Chapter 38
For the three nights, they worked on the Gray Blade.
Drystan had already completed the light spells required. Only the dark remained. Unfortunately, that meant Malik couldn’t work the spells himself given his avoidance of dark magic. However, he still found a way to assist. Malik wove a ring of light magic protection spells around the altar, ones to help contain the darkness should Drystan lose control again.
Ceridwen played the flute to calm the monster within while Drystan worked the remaining spell.
The night before, he’d almost transformed into the monster again. His eyes flashed red. His limbs warped and stretched. Only her music held the magic in check, and barely at that.
He’d halted his spell, unwilling to let the monster break free.
But they were running out of days. He couldn’t put it off forever. So tonight, he resolved to try the last spell one more time.
Ceridwen hugged her arms about herself as she stared out the window of Drystan’s tower. Courage failed her when she tried to ask what came next. How did Drystan plan to kill his uncle? Who would keep him safe? Would he take her with him?
Part of her knew she wouldn’t like the answers.
Malik’s muttered words tickled her senses as he worked. The falling snow and cold air couldn’t distract her grim thoughts or knowledge of the patterns of blood he traced.
So much blood…
Some of it theirs. Some animal. Other donated by the residents of the castle. She’d offered hers, but the men refused. Both of them would bear new scars on their bodies, preferring to use their own as much as possible.
The faintest hint of moonlight crept through the cloudy sky, highlighting the heavy flakes as they drifted down to join their brethren upon the manor and the city beyond. Ceridwen could almost see her family house just a few blocks away.
Drystan slid next to her, wrapping a fresh bandage around his hand.
“Why work the spells at night?” she asked.
“Dark magic is stronger at night,” Drystan said. “Light magic works better in the day. I need the spells to be at their strongest for this working.”
She nodded along. It made a certain sense since the monster always reared its head after sunset—nights when Drystan must have worked the strongest of his spells, or the most reckless ones.
Ceridwen jumped when his arms wrapped around her. A cocoon of warmth settled over her as she relaxed against him. A hint of leather and a light floral note, likely belonging to one of the many plants Drystan tended, lulled her into a momentary peace. He kissed her with passion each night and each day, but never tried for more. A part of her resented that. Another part chided herself for not being more forward with him herself. But deep down, she knew it probably had something to do with his plans to return to the capital, the uncertainty of his—their—future.
She let herself float away until Malik’s voice interrupted the bubble of warmth. “It’s done.”
Cold rushed back in as Drystan released her. He had work to do. As did she. Malik would stay nearby in case he needed to reinforce his spells, or to protect her if the worst should happen.
Ceridwen took a seat in a cushioned chair set up near the stairs. Drystan had even managed to pull together a makeshift music stand so that she could play the third movement of The Blessings of the Goddess as he worked. It wouldn’t be her best performance—she’d yet to memorize or perfect the melody. However, it would likely be only the first of many songs if everything went according to plan.
Three songs in, she thought they were finally safe.
The third movement turned out more beautifully than she imagined. So much so it nearly brought tears to her eyes. Finally, she’d gotten it right on her first playthrough. Ceridwen played the second and first movements after it, playing the whole concerto in reverse order.
Then, Drystan’s posture shifted abruptly. A groan marred the words of his spell. Ceridwen nearly dropped her flute when his eyes flickered to red instead of their traditional deep blue.
“Keep playing,” Malik whispered beside her, calm amid the change threatening to take place before them.
Fear dried her throat, but she continued as best she could. The song she began told of traveling through winter snows to visit a lover. A happy tune, or it should have been.
Drystan’s back hunched. Fabric ripped at the seam of an arm. A shimmer of darkness hovered about his form, one so close to changing.
Not again. Please not this.
Malik leaped from his seat and paced around Drystan, holding his attention. “Calm, cousin,” he said over the song. “You can control this.”
Drystan gritted his teeth. With a shake, the blue returned to fill his eyes. He dipped his fingers in the goblet of blood on the altar and moved them through the pattern of the magical working. Sweat beaded on his brow and dripped down his skin as Ceridwen continued to play despite her worry.
Ever so slowly, the blood began to disappear.
It’s working. Oh Goddess, please let him be successful this time.
“Almost there, Drystan. Breathe.” Malik coached him from outside the circle of protection he’d crafted.
A shimmer passed over the blade as the blood disappeared completely into the altar.
“He’s done it.”
Drystan closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The flute slipped from Ceridwen’s lips as she stared at the blade still lit with an eerie glow. She gazed in rapture at the object that had taken so much effort to craft. As the light faded, it looked no different from a simple blade any commoner could own.
Drystan’s body shook. A half grunt, half growl split the air.
“Drystan!” Ceridwen lurched from her chair.
Malik waved her back. “Play! He’s losing it.”
Her legs gave way as she thumped onto the seat, flute flying to her lips. She played in earnest, pouring everything she had into the song. Her fear. Her love. Her own deep sorrow.
It didn’t help.
Fabric ripped. His eyes flashed bright red. Claws elongated from his hands to scrape against stone.
They were losing him.
Ceridwen looked away as more fabric ripped, revealing skin turned inky black and stretched tight across bone. Tears blurred her vision. The music didn’t help. It wasn’t enough. Just as it hadn’t been enough to keep her mother alive after she sent her into danger.
A sharp howl pierced the room. The flute slipped from her lips as Malik cried out in pain. Ceridwen’s head snapped to the altar where Drystan’s monster stood upright, fully dark and horrifying. Only a few frayed bits of cloth clung to what once had been a human body. Malik gripped his arm and fell back against a wall, his teeth gritted at the monster.
Drystan swiped again, feet shuffling at the edge of Malik’s working, stirring up red sparks that rose from the stone floor as the magic frayed.
“Drystan, stop!” Ceridwen waved her arms. Blood rushed to her ears, drowning out the monster’s loud breaths.
It swiveled slowly in her direction, head bobbing ever so slightly. Pointed fangs filled its gaping mouth.
“This isn’t you.” Tears slid down her face.
“Try again,” Malik said. He’d managed to shuffle along the wall, keeping well out of range of the circle he’d drawn. A dark stain marred his navy coat where he held his other hand tightly against the wound.
Drystan’s attention slipped back to his cousin. Red irises flickered as drops of blood fell and splattered onto the stone tiles.
Ceridwen swallowed and raised her flute again, continuing the tune where she’d left off. To her side, Malik traced a pattern on his arm with his own blood.
The monster lunged for the barrier. The movement knocked the chalice of blood off the altar, sending it splashing across the floor in a gruesome display. A horrid squeak slipped out of the flute in the wake of her shock as more crimson sparks fluttered up from the ground. The monster’s tantrum grew worse as it pawed and roared in the narrow space.
“It may not hold much longer,” Malik said, edging ever so slightly in front of her.
His action only spurred the monster on. Ceridwen’s heart cracked with every swipe the monster took.
“We need to go. Now.”
But her body wouldn’t move. Couldn’t. To leave him here again? Like this? How could she? He could hurt himself or someone in the manor. He could flee and hurt someone in the city. She had to do something.
“Go!” Malik shoved her toward the stairs. Ceridwen tripped over her feet. Her knees slammed into the ground, jarring the flute from her hands.
Pain radiated up her body as an unholy roar practically shook the room.
“Don’t!” Malik yelled.
A haze of red sparks hung in the air as she twisted around and saw the monster lunge at Malik. He grabbed the music stand and smashed into the monster’s side, sending it skidding across the ground.
Music fluttered through the air. Ceridwen screamed. Drystan! The concerto!
Black claws scraped grooves in the stone as the monster slid across the floor, scrambling for purchase.
Ceridwen lurched back, suddenly numb. The beast gained its footing and shook its body like a dog shedding water.
Malik crouched beside her, the broken stand still in hand. “We have to go!”
Drystan’s monster roared again. The sound alone threatened to crush her.
Ceridwen shook herself. Malik was right. They had to go. Run.
Drystan.
The monster lunged, breaking through the barrier, crashing into Malik, and knocking her aside.
“Stop!” Malik screamed, the stand a flimsy defense between the claws and his skin.
“No!” No, no, no.
“Run!” Malik yelled.
Her body shook, but she couldn’t let someone else die for her, for her failures. She wouldn’t. And Drystan…killing Malik might kill him too.
Ceridwen lunged at the monster, wrapping her arms around its neck.
It flung her away. Pain flared in her back and head. Spots swam in her vision.
Wood clattered. Malik groaned.
As her sight cleared, the monster took shape before her. Ceridwen’s heart skipped a beat. Terror gripped her. He loomed above her, saliva dripping from his fangs.
A clawed paw thumped next to her head.
Would he kill her this time? Another death on his conscience? Tears leaked down her face. A memory flashed before her, cloaking the room with its vision. Mother lay in her bed. Fresh blood marred the sheets around her lower half. Fionn whimpered nearby, the thin cry of a child not fully in the world and already looking toward the embrace of the Goddess.
“Sing for me, Ceridwen,” she asked, her voice a soft rasp.
The tight rope that bound her throat snapped. Fear flowed away like water. Her song had caused death, but death would follow her silence this night. The certainty of it echoed in her soul. She couldn’t allow that.
“Drystan.”
A sharp whine broke from its maw.
“Keep talking to him,” Malik groaned.
A deep growl cut him off. Ceridwen stared at the monster, trying her best to see the man beneath the surface. She touched his leathery cheek, pulling his focus to her.
“Sing for me, Ceridwen.” Mother’s phantom voice slipped through her mind.
“Your music helps me,” the memory of Drystan echoed.
Could she sing? If she loved him, truly loved him, she had to try.
Red eyes stared into hers as she swallowed her fear, sucked in a breath, and began to sing.
“Each night…the moon rises…from his bed.”
The monster continued to stare, red eyes blinking where it loomed like a ghastly statue above her.
“Searching for his one love that hath fled.”
It tilted its head to the side like a dog assessing its master.
Ceridwen stroked his cheek, the hot, hard skin, the bits of matted hair. “With brightest light, she tempts him onward. The object of his nightly quest for love.” Her voice grew steadier, more confident, coming alive with song as it hadn’t in years.
The monster retreated and crouched at her feet.
Ceridwen pulled herself up, ignoring the pain in her body, her racing heart, everything but the monster of a man before her.
“Each morning, the sun raises her head. Longing for her love, she dreams to wed.”
It sniffed in her direction, dipping its head as she raised her hand toward its muzzle.
“His soft white glow beckons her to him.”
“Ceridwen!” Malik yelled, but she ignored him.
“The answer to her longing for love.”
Coarse fur tickled her fingertips. Another wayward tear rolled down the crease of her nose and over her lips.
“Drystan,” she whispered between lines. She stroked his face over the hard ridges of bone and ears like a bat’s wing, as she continued to sing.
The monster did not rip out her neck. Not as she caressed his face, nor when she wrapped her arms around him as if he were a gentle creature that would lick her face or purr like a cat. He was none of those things, not now, but he allowed the touch.
His fangs did not bite. Claws did not scratch. His whole form seemed to relax under her touch at the sound of her voice as she held him and sang through the tears that continued to fall.
Tears for Drystan. For Mother. For her.
For all that she’d lost and all she’d found. And all that would still endure should they live through this night.
Her heart pounded as the monster wiggled in her grip. She shut her eyes against her death and sang through the fear threatening to cut off her song once more.
She no longer heard Malik. Perhaps he fled. A small screech slipped out among words as the monster thrashed and jerked under her arms.
Something changed. The hair she grasped with one hand vanished. Soft skin replaced the cracked leather surface under the other. A groan more human than monstrous echoed in her ears and trickled over her skin like water.
Through it all, she kept singing, willing sounds out of her throat no matter how they tried to stay inside.
Ceridwen’s eyes flew wide as a human hand gripped her side, pulling her close. The sight that greeted her choked off the song. His dark hair was matted and sticking out in odd directions. The grimace on his features spoke of pain. But his eyes were clear of their red haze.
“Drystan.” His name cracked from her lips.
He winced, flexing his hand on her side as he tried to move. She scooted back to give him space. A soft gasp fell from her lips as her gaze traveled down his chest. His naked chest. His arms, too, laid bare, covered in a dusting of hair and marred by scars. And below that—
She looked away before she could give into temptation, heat rushing to her cheeks.
“You brought me back.” His voice was gritty, rough like the sandy soil near the sea’s edge.
Hesitantly, she met his gaze. Ceridwen’s lips quivered with the emotions coursing through her body. Without thinking, she lunged for him and flung her arms around his neck. He gave a slight oomph as she landed against him, their bodies tilting backward until he righted them and clutched her in return.
“It wasn’t a dream. You saved me. You…you sang.” Awed wonder rang in his tone.
“I did,” she mumbled against his chest, still trying to rein in the tears wetting his warm skin.
Drystan drew back, quickly taking stock of her with his gaze and holding her face in between his palms. “Are you—? What I did—” His breath hitched as he beheld the blood on her dress.
“I’m fine,” she promised. A little sore, achey, and with a few new bruises, no doubt, but so much better off than she could have been.
“But the blood—”
“It’s not mine,” she said in a hurry.
“Goddess, Ceridwen.” His voice cracked over her name. “I could have killed you.”
“You didn’t,” she promised, placing her hand atop his where it still lingered on her cheek.
“But I knocked you away. I hurt you.” Drystan slid his palm down her neck, her shoulder, and to her arm, as if he needed to touch her everywhere to assure himself she was whole.
“It wasn’t you. Not really,” she said.
His pupils flared, and then his arms were around her again, pulling her back against his chest and cradling her close. “I’m sorry. So sorry,” he whispered against her hair, a kiss following in the wake of his words.
Malik cleared his throat behind them. Ceridwen twisted around just enough to catch a glimpse of him from the corner of her eye. A hint of amusement lit his face. “Should I leave you two alone?”
“Malik. Damn it all, I…I almost….” Drystan’s voice cracked once more as he beheld his cousin.
Malik shrugged with a grimace. “I’ve had worse. A few more spells will fix this up.” He held up his arm. Angry scratches were visible through the shredded fabric of his sleeve. His earlier spells had healed some, but not all, of his wounds.
Drystan drew in a shaking breath and released Ceridwen from his embrace.
To Malik, he asked, “Can you help me downstairs? We’ll clean up this mess later.”
Malik nodded in return and offered a hand to Drystan.
Ceridwen scooted away, averting her gaze once again as Malik heaved Drystan to his feet with more groans and grunts. The change took a toll, a physical one as well as mental it seemed. Her flute had been discarded on the floor. She picked it up with care, placed it on the chair, and hurried down the stairs without a backward glance.