Chapter 47
The house lights flickered to life, slowly illuminating the crowd, as Ceridwen took a bow. Cheers erupted, and the crowd rose to their feet from chairs cushioned in plush red fabric. Golden paint on the walls and balconies caught the light, sparkling between the press of bodies like fancy necklaces in a jewelry box.
Three days. Three sold-out shows.
The first day she’d been all nerves. The second still hadn’t felt real. Today, she finally let the joy of playing for a crowd sink in, relishing in her dream come to life.
As a little girl, she’d pretended to be a great singer on a stage. Now, she was, almost. She played her flute rather than singing, but for brief moments, the applause managed to drown out her worry for Drystan. Though, for much of the show, she could have sworn she felt eyes on her, someone watching. Not the crowd. This was a tingling from above, almost like the nights she’d believed her mother watched from the Goddess’s hallowed halls.
Long-stemmed roses splashed onto the stage, thrown by audience members in the front rows. Favors for the artist. For her. Such flowers would be very expensive this time of year, having been grown indoors during the cool season.
She gave another bow, her dress bunching on the polished wood, before making her way off the side of the stage.
“Beautiful!” Bronwyn wrapped her in a tight embrace, where she waited in the wings. Malik smiled nearby, as content and peaceful as she’d ever seen him. Perhaps this was his element after all, a place that provided him with more comfort than the role of spy or even prince.
Malik slipped in close, brushing Bronwyn’s shoulder. For once, she didn’t stare daggers at him or move away. Ceridwen cocked her head, observing the touch, but neither seemed to notice.
“There’s a fan to see you,” Malik whispered.
Ceridwen barely heard him over the din of the crowd wrapping up their praise and murmuring among themselves. Another performance would follow, but blessedly it wouldn’t be her giving it.
Ceridwen opened her mouth to reply when the words sank in. Her heart leaped. One hand flew to cover her mouth. Drystan. Finally.
Malik nodded.
“Take me there at once!” Excitement threatened to bubble out, and she couldn’t hold still.
“There’s my star!” Wynni swooped in, wrapping Ceridwen in a strong hug that nearly crushed the flute still in her grip. “You were brilliant tonight, just brilliant!” The heavy floral scent of her perfume flowed around them like a wave.
She nudged Malik out of the way and swooped her arm through Ceridwen’s. She’d never seen a person disregard status the way Wynni did. “There’s someone who wants to see you.” The opera house owner practically vibrated with glee.
“Oh, I know, we just—”
Malik dug his hand into her shoulder, cutting off her words. A quick flick of his head said everything.
Wynni didn’t know about Drystan. Then who?
“This is such a rare opportunity. We must go right away.” Wynni plucked the flute from Ceridwen’s hand. “Be a dear and put this away for us,” she ordered, passing it off to Chesa, who replied with a grin.
She didn’t wait for a reply before tugging Ceridwen along with her through the crowd backstage. Malik stuck close to her other side. In their haste, Ceridwen lost track of Bronwyn completely.
Behind the stage, people rushed this way and that, preparing for the next act, a troupe of singers who’d been a mainstay of Wynni’s shows for many years. Ceridwen nearly sighed as they escaped from the mass of movement into the quieter hallways.
“Who is it, Wynni?” Malik asked as they strode through the painted halls at break-neck speed.
“You don’t know?”
“Of course not, who—” Malik’s words choked off as two men came into view. Both were dressed alike in red jackets with black pants and boots. Their outfits resembled Adair’s military attire. These men could have been his peers in Teneboure, except for one difference. Each wore a sash across their chest, colored in purple and gold.
The men stood silently on either side of an innocuous door. Wynni practically ignored them as she rushed up, but Malik had gone pale and stiff. The thin line of his lips replaced his characteristic grin.
What’s wrong? Tell me!
Malik said nothing as Wynni presented Ceridwen before the men who knocked twice upon the polished wood. A muffled acknowledgment came from within.
One guard opened the door. Before Ceridwen could clearly see beyond, Wynni pulled her into the room.
“Your Majesty.”
Breath left her as shock gripped her heart. Wynni bent at the waist, pulling Ceridwen’s joined arm along with hers and forcing her into a bow.
The king. Holy Goddess, it’s the king.
“Ah, the musician.” His voice rang with command and authority—deep, strong, and with a slight lilt like his son.
Ceridwen’s body followed Wynni’s movements, unable to function on its own. Thoughts raced through her mind as she attempted to focus on the man in front of them, flanked by two guards similar to the ones outside. One had darkly tanned skin, the other a mess of auburn hair.
The king resembled his son, though his skin tone was a shade lighter. His dark hair sported liberal streaks of gray, and wrinkles marred what were still handsome features. But the blue of his eyes, similar in shade to Drystan’s, were colder than the icy seas near Teneboure. The smirk on his lips held cruelty instead of playful mirth like Malik’s.
How could anyone look at this man and not see him for what he was? Did they see only the title and not the darkness floating just beneath his skin?
The jewels and golden threads of his outfit would dazzle any commoner, but it was the iron brooch shaped like a dragon that caught her attention. A simple piece. And a painful reminder that caused Ceridwen’s nails to dig into the skin of her palms.
His attention flew to the door. “And my wayward son.” He crossed his arms and drummed his ringed fingers along the fine crimson velvet of his long coat. “How am I not surprised to find you here, Alistair?”
“Father.” Malik gave a stiff bow.
“Did you completely forget to check in with your report? Your charge arrived days ago.”
Ceridwen swallowed at the mention of Drystan, her throat suddenly dry. He’d made it to the city and the castle. Did the king know he waited for her here even now?
“We’ll discuss this later.” He waved a bejeweled hand at Malik, a dismissal. Malik moved to the edge of the room but did not leave.
Thank you.Even if not for her benefit, she was glad to have him near, especially as King Rhion stalked her way like a feral cat.
“Lovely concert, my dear. The best I have heard in some time.” Despite the inky feeling in her gut, Ceridwen flushed at the praise of her music.
She averted her gaze as he approached, keeping her head respectfully dipped and staring at his polished boots rather than looking the demon in the face.
“Perhaps you’d be willing to play at my castle?”
A trick question. No one could say no to the king, not if they valued their lives. She forced out her reply, careful to keep the bitter edge from her tone. “Of course, Your Majesty. When would you like me to play?”
He paced back and forth as if he were unable to stay still for more than a moment. “Two days from now. I’m hosting a midwinter party of sorts, and your music would be a delightful addition. I assume you can spare her?” This he addressed to Wynnifred. Again, it wasn’t truly a question. She couldn’t say no without risking the whole of the opera house.
“Yes, Your Majesty. It would be a great honor.” She bowed again.
“Very good,” he continued. “You may pick the songs. Three or four should be sufficient. I liked the style from today.” He waved forward one of the guards attending him. “Jasper, make sure you provide our guest with instructions for her arrival at the event.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Jasper pulled a thick piece of paper from a jacket pocket and passed it to her. They’d prepared for her acceptance before arriving at the show. Only someone used to getting their way would be so arrogant. Disgusting. The touch of paper against her palm made her skin crawl.
“That’ll be all.” He waved his hand at the women this time.
Wynnifred looped her arm through Ceridwen’s again as they both bowed to the king. Wynni hustled her from his presence before she’d even fully risen.
On their way out, the king addressed his son. “Alistair, you’ll come to me tomorrow and—”
The door shut, muffling whatever else the king said. Outside the room, Ceridwen could finally breathe again. Before they reached the end of the hall, the door opened once more, and Malik emerged, a hard look upon his face. He caught up with them halfway to the dressing room.
“An invitation to play at the castle! That’s really quite something.” Wynni beamed. From the vacant look on Malik’s face, he didn’t share her enthusiasm.
Wynni didn’t wait for a response before dropping Ceridwen’s arm and running off to attend to one of the assistants calling her name.
“What happened?” Ceridwen whispered once she’d left.
“What you’d expect. Criticism and disappointment.” He ushered her toward the dressing room. “Come on. At least you have something happy to look forward to.”
The weight on her chest lightened. Drystan, please still be there.
Bronwyn waited for them outside the room. “Where have you all been?”
“I’ll explain,” Malik offered. “Go on.”
Without hesitation, Ceridwen opened the door and stepped inside.