Chapter 43
Light spilled into the room through the window and roused Ceridwen from sleep.
A smile pulled at her lips as memories of the night before rushed back, flooding her with happy, glowing feelings that wrapped around her, body and soul. Her muscles had never felt so languid. Even her spirit was lighter. Free.
“Drystan.” She smiled at the taste of his name on her tongue. She rubbed the last bit of sleep from her eyes. His scent tickled her nose from the sheets, only deepening the fire kindling to life again within her.
Any second now, he’d wrap her in his arms, kiss her hair, and wish her a good morning. She could see it in her mind’s eye. She longed for it.
But the silence stretched. A coil of dread slipped into her happiness.
“Drystan?”
She twisted toward his side of the bed to be greeted by empty, ruffled sheets. One object lay where he’d rested the night before: a single purple rose.
Drystan loved his roses. He’d clipped other flowers for her, but never those, yet now he’d left one on the pillow. Tentatively, she ran her fingertips over the silken petals and down the stem, dodging thorns. When she reached the cut end, it was still moist.
The beautiful sight should have filled her with further joy, but foreboding crept in instead. Why the rose instead of him? She’d never considered that he might be absent when she woke. Not after the night they’d shared.
Chills raced over her naked skin as she sat upright in bed. The man she loved was nowhere to be found, nor could she hear any sound from the floor above.
“Drystan?” Ceridwen called again, eyeing the doorway. Any moment now, he’d walk in, and all the tension building against her bones would rush away.
But moments passed, and only silence greeted her.
In haste, she slipped from the bed, wincing against the cold, and donned the clean underthings, nightdress, and robe that someone—likely Drystan—had left at the foot of the bed.
With still mussed and tangled hair, she rushed down the stairs. He’s just gone down for breakfast. Everything is fine. But she didn’t believe her own excuses.
Each step notched her panic a note higher until she practically jumped down the last steps and out into the main hall. Voices swarmed her, including one she did not expect.
“You haven’t explained anything,” Bronwyn snapped. “How many times do I have to ask?”
“At least a few more,” Malik replied, though he didn’t sound the least bit annoyed.
Her sister stared daggers at the prince. If only she knew. But Ceridwen had more important things on her mind. “Where’s Drystan?”
Their attention snapped to her, silencing the argument between them.
Bronwyn gaped. “Ceridwen…you…” Her gaze trailed over her sister’s mussed hair and robe. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” Ceridwen assured as her sister rushed to greet her. Past her, Malik’s smile had died. He shifted from one foot to the other, not looking her in the eye. Her heart started to crumble. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
“Was Drystan here?” Ceridwen asked.
“Yes, he came down,” he replied at length. “Or so I was told.”
“And?”
She didn’t want to know. She had to know.
“He’s gone. He left for the capital on the early train.”
She didn’t hear him correctly. Couldn’t have. The world before her shifted. Her legs shook. Bronwyn lunged for her as she slumped to the floor.
“He…he…” He left me.
Bronwyn pulled her tight against her chest. “You bastard!” she yelled over her shoulder. “You had to tell her something hurtful with such callousness?”
“I didn’t ask to be the messenger,” Malik retorted. “But I did think to fetch you to be here for her.”
She snapped her mouth shut, cutting off whatever she planned to say as she focused on Ceridwen again.
Ceridwen saw her sister and felt her embrace, but everything was numb and far away. Nothing filled her but deep emptiness.
“It’s okay. It will be okay,” Bronwyn crooned.
But it wouldn’t. If she never saw him again… She shuddered. It was unthinkable.
“Let’s get you up. A bath will help. Maybe some breakfast.” Bronwyn tried to pull her to her feet, but Ceridwen’s body refused to move. After a minute, her sister gave up and sat on the floor next to her.
Malik neared. His feet shifted on the floor he gazed at like a scolded child. “There’s a letter too. If you want it.” He slipped a thin piece of folded parchment from within his jacket.
From the way he held it, Ceridwen could just make out the looping scrawl of one word that started with a grand C. Her name.
“Give it to me,” she demanded, not caring that she sounded and looked like a petulant child. Hair a mess. Teary eyes. Only wearing a nightdress and robe. He probably saw her as a wild woman. Yet his eyes held no judgment as he slipped the letter into her waiting hands.
“Perhaps we should take her to her room,” Jackoby intoned. Ceridwen hadn’t seen him enter, but his voice displayed no surprise. Someone must have told him.
“In a minute,” Malik replied on her behalf.
Ceridwen unfolded the letter with shaking hands.
Dearest Ceridwen,
You’ll know by now that I’ve left ahead of plan. I couldn’t risk you asking to come with me again. How could I have ever told you no?
Know that I love you. You’ve given me joy in my last days—more than a monster like me deserves.
Malik will see to your family’s well-being and that of everyone who resides within the manor.
Live a good life far away from the taint of magic and blood. Forget about me, but never lose your music. It’s a magic of its own, filled with the beauty of your soul, that only you can weave.
No matter what happens, I’m blessed beyond worth or measure to have heard your song and felt your love.
Yours always,
Drystan
Short and sharp like an arrow to the heart. She’d expected nothing less, but the brevity of his last words sent tears streaking down her face.
“You know what it says?” she asked Malik through her tears.
“I do. He told me in my letter. And I’ll uphold every word,” he promised, arms crossed across his chest.
“What’s going on?” Bronwyn asked, looking between the two of them.
Ceridwen sniffed away the tears, rubbed her eyes, and stood. Bronwyn kept a hand on her the whole time, probably worried she might sink to the ground in a heap or puddle. “I’m going to the capital.”
Malik’s eyes widened. Bronwyn’s hand tightened on hers.
Jackoby was the first to speak. “Miss Ceridwen, you should stay here for now. We’ll look after you and your family if you’d like.”
Forcing a smile took effort. “That is very kind,” Ceridwen replied, “but Drystan has already set up provision for them and everyone here.”
She looked to Malik, who nodded, the surprise gone from his face. He reached into his front jacket pocket and pulled forth an elaborate silver key. “The key to the vault. Allocations have been set aside for Ceridwen’s family as well as all the manor staff. You may stay for a few days to get organized and then start anew somewhere else with the blessing of Tristram Ithael.”
Bronwyn squeaked, hands flying to her mouth.
“And should anyone question it”—Malik slid a large, ornate ring from one finger—“show them my seal.”
Jackoby approached and took the items Malik offered. “Highness,” he said with a courtly bow.
“Holy Goddess,” Bronwyn blurted. “You’re the dark prince.”
Not quite.Apparently, Malik and Jackoby were ready to let Bronwyn in on the secrets they held, though she might not be ready to hear them. Of course, if Drystan succeeded, then perhaps he could reclaim his old name and title. If he failed… She couldn’t consider that. She wouldn’t let the king and his dark magic steal another person she loved.
“Only half right,” Malik replied, striding toward Bronwyn with an amused smirk on his face. He took her hand, though she tried to pull away, and bowed before her. “Prince Alistair Ithael, at your service.”
Bronwyn paled considerably. A myriad of emotions raced across her face. Ceridwen could tell the moment her sister sorted out the puzzle. She looked at Ceridwen as Malik released her. “Then Drystan…”
“Is really Tristram Ithael,” she supplied. A weight lifted from her shoulders. Finally, her sister knew. She’d never kept secrets from her, not before she came to the manor. Sharing them now brought a sliver of peace to the turmoil in her heart.
“But he…didn’t he…” She’d never been quite so tongue-tied.
“He didn’t kill his parents. He was framed by our current king, a practitioner of dark magic.” Ceridwen shivered at the reference and looked over at Jackoby. “You know everything?”
One solemn nod confirmed everything before he even spoke. “That bit I knew before we came here, but only this morning did we learn his full plan. Goddess, give him strength.”
Malik nodded in confirmation. Some discussion had happened that morning that she hadn’t been privy to, but none of that mattered now.
“Do you trust her?” Jackoby asked, tipping his head toward Bronwyn.
“Completely.” Ceridwen took Bronwyn’s hands in hers, snaring her sister’s full attention. “Drystan plans to kill the king, and I intend to help him.”
Very rarely was Bronwyn ever stunned into silence, but she was at that moment, her eyes widening and mouth gaping open. Ceridwen looked past her sister at Malik. He knew Drystan’s plans, of course, but her following after had never been part of them.
To her surprise, Malik responded, “Good.” As if he was somehow glad Ceridwen planned to defy Drystan’s expectations and whatever orders he might have left for Malik to keep her there and out of trouble.
A grin tipped his lips up at the corners. “But I wouldn’t be much of a gentleman if I let you go alone. I’ll escort you to the capital. No one should stop you if you’re with me.”
Bronwyn’s grip on her hands tightened. “I’m going too.”
“No.” Ceridwen’s heart leaped into her throat as she swung back toward her sister. “It’s too dangerous.” Risking herself was one thing. Getting her sister mixed up in this deadly plot? Unthinkable.
Bronwyn jerked her hands away, crossed her arms, and stared her sister down. “I’m not letting you run off into danger alone. Especially not with that one.” She pointed an accusing finger at Malik. “I’m coming. You’ve carried too many burdens by yourself for too long. No longer. I want to help.”
“But—” Ceridwen began, her panic rising with her voice.
“Let her come,” Malik interjected. “Surely I can keep two young women safe.”
Bronwyn pursed her lips but stayed silent.
Ceridwen looked between the two of them, and her shoulders slumped with a weary sigh. She couldn’t win against them both. “Fine.” Letting Bronwyn get herself in danger once they got to the capital was another matter, one she’d find a way around. Truthfully, it would be nice to have company, if even just for the benign part of the journey. She’d never traveled alone, especially not with a man, and having Bronwyn with her might help on that front. However… “What are we going to tell Father?” Her absence might not be noticed since she already resided at the manor with Lord Winterbourne, but their father was bound to notice if his oldest daughter didn’t come home.
Bronwyn shrugged. “I’ll think of something.”
As if that were a viable plan. Ceridwen gave her a withering look.
“Whatever it is, do it quickly,” Malik said.
“I’ll keep an eye on your family personally until I receive word of your return,” Jackoby promised. “And before you go, you must pack your things. You’ll need clothes in the capital if nothing else. I can send Kent to assist your sister. Besides, Gwen would flay me alive if I let you leave before she could give you a proper farewell or if I let you out looking like that.” He appraised her from head to toe with raised brows.
A touch of heat flamed Ceridwen’s cheeks. He was right on both counts. She’d fled out the front door without thinking once before, and she couldn’t do that to them again. Plus, she really needed to clean and change, but time wasn’t on their side. “The train…”
“The train to the capital only runs twice a week,” Malik said, pacing a narrow trail a few feet away. “We’ve missed today’s, but perhaps we can hire a carriage to take us to the next city south and catch one from there. It would be faster than waiting around. Plus it will give you time to ready yourselves.”
Twice a week.Ceridwen barely held back a squeak. How silly that she lived here and didn’t know the train schedule to the capital. But then, after Mother’s death, none of them wished to ever return there. How strange a turn life took, sending her back once more.
“Fine,” Ceridwen agreed. “If that’s the fastest way, we’ll do it. Now, let’s all get to it.”