Chapter 48
Drystan waited in the thin compartment between the two sides of the mirror. He’d have sworn he wasn’t claustrophobic, but waiting there in the tight space nearly drove him mad.
A stagehand came in once, depositing fresh red roses in a large vase similar to others dotted around the room, bearing clusters of the long-stemmed flowers. Other more seasonal arrangements stood on the gilded vanity and low table set between a number of cream-colored seats.
She’d amassed quite the number of favors in just a few days, enough that he had to fight the prickle of jealousy trying to worm its way under his skin.
But where was Ceridwen? She should be back by now. Every moment that drew by increased his worry until a sheen of sweat broke out on the back of his neck.
He hadn’t failed to notice that the royal box was occupied that night, or who exactly lingered there. The idea of the king that close to Ceridwen set even his beast on edge, all the calm and comfort of her songs fading in the wake of the terrible possibilities his mind wrought.
Finally, the door opened.
Ceridwen entered, even more mesmerizing this close than she was on stage. Though he’d seen her not long ago from above, he almost couldn’t fully convince himself she was real. Here, in the capital, in an opera house no less.
“Did you leave already?” she mused aloud, sinking onto a pale settee.
“Ceridwen,” he called through the glass.
She leaped to her feet, turning this way and that. “Drystan? Where are you?”
“Come to the mirror.” Though he’d tried to open it, the thing held firm from his side. Still, some lock on her side might not keep him from breaking the damnable thing just for the assurance that no one else would ever use it to sneak into her dressing room.
Ceridwen crossed the distance and placed her hand upon the glass. Drystan mirrored it, his larger hand dwarfing hers through the blurry, aged surface.
She gasped, her gaze focusing on his hand against hers, barely separated. “It is you.”
“Yes, I’m here,” he promised, savoring the look of wild relief that crossed her face. “There must be some kind of lock on your side. Check the frame.”
Leave it to Malik to give incomplete instructions.
In haste, Ceridwen ran her palms around the edge of the frame, searching for a release. After a moment, something clicked, and Drystan found that he could move the glass frame.
Ceridwen jumped back as the frame swung wide, and Drystan stepped into the room.
“Ceridwen,” he gasped, seeing her before him, no barrier, no stage in the way.
He expected her to run to him, to hug him, or perhaps to weep. He did not expect her to glance away. A tingle of doubt anchored him to the ground, unease wrenching him harder than when he’d spoke with Lord Stellan earlier that day, sharing his secrets and possibly sealing his doom.
“You left me,” she whispered.
He dropped his head and slumped his shoulders. Ah… “It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.” He gripped the mirror frame to steady himself in the wake of her rejection. “I only wanted to keep you safe.”
That and far, far away from the king and the capital. Yet on that score, he’d failed. He feared the headstrong beauty might beg to join him if he’d stayed. But venturing here on her own, albeit with Malik and Bronwyn, was something he never expected.
“And you really thought running away was the best option?” She sniffled, on the edge of tears.
“If it kept you away from here, far from harm, then yes.” The mirror frame cracked in his grip.
“Well, I’m here now.” She stared him down.
Damn him, she was. Yet there he stood, like a scolded boy, instead of showing her just how much she meant.
Drystan rushed forward, wrapping her in a crushing embrace. She sniffled again but did not pull away or struggle. Tears dripped onto his dark shirt as he pressed a soft kiss to her hair. Holding her, feeling her in his arms, her scent in every breath he took was a fantasy, one he’d longed for since the moment he left her lying in his bed. “I love you, Ceridwen. I’m so proud of all you’ve done and accomplished here.” It wasn’t lost on him that she’d taken the reins of her life into hand and made her dreams come true. His brave, strong woman. “The people love you, and I’m so glad I got to hear you play from the shadows tonight, to see you one last time, but now you have to leave this place.”
“No,” she mumbled into his chest.
“Go back to Teneboure,” he continued, ignoring her. “Forget all this. Live a good life with your family.”
She had to be safe and far from here. He could accept whatever fate awaited him. After the harm he’d caused and the fool he’d been as a youth, he deserved whatever future the Goddess dealt. But if the worst happened, if only death and despair awaited him, he could face it if he knew she was out of harm’s way first.
Ceridwen slammed a fist against his shoulder. “No, do you not listen?” She shoved him hard and stepped away. “I’m already here, and I’m not leaving. I cannot now anyway.”
His heart skipped a beat. “What? Why not?”
“The king…” She swallowed, pausing and weighing her words. But Drystan only saw red. If he hurt her, if he’d found out what she meant to him and had done something… His beast growled within him, a bit of the sound slipping through and causing Ceridwen’s eyes to fly wide.
“He asked me to play at a midwinter party in two days,” she hurried on. “My absence would not go unnoticed.”
Drystan”s jaw clenched. “When?”
“Moments ago.”
Drystan turned and slammed his fist into a nearby wall, cracking the plaster. “Damn it!”
If only he’d gotten there sooner, or better yet, had just killed the bastard when he first arrived.
“Shhh, someone will hear.” Ceridwen rushed to calm him down.
“I’ll kill him then. Or before. Somehow. Then you’ll be free, and he nor anyone else—”
She pressed her fingers lightly over his lips, silencing the spew of his thoughts. “No.” He held silent until she dropped her arm to her side.
“Is that all you know how to say?” A grin twitched at the corner of his mouth.
A blush creeped to her cheeks as she pursed her lips. Somewhere along the way, their roles had switched. “No,” she teased, mocking his line from weeks ago.
Drystan trailed a gloved hand across her cheek and down her neck, savoring the gooseflesh rising in its wake and the shiver that rolled down her body. He cupped the back of her neck, just under her elaborate updo, and this time, she did not look away or pull back.
“Ceridwen.”
He met her lips with his in a show of all the pent-up desire surging within him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning into him as if he might vanish and she could somehow hold him there. Though he’d long enjoyed music, he’d never made a study of it himself. Though there, locked in an embrace with the woman he loved, he suddenly understood how two distinct melodies could come together to form something even more magical.
Long after their kiss ended, she remained in his embrace, her cheek against his chest and her body pressed against his. She fit there. She belonged there. Every second he could hold her in his arms was a gift.
“What do you plan to do?” she asked eventually.
“Kill him. Avenge my family as well as your mother. Clear my name and escape if I can, though that may be too grand a dream.”
A soft smile pulled at her lips as she stared up at him. “Grand dreams are the best kind. The ones most likely to succeed.”
He tried to smile in return, but it faltered. “I don’t deserve it. The things I’ve done…”
“Because of your uncle. Because of the darkness he lured you into.”
“The blood is still on my hands. I committed the action, no matter the reason.” No amount vengeance could wipe that clean.
“We cannot change that. The past is done, even if we wish it otherwise. But we can build a better future,” she said. “You taught me that. I cannot bring Mother back, but I can move forward. I have, however hard.”
Whatever trials of the darkness she stared down, this woman persisted in spite of them. The wonder of it, the resilience of her spirit, was enviable, and so much stronger than his own.
“When you talk like that, I want to believe everything is possible,” he whispered.
“Then do. But we’ll need some help. Stay here a moment.”
“Wait.” He grabbed her arm. “I can’t involve you. It’s too dangerous. Nor anyone else. I’ve come this far alone. I’ll—”
“Not alone,” she interjected. “You trusted Malik and me to help you. You trusted Jackoby and the others to keep your secret even before then.”
He frowned. “Trusting others got me into this mess. It’s best I go alone.”
“We’re not your uncle.” She took his hand in hers. “Misplaced trust may have gotten you into this, but properly placed trust can get you out.” Drystan opened his mouth, but Ceridwen rushed on before he could protest. “Trust me, if no one else.”
“Ceridwen…” His shoulders slumped.
“You can’t hide from the world forever. We’ll do this. Together.”
A brief nod was all he had the time to give before she rushed to the door.
Ceridwen showed Malik and Bronwyn into the room, the latter of which did not appear surprised by his appearance. Apparently, Malik had filled her in.
“The midwinter party the king is hosting is going to be our chance,” Ceridwen said, keeping her voice in a low whisper as they settled in close within the seating area.
In anyone else, such confidence and fervor would have delighted him, but coming from her, it only made him anxious. The more he tried to keep her from harm, the further she threw herself into it.
“I’m going to play for the king at the party, just as he asked. He requested a few songs, but perhaps I’ll make the last one a vocal performance.” Her gaze drifted to Drystan, every word out of her mouth sending his spine straightening until it hurt. “I’ll write my own, one to tell your tale and reveal the deceptions of the king.”
And get herself killed in the process. “No. You can’t—”
But she kept going. “Drystan, you can reveal your true identity, proof that the king lied to the people. Once the people see the truth, you can kill him with the blade.”
He bared his teeth, a snarl slipping through. “This is—”
Malik crossed his legs on the sofa, ignoring him. “Interesting, but you’re missing some important details. For one, my father is incredibly powerful. He’s honed the darkness for years. And secondly, there will undoubtedly be guards to contend with.”
“We’ll knock them out. Distract them…”
Drystan rose, raking a hand through his hair. It will never work.
“All of them?” Bronwyn asked skeptically. “And if some are innocent and get hurt?”
Drystan halted his pacing. At least one of them saw reason.
“A barrier spell might help. Or rather, several of them,” Malik supplied. “One to keep dark wielders, like my father, contained. Another to halt the advance of the guards.”
“As if we can work such a spell on the spot,” Drystan snapped.
Malik shrugged. “I have a suspicion where within the palace he’ll host the party, one I can easily confirm. We’ll work the spells in advance and be strategic in their placement to make sure they don’t get triggered early and raise suspicion. The trick will be finding a time to place them when no one’s looking.”
That part seemed plausible. “I could work some,” Drystan said, “under the guise of carrying out the orders of the king.” Goddess, help me, am I agreeing with this nonsense?
“As could I, now that you mention it,” Malik said. “I’m better with barriers anyway, and my father insists I visit the castle first thing in the morning. The area I think they’ll use for the party is naturally divided, so it might not be terribly difficult. Father doesn’t like to mingle, even with other nobles, but you know how he loves to be seen.”
More like worshiped from afar. Seen, praised, the center of their attention, but Goddess forbid he mingle with them as if they were equals. Even before he was king, the man held himself with such arrogance that he should have known he’d be happy with nothing less than the crown, but Drystan wasn’t about to start down that path.
“But what about getting the king to confess?” Bronwyn asked, leaping to her feet and staring at them all as if they’d lost it. Perhaps they had.
The pieces Malik laid out made a certain sense that he couldn’t fully fault, though involving Ceridwen was another matter. He’d have to discuss it with her and make sure she truly understood the danger they were all in. The thought of her anywhere near the king made his insides hollow out and his monster stir. He’d lost too much to the man already.
“From the sound of him, he’d never admit his own crimes,” Bronwyn said.
No, he definitely won’t.
“A truth spell?”
Drystan glanced at Malik and shook his head. “It’s complex light magic. I don’t know it.”
“But I do,” his cousin responded.
Drystan gaped.
Malik’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “My mother was quite proficient. She made sure I memorized that one long before her death.”
That poor woman had deserved so much more, as had his own parents. Perhaps she’d realized the true nature of her husband and took steps many years ago to protect her only son from his father’s ministrations.
“If we get him in the right area, we might be able to get him to reveal what happened to the king and queen in front of an audience,” Ceridwen supplied. “That, combined with my song, would surely sway some minds.”
“I have a few nobles on my side already,” Drystan confessed.
Malik raised his brows, appraising him in a new light. “So quickly?”
Drystan nodded. “I had to work fast, but those loyal to my parents remain. Maybe, if we’re—”
A heavy knock sounded at the door. “Ceridwen,” Wynni called through the door. “You have a guest to see you.”
Everyone’s attention snapped to Drystan. No one knew of his presence there outside those in the room.
He ran for the mirror, slipping into the passage with inhuman speed. No matter who lingered outside that door, it was best they didn’t see him.
“Yes, who is it?” Ceridwen called.
Drystan stared through the mirror at the man who entered, squinting and blinking several times to try to make him out through the cloudy glass, but Bronwyn cleared his confusion in a moment.
“Adair?” she asked, rising from the settee. “What in the name of the Goddess are you doing here?”
What in the name of the Goddess indeed…
“Nice to see you too, sis,” he replied as Wynni shut the door behind him.
Adair crossed to his sisters, ignoring Malik completely. The young man really was a fool not to pay attention to the people in his midst.
“My regiment has been stationed here for the rest of the season. Training rotation.” He shrugged.
“Yes, we know that,” Ceridwen said. “But why are you here?”
“Why are you here, dear sisters?” he retorted. “I could barely believe it when I saw my youngest sister on a poster. I thought it must be some girl with the same name, but then I asked around, and well, I decided to come check it out for myself. I didn’t expect to actually find you here. Either of you. Or you for that matter,” Adair said, finally addressing Malik. “What happened to the other one?” he asked Ceridwen. “Lord Winterbourne? Or are you off him now?”
Drystan barely held in a growl, his monster pacing under his skin. If this boy ruined all that they worked for…
“Go home, Adair. We’re fine,” Ceridwen said. “I’ll explain later. You should leave.”
He scratched the back of his neck. “I know I made a mess of things last time—”
“And the time before,” Bronwyn interjected.
“Then too,” he said. “But I intend to make up for it. Just…tell me why you’re in the capital playing in an opera house?”
“For the money.” Ceridwen crossed her arms, staring her brother down with such confidence a trained actress couldn’t have done it better.
Adair laughed. “And they what? Heard you play once and decided to give you a major role? I doubt it.”
Drystan tightened his hands into fists. He leaned against the ruined frame, ready to spring free.
Malik rose to his feet before he could and said, “Want me to kick him out?”
“Please,” Bronwyn snapped.
Malik advanced on Adair, who hastily stepped away, but Ceridwen bolted between them. “Wait.” She whirled on her brother. “Adair, how many men do you know in the castle guard here?”
The headstrong fool notched his chin higher. “Quite a few since that’s where my regiment is stationed this time. Why?”
Ceridwen… Don’t…
Malik spoke the warning racing through his mind. “If word gets out…”
“Trust me,” Ceridwen said to Malik, and then stared past him at the mirror, straight at Drystan, where he hovered in the gloom.
Trust you? Certainly. Your brother?Something popped in Drystan’s jaw as his teeth ground together.
Ceridwen turned to her brother. “Swear on the Goddess that what we tell you will never leave this room.”
Adair stood straighter, his gaze flickering between his sisters. Eventually, he said, “I swear it.”