Chapter 36
Ceridwen nearly slipped twice on the steep stone steps. Her music failed. It couldn’t help Drystan when he needed it, just as it hadn’t helped her mother. At least her song hadn’t killed him—yet. The altar he’d worked at reminded her far too much of another bed of blood. The one where her mother died. She’d sung to her through her hard labor and right into the Goddess’s hallowed halls. As if that hadn’t been enough, it was her song that drove Mother out of the house to begin with, her singing that she insisted on despite Mother’s claim of a headache.
Back then, Ceridwen still clung to her foolish, girlhood dream of being a great singer on the stage. If she sang during their family’s visit to the capital, even inside, surely someone would notice and offer her that dream. It led to a nightmare instead. If she’d listened, Mother might not have gone out that day. She might not have gotten hurt and ended up in labor weeks too early. And then, Ceridwen just had to go and sing to her again when her mother asked between her cries of pain. One final song that took her life.
“Miss Ceridwen.” Jackoby halted as she flew out of the stairwell and nearly barreled into him. “Is he—”
She sucked in a deep breath and bit her lip. “Maybe.” She hadn’t waited to be sure.
He straightened despite his already stiff posture. “I’ll sound the servant bells.” He took off at a near run, as fast as decorum would allow. “Get to your room,” he called over one shoulder.
But she didn’t need to be told. Already Ceridwen hurried in that direction, lifting her skirts to speed her progress.
Alone in her room, failure overwhelmed her. She’d been so certain her music would help, that it would contain the beast if she’d played. Yet it had risen anyway. Ceridwen wiped at the tears leaking down her face. They wouldn’t help anyone. Tears hadn’t saved her mother. They wouldn’t help Drystan now.
She waited by the windows for long minutes, listening for sounds of the beast roaming the manor grounds. All night she remained there. They never came, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t risen.
When at last she calmed down, she played her flute until her fingers tingled from overuse, and sleep blurred the edge of her vision.
Only as she finally gave in to the urge to rest did a sharp howl pierce the wintery night.
Ceridwen paced near the stairs to the tower half the morning, but Drystan did not emerge. Nor had anyone seen him.
An ominous sign.
The temptation to lose herself in the paths of the greenhouse beckoned. She yearned to dig her hands into the dirt, to prune the hedges, to plant late seedlings—anything to keep her mind off the man she longed to see. However, thoughts of another man kept her from those glass walls. She couldn’t handle Malik right now. Not in her current state.
The temptation to climb the stairs was almost too much. A few times, she’d ventured the first step, but the thought of what she’d find at the top, and Drystan’s stern warnings, urged her back down.
Visiting Bronwyn might help. But her sister would know something bothered her. And worse, Ceridwen might just tell her everything. Something she simply couldn’t do. She hadn’t mentioned a word of her suspicions during her visit the day before—hard as it had been. However, seeing her family had given her the courage to confront Drystan about his past and give voice to the suspicion Malik’s reveal had fueled.
Instead of venturing home or outdoors, Ceridwen fled to her other sanctuary with the manor: the library.
The sweet, musky scent of old books washed over her like a balm as soon as she opened the ornate wooden door. But the reverie didn’t last.
“Ah, our lady of music. I thought you might appear.”
Her nails dug into the edge of the door. Too bad it wasn’t his neck.
“Before you run off, do come inside for a minute.” Malik beckoned her toward the table he stood next to, where books of various shapes and sizes were strewn open in front of him.
Anything sounded better, even facing down Drystan’s monster. But his cocky, know-it-all smile drew her in. It begged her to agree with his request despite the way her legs locked up. Besides, he was a prince. The prince for all the world knew. Even if he didn’t parade around here as such, who was she to insult a royal?
Ceridwen released the door and stepped inside.
“Close it.” He motioned with a wave of his hand.
Reluctantly, she complied, but not before looking both ways out the door with a quick prayer to the Goddess that someone would notice and join them.
No one did.
With the door securely closed, she dipped into a low curtsy. “Your highness.”
Malik’s face held a deep frown when she raised her head at the end of the gesture. “Don’t,” he snapped. “You can’t treat me that way. Not here. And don’t you dare call me Alistair either.”
“Why not?” Her brows reached skyward.
“It’s how I’m regarded in the capital. In front of my father. But it’s not what I prefer. And yes, the people here know who I am, but that’s not the point. Secrets only work when people keep them. We had a deal, remember?” He drummed his fingers on the table. “Besides, what if your lovely sister chose today to come for a visit?”
Then she’d likely have one more reason to despise him. Not that it should bother him what a commoner thought. “I agreed to keep your secret about the blood,” Ceridwen said. “But you gave me your name on your own.”
“I don’t—” He opened his mouth, closed it, and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. How about a peace offering? Something for keeping both secrets?” He raised a thin book in one hand. No, not a book. She knew the size of those pages, the narrow thickness of the binding. Malik held a bound composition. An old one by the weathered and yellowed look of the thing.
Curiosity beckoned like the Goddess herself.
“The first composition I heard you play was The Blessings of the Goddess, but you didn’t know the third movement.”
“No one does,” she insisted. “It’s lost.”
His lips twitched. “Perhaps to most people, but there are a few copies left. And one…” He laid the bound composition on the reading table before him.
The impossible sight sent the world tilting beneath her. “Oh Goddess, it can’t be.” Right here, under my nose.
Tears threatened to fall, but she blinked them back and reached for it, tracing a finger along the letters of the title on the cover page. “It was here?”
He gestured to the back wall, to the stacks and sections of books so old they’d nearly come apart when she’d touched them. Such a treasure waited there, and she’d missed it completely.
“Why show this to me?” She could hardly believe it existed, much less that it lay in front of her.
He shrugged. “I thought it might be helpful, especially if you’re going to play for Drystan while he works dark magic.”
Breath caught in her throat. Her mouth gaped before she could stop herself. “He doesn’t…” She shook her head, letting her brows pinch in faked confusion.
“I saw you leave the tower.” He leaned on the table, closing the distance between them. “And I heard the monster in the night. It wasn’t hard to put the two together.”
Well, that was unfortunate. And something she couldn’t refute. Even so, she wouldn’t admit it. “That doesn’t mean—”
He cut her off. “It does. You think I don’t know? There’s no need to lie for him. What I’m still working out, though, is why you would aid him with dark magic? You don’t seem like the type. In fact, you’re about as far from it as they come. So why? What is he doing up there?”
“You’ve never been up there yourself?” she asked, if only to give herself time to think.
“No, I—” He pursed his lips.
“You’re here to watch him, yet you only guess at what he does?”
“Watch him?” He cocked his head to the side. “Yes, of course he told you that.” He sighed. “But he’s been more careful than I expected. Guarded…with everyone but you.”
She could no longer hold his gaze, the one that dug into her soul as if he could pry loose the secrets he so desperately craved. She looked away, down to the table where the various tomes lay open before him. And her heart nearly stopped.
The page his fingers drummed upon contained a large illustration of a simple dagger, and below it, words she could easily read even upside down. The Gray Blade.
Color leeched from her vision as she stared at the impossible sight. Unmoving. Unblinking.
Of all the things that he could read about, he’d chosen that one. It was no mistake. He’d left the book open for her to see. He suspected, if he didn’t already know.
Motion and color rushed back as she pulled in a deep breath.
Malik tipped her chin up until she was forced to look him in the eye. “You might just be the key that saves us all.”
Chills raced down her spine. When had he gotten so close?
The main door creaked open in a rush of wood, sending Malik and Ceridwen leaning away from each other, the table safely between them.
“There you are,” Kent said, brushing away a lock of dark-brown hair that liked to fall free from the binding at his neck. He straightened as he took in the other man in the room, one he clearly did not expect. His gaze flitted nervously between them before he continued, directing his words to Ceridwen. “Lord Winterbourne has come downstairs and is asking for you.”
Thank the Goddess! “One moment. I’ll be right there.”
Kent looked between them again but said nothing before giving a short bow and leaving as quickly as he’d come.
“You don’t want to run into Drystan’s arms?” Malik asked with a smirk as the door shut.
Ceridwen ignored the jab and steeled her will. “What do you want?”
“We’re to be confidants now?”
She pinned him with her gaze, refusing to give in. “Well?”
Finally, he sighed. “Freedom.”
The word sat heavily between them.
“You’re not free?” If a prince wasn’t, then who was?
“No one is more watched than me, and no one has more to lose.”
It was her turn to be surprised. “You’re the one watching Drystan.”
“And he watches me. If he reports what I am, or what I’m not, I’m done.”
Because his father led the darkness, a path Malik refused to follow. Ceridwen jerked back, seeing him in a new light. The king must not know. His own son turned his back on him, and he had no idea. Most ironically, Drystan felt the same way about him. Both watched each other, neither trusting the other.
But that fact solidified her decision. “Come to my room just before luncheon.”
His smile grew blinding. “Now that’s an invitation I did not expect.”
Ceridwen groaned and rolled her eyes.
Malik laughed in return.
“Just do it. Please.” She snatched the composition off the table, whirled around, and left the room with the precious pages clutched to her chest.