind to be full thinking of strategies to both satisfy and evade his cousin’s curiosity, it was Ceridwen who garnered most of his churning thoughts. Staying in the bedroom with her, longing to touch her, to talk to her, when they both really needed to rest, was a twisted form of self-torture.
Just when he was almost certain she slept, she’d peeked out from under the coverings where she hid like a frightened lamb. He stayed silent, fearful of spooking or disturbing her, but oh, how he’d longed for her to say something or, better yet, invite him to her bed. To say he fantasized about the numerous things she could have said or done was an understatement. It had been one scenario after the other, playing itself in his head, and he tried and failed to rest.
And then he just had to run right into Malik in the hall—caught like the foolish young man he thought he no longer was. His cousin had deduced much in moments without even a question—entirely too much. The mischievous sparkle in his eyes said he knew exactly where Drystan had been and with whom. To ignore him or deny it would have only made it worse, more incriminating, so Drystan did the only thing he could—he invited Malik to his study.
Sometimes it was best to get the poison out of the wound quickly rather than let it fester. His cousin came here to garner news, to appraise his actions—it was easiest just to give him the show he desired.
It was at Malik’s insistence that Ceridwen come and play for them that morning. He so badly wanted to know why Drystan was enraptured with the young woman, and he failed to believe it simply because of her music. That had been the case, the truth, at first, though it was no longer. But maybe that origin would show through if she played, though Drystan was in no rush to wake or hurry her out of bed, especially if she’d slept as little as him.
Instead, Drystan spent the morning talking about everything and nothing with Malik. Their conversation was as strategic and important as a battle waged during a war. Tell him what he wanted to hear, but don’t make it sound that way. Show just enough deference to the king and his reign. Appease him with easy truths so that he was less likely to spot the lies. Malik’s questions and Drystan’s answers were a carefully choreographed dance, with neither wanting to step on each other’s feet or, worse, falter in their planned steps.
When Jackoby arrived to show Ceridwen—flute case in tow—into the study, Drystan both heaved a sigh of relief and tensed all at once. On one hand, she was a balm to his weary soul and a break from his cousin’s casual inquisition. On the other, she entered the viper’s pit with him, and he had no idea how Malik would react.
“Just as lovely as I remembered,” Malik commented with a grin, rising to his feet.
Sarcasm or sincerity, Drystan wasn’t sure, but he rose to his feet as well. Ceridwen’s gaze passed right over Malik, as if he didn’t exist, to land on Drystan. Warmth swelled in his chest as he took her in. She’d taken time with her appearance this morning, and her eyes appeared free of dark circles under them or any other tell that she had not slept. Hopefully his presence had not disturbed her rest as thoughts of her had his.
“Good morning.” Ceridwen dropped into a perfect curtsy.
“Please have a seat.” Drystan gestured to the chair to his left, farther from Malik. The seat would leave a low table set with a tiered display of pastries and fruit between his cousin and his musician. A thin barrier at best, but better than nothing. Malik had sampled some of the delights on the table, but he’d managed little himself. Gwen rushed in as Ceridwen took her seat, replacing the cooled pot of tea with a steaming one.
“I apologize for our introduction,” Malik said once Gwen and Jackoby had left.
Ceridwen raised her brows at him as she smoothed out her skirts. “Really? Do you introduce yourself to everyone that way?”When he didn’t immediately reply, she folded her hands in her lap and continued. “It’s a wonder no one’s stabbed you.”
Drystan barely contained the laughter eager to burst free. Jackoby’s inquiries about the young woman had given the description of her as quiet and demure. Perhaps she was in society and around her family, but here, outside her sibling’s fiery personalities, it seemed Ceridwen was able to find that spark of defiance within herself, or maybe she finally wasn’t overshadowed. He hoped for the latter. If her time here gave her the freedom to find herself, to be herself, he would be grateful, no matter the pain of leaving her in the end when he returned to the capital.
To Drystan’s surprise, Malik laughed as well and leaned back into the cushioned chair. “Who says they haven’t?”
“You look quite alive to me.”
He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “Only thanks to my cunning charm.”
Ceridwen huffed in annoyance.
Drystan coughed, breaking up their duel. “Would you like some tea?” He’d already lifted the teapot to pour.
“I would.” Ceridwen’s pleasant smile returned instantly as she looked at him. “Thank you.”
Drystan poured the steaming amber liquid with practiced ease, not spilling a drop, and passed the cup to Ceridwen.
“When did a gentleman learn to serve so well?” she teased.
The hint of a smile passed across his face and was gone. “A recent talent. I haven’t always had staff to attend me.” The truth, unfortunately.
Malik watched them both with eager interest, not saying a word.
Ceridwen’s brows pinched as she blew on the steaming liquid before taking a dainty sip, but thankfully she did not ask more. She set the little teacup aside with all the grace of a fine lady and refolded her hands over the flute case in her lap. “Why did you ask for me this morning?”
“It was Malik who requested your presence,” Drystan replied.
Ceridwen glanced at his cousin. “Still just Malik? Not Lord Something-or-other?”
“Malik will do.” He leaned forward in his chair, sliding back into the conversation as easily as he’d stepped out of it. “Drystan mentioned that you play music, and I happen to be a great patron of the arts.”
“You are a patron of the arts?”
He grinned. “I’m quite serious. Perhaps you’d indulge us this morning?” For all his cousin’s scheming and pandering, that much was true. He’d always been enamored of the arts, the theater and opera especially, much to his father’s dismay.
Ceridwen considered the request in silence, rubbing her fingertips across her instrument case in small motions.
“If you’d rather not—” Drystan began.
“It’s fine,” Ceridwen replied quickly. “I do love to play.”
She set about righting her instrument, and after a minute, she began to play. Drystan was unfamiliar with the tune—something deep and moving. As always, Ceridwen’s eyes fluttered closed as she played, seeming lost in a trance of her own making. Malik, too, relaxed in his seat, consumed by her music and taken somewhere far away.
Though too on edge to relax completely, Drystan appreciated the soothing atmosphere that Ceridwen’s music brought to an otherwise tense moment. If he let his guard down, he had no doubt her song would sweep him away as well.
After the second song, one that must be related to the first for their similarity, Ceridwen lowered her flute, ending the spell she’d woven over them.
Malik leaned forward in his chair, a blinding grin upon his face, a rare and true one if Drystan had to guess. “Lovely. No wonder he procured your services.”
Ceridwen looked down at her lap, the hint of a blush on her cheeks. Instantly, jealousy reared its ugly head within him, and Drystan frowned at his cousin. But Malik didn’t pay him any mind, his focus solely on the young woman across from him.
“A concerto?” he asked.
“The Blessings of the Goddess,” Ceridwen replied.
“Don’t those typically have three movements?” Malik tapped a finger on his chin. “Would you play us the third as well?”
“Apologies, I cannot.” Ceridwen shook her head. “The third movement is missing. I have never seen it. I’m not sure anyone has.”
“Unfortunate.” Malik sat back in the chair, crossing one ankle over his knee.
“You should eat something,” Drystan offered to Ceridwen, nodding toward the breakfast display.
“Food does taste so much better after such a show.” Malik plucked a pastry from the tray and stuffed the entire thing in his mouth.
Seemingly reluctantly, Ceridwen selected a pastry and nibbled at it in the ensuing silence. Drystan wasn’t sure quite what to say, and Malik only asked benign questions about the recent snow, which Drystan answered, leaving Ceridwen to pick at her food.
Halfway through her selection, Ceridwen set the plate aside. “I should leave you to your meeting,” she said, her gaze locked on Drystan. The silent request in her eyes was easy enough to pick out. She wanted a reprieve from Malik’s company. He couldn’t blame her.
“Indeed,” Drystan replied. “Thank you for the music, Ceridwen.”
“I look forward to another concert tonight,” Malik said, rising from his chair.
He and Ceridwen rose as well. She didn’t even bother to return her flute to its case, just held each at her side.
“I’ll miss this while I’m gone.” Malik sighed.
Ceridwen stood a little straighter. Drystan’s attention snapped to his cousin. Gone? Could he be so lucky?
Drystan asked the natural question, trying to hide his eagerness. “Leaving again so soon, cousin?”
“Only for a few days, starting tomorrow morning.” Malik appraised him, a slow grin forming on his lips. “But then I’d hoped to stay until midwinter. Why, we could even venture back to the capital together. Wouldn’t that be grand?”
The blood in Drystan’s veins ran cold. So that was how it was to be. Malik would likely take the early train back tomorrow, report his findings, and then return to keep a close eye on him until midwinter, at which point he’d drag him to the capital and the king himself. He might as well have pronounced a death sentence right then and there. Even Ceridwen looked at them with wide eyes, her tone paling, and she didn’t know half of Drystan’s fears or the disaster that Malik could bring upon him, should he choose.
Drystan crossed to the thick rope on the side of the room and pulled it, ringing for Jackoby to show Ceridwen back to her room. It was the only thing he could think of to keep his fury in check and his anger from spewing out. He sucked in a deep breath and turned to his cousin. “Well, won’t that be something to look forward to?”