Chapter 45
The size and sprawl of the capital still boggled Ceridwen’s mind. They’d started passing farms an hour before the steam-powered train pulled into the station. When houses began to fill her vision with regularity, she’d been certain the train would draw to a halt at any moment, but they’d kept going until she could hardly comprehend the number of people who must reside among the many cramped buildings and narrow streets. Somehow, it had seemed less intimidating when she’d visited with her family some three years ago. But then, it was just a fun family trip—albeit one that ended terribly. This time was much different.
Colorful awnings and painted walls gave life to otherwise gray stone buildings. Trees were sparse, gardens even rarer, within the dense sprawl of the city proper.
Sound overwhelmed Ceridwen when they stepped from the train car. Unlike Teneboure, where no one seemed in a rush for anything, people ran this way and that, shouting and carrying on as if everything must happen in a moment or the Goddess would claim their soul. At least it was a change from the near-constant scowls and verbal taunts exchanged between Bronwyn and Malik for the better part of their journey.
“I still don’t see how anyone can stand this city,” Bronwyn said as she avoided a dubious puddle on the way to whatever nearby destination Malik had in mind.
“It has its beauty, if you know where to look.” Malik plowed ahead, navigating the maze of streets like a captain at sea.
“You’re sure our things will be safe?” Ceridwen asked for possibly the third time. She’d brought the sheet music for The Blessings of the Goddess concerto after recovering it from Drystan’s tower before their departure. The poor sheets were a little worse for wear with a few bloodstains and tears, but still readable. She should have left the concerto behind for safekeeping, especially with the state it was in, but it made its way into her trunk anyway. Her flute had been packed away as well until Malik insisted she fetch it for this little venture.
“I paid the porter more than enough. I have no doubt they’ll be at my apartment once we arrive.”
“You don’t have a more official residence?” Bronwyn asked. A jab. Of course he did.
He smirked over one shoulder. “You know why we can’t stay there. Besides, having a place of my own away from prying eyes has its advantages.”
“Such as?” she prodded.
The hooded smile and wicked grin he shot her way sent her stumbling over the cobblestones. Ceridwen’s own feet turned sluggish as well. It didn’t take much imagination to figure out his implication. A reckless, carefree prince indeed.
“Ah, here we are,” Malik announced, turning the corner onto a wide street.
A grand building rose before them, several stories in height. Marble pillars stretched up to the high roof from the landing atop a flight of wide stairs that started at the street. Paintings in golden frames hinted at shows and performances, either past or present. Doors two stories high stood at the front, just below a sign in gold letters that read Grand Opera.
“An opera house.” The sight nearly stopped Ceridwen in her tracks.
“The most renowned venue. Every show draws the city’s best like flies to a corpse.”
She gagged. Between his vile description and the stench of the city, she was lucky not to spill her meager meal from the train into the street.
“Why are we here?” Ceridwen asked once she’d recovered.
“Trust me, you’ll see.”
Dread washed over her as an inkling of his plan settled in, but she followed him to the side door without question. Outside the door were small posters resembling ones they’d seen at the station. Missing people—all who’d disappeared at night.
They’d heard the rumors, even in Teneboure. Now that they were here, the signs of trouble, of darkness, were impossible to miss if one knew what to look for.
Three solid raps drew the attention of an attendant who showed them into a small parlor. Plush velvets of crimson, gold, and shades of pink highlighted the cushions of elaborately carved furniture within the gaudy room. Painted posters of former shows and acts hung from the walls. A vibrant arrangement of greenery and winter flowers occupied a table in the middle of the seating area, so large Ceridwen could barely see over it.
After a few minutes, a busty woman with ringlets of long, golden hair burst through the door. Heavy makeup painted her entire face, from bloodred lips to coal-darkened eyelids and rouged cheeks. An equally curious woman with bright-teal hair and dark skin followed.
“My favorite patron has finally returned to pay me a visit,” the first announced.
The woman’s masculine voice did not fit her appearance. And as Ceridwen looked closer, neither did the slight bulge on her neck.
“Wynni.” Malik bowed and kissed the back of her hand, which she’d offered to him. “Your favorite patron has come to ask a favor. An urgent one.”
Her eyes glittered. “You know I do love a good intrigue. Speaking of, I don’t think you’ve met my new assistant, Chesa. She comes up with the most fascinating tales.”
Chesa gave a quick bow before her grin stretched wide to flash bright-white teeth as she tilted her head this way and that, studying them each in turn with rapt fascination.
“We’ll have an incredible opera this next season for sure. There’s the one she’s come up with about a secluded island ruled by two families, the sons of which are both in love with the same woman, who—”
Malik coughed loudly, cutting her off. Though Ceridwen had only heard half of what she’d said since Chesa kept staring at her like she could see every single thought in her head—a truly terrifying possibility.
“Ah, apologies. I get so excited, you know,” Wynni said, stifling a laugh. “We’ll talk later. Now then who are these lovely ladies with you?”
Bronwyn stepped up first. “Bronwyn Kinsley,” she said with a curtsy. “And my sister, Ceridwen.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Ceridwen added with a curtsy of her own, doing her best not to let her unease show.
Boisterous laughter, pitched too high to be natural, filled the room. “Lovely. I’m Wynnifred Prosser, though I suppose he’s told you that.” She pointed a manicured nail at Malik. “Welcome to my opera house.”
She waved them toward the seats. “Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, what is this favor?”
Malik made himself comfortable on a pink settee before he said, “I’d like you to let Ceridwen perform on your stage.”
Wynni took her in appraisingly.
“Tonight,” Malik added.
Ceridwen’s breath hitched and she sat a little straighter. Wynni’s sculpted eyebrows reached higher as her gaze shifted between the prince and Ceridwen.
“And the next several nights if needed.”
No.Me? Perform on a stage? She couldn’t. Yes, it had been a dream once, but playing for so many people… The possibility of it made her dizzy and she clutched the cushion beneath her for support.
“She looks like she might faint first,” Chesa whispered to Wynni, but the other woman ignored her as she pulled a paper fan from her dress pocket, unfolded it in a snap, and fanned herself.
“My, that is quite the request,” Wynni replied.
“She’s very talented.” Malik leaned in and began gesturing with his hands, his chin lifting with the practiced confidence of someone used to getting their way. “Besides, I could make your house renowned. Famous for all time.”
A small smile lit her face. “It already is, darling. Besides, I have plenty of my own singers.”
Ceridwen’s heart skipped a beat. He couldn’t mean for her to sing. She shifted in her seat. “I can’t—”
Chesa stood abruptly, and Ceridwen’s protest died. The woman with teal hair stepped in front of Ceridwen’s seat and bent over until their faces were nearly level. But Chesa wasn’t looking at her, not exactly anyway. Her gaze seemed to be far away and so close at all once. Suddenly she straightened and looked back at Wynni. “She has a story, this one. A song, but not a spoken one.”
The idea of the woman prying into her mind suddenly felt all too plausible. Ceridwen glanced at Malik, not bothering to shield the panic she knew must be visible in her eyes.
However, Malik’s pinched brows smoothed out as did his stiff posture. “How astute,” he replied, unruffled. Then to Wynni, “She plays the flute better than anyone you’ve heard. And she happens to have the third act of The Blessings of the Goddess in her possession.”
The fan halted. “It doesn’t exist,” Wynni said, but her eyes gleamed with interest, her voice carrying an intensity that begged for what he claimed to be true even though she’d been quick to deny it.“It does. I’ve seen it myself,” he said, reclining with a smug smile.
A silent conversation passed between Chesa and Wynni. Then, Wynni took Ceridwen in again, finally noticing the case she clutched for dear life. “Well then, why don’t you play for me, dear?” She snapped the fan closed. “But if I’m going to rearrange my schedule at the last minute, it better be good.”
Bronwyn cinched her sister into the corset, pulling the string so tightly Ceridwen gasped.
“I won’t be able to play if it’s too tight,” she reminded her.
“The dress Wynnifred found for you won’t fit if this isn’t tight.” Her regular cast were all tiny or curvaceous, with few in between, much to Ceridwen’s misfortune. This dress, a confection of pink-and-white lace, proved the best she could find on short notice.
“Besides,” Bronwyn continued. “She loved your playing so much that she agreed to completely change her evening program for the entire week. Even her strange assistant clapped like a little kid after just one song. I doubt the rare off note will hinder her regard.”
“It’s not her attention I’m after.”
Their plan was haphazardly pieced together at best. Get Ceridwen on the stage in front of a massive audience to play a song most didn’t believe existed. Her music, along with the song, should spread gossip around the city in no time, especially if Wynnifred gushed about it as well, which she promised to do. With any luck, Drystan would hear the rumors and make an appearance of some sort.
If they weren’t already too late. She pushed the thought away, refusing to let it fester.
One thing was certain, though. They couldn’t just wander into the castle looking for him. Malik was reluctant to return yet for fear of his father restricting his movement or immediately ordering him off on some other venture.
Malik left the sisters in Wynnifred’s care while he went to retrieve the sheet music. Ceridwen hadn’t memorized the third movement yet, not all of it. Improvising would not work for this show. To impress such a particular audience, used to seeing and hearing the best talent in the country, she would need to be perfect.
Bronwyn helped her into the dress and then stepped back as two women rushed in to attend to her hair and makeup.
“Nothing will do but the very best. Wynni’s orders,” the older one informed Ceridwen as she gaped at the baskets of supplies they toted with them.
While they worked to transform her into a new woman, Ceridwen thought of Drystan. More than once, the ladies reminded her not to mar their work when her eyes turned glassy and far away.
Even if Drystan could kill the king, one couldn’t simply murder a monarch without repercussions. Not easily. Malik didn’t want the title and surely wouldn’t take it seriously. No one else stood in line for the throne.
Unless a certain prince were no longer dead…
For that, they’d need to clear his name. And sully the king’s.
Ceridwen jumped as the doors burst open. With her makeup complete to the women’s exacting standards and her hair done up in waves and curls, she looked like something she never expected to be—a high-class lady. Ceridwen couldn’t imagine a way to improve the look, yet the two women still poked and prodded the curls, adding pins here and there.
“Isn’t it perfect?” Wynnifred exclaimed. “She’s lovely. Let the poor girl be so she can look.”
The women stepped away. Freed, Ceridwen turned and gasped at the sight before her. Chesa held a large piece of parchment, and on it shown Ceridwen’s likeness. Or what she assumed to be her likeness. A dainty blond woman played the flute on a grand, lighted stage. Her name stood out in bold print at the top. The painted image faded at the bottom to give way to further words. “Hear the incredible third movement of The Blessings of the Goddess. This week only!”
She gaped in wonder. Her dream from long away would be coming true, yet instead of the urge to jump for joy, all she felt was apprehension—worry for Drystan, for herself, for all of them.
“It’s lovely,” she managed.
“Better than lovely.” Wynnifred laughed.
“And by tomorrow, we’ll have made enough copies to paste them all over the city. Plus, I may have written a little story to accompany some of them.” Chesa’s eyes gleamed. “A poor lovesick woman prayed to the Goddess for aid, and in return the Goddess blessed her with a song, and now she’s sharing it with the world.”
Ceridwen’s smile faltered a bit. Had Malik told her about Drystan? Surely not.
Wynni clapped twice, and Chesa rolled up the poster, retreating with a little bounce in her step.
“Don’t let me down out there.” Wynni patted Ceridwen’s shoulder. “Ten minutes.”
So soon?
When the time was right, Wynnifred led Ceridwen to the stage. Her music had been set up on a stand in the center. Bright light from the gas lamps lit all around the edge of the wooden platform blinded her view of the audience. They were there, though. Murmurs filled the air, along with the occasional cough, laugh, and jostle of bodies as people took their seats.
“A full crowd.” Wynnifred smiled before strutting onto the stage to introduce her. In the opposite wing, Malik and Bronwyn looked on, each giving Ceridwen an encouraging smile.
Goddess, give me strength.
The crowd quieted when Wynnifred demanded their attention. “And now, for your listening pleasure, may I introduce Miss Ceridwen Kinsley.”