Chapter 49
Ceridwen explained the plan to Adair, who turned pale and nearly lost his supper on the rug. Drystan’s sudden reappearance from the mirror didn’t help matters. But at the end of it all, once they laid bare in minutes the truth it had taken her months to uncover, his shock and disbelief transformed into a sullen silence so uncharacteristic of her brother that Ceridwen worried the revelations might have broken something in him. Eventually though, he stared between his sisters in a silence so full of words she could taste the unspoken apology in the air.
“Get me a sash, a mark of the king’s guard, and I’ll do it,” Adair promised. “If I can help at all, I will. For my sisters.”
“It’s settled then,” Malik said, rising to his feet so quickly, Ceridwen would wager he’d been about to do that anyway if Adair had kept quiet a moment longer. “Now I need to find blood. It will take more than my own and my stores for the workings to be wrought.”
Adair paled further at the mention of blood. They’d explained a bit of that too—vaguely. He didn’t like it, any of it, but where their brother had always been a little carefree and quick, he was the opposite in this, and that, if nothing else, gave Ceridwen the confidence that he was fully on their side.
Bronwyn turned to Malik. “Take mine.”
A small gasp slipped from Ceridwen, and she sat a little straighter, gaping wide-eyed at her sister. Malik stared her down as well, perhaps searching for sincerity. His eyes dilated as he watched Bronwyn, emotions Ceridwen couldn’t quite place flashing in those green depths.
“It’s the best way I can help.” Her sister shrugged. “Everyone else has a bigger role than me.”
Neither Malik nor Bronwyn looked away from each other. Silence lingered heavy and thick until Adair coughed, rising to his feet. The sound snapped the invisible cord strung taut between them.
“Well, I need to go look up some of my old training buddies if we’re going to make this work. Wish me luck. And you two”—he looked between his sisters, his throat bobbing—“stay safe.” Adair showed himself out.
Shortly after, Malik and Bronwyn excused themselves, leaving Drystan and Ceridwen alone once again.
He wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his chin upon her head.
She sighed and eased into his warmth, savoring every fleeting moment.
“I promised to remind you how clever you are.” His whispered words drifted over her ear with the warmth of his breath, sending a shiver down her spine.
“Clever. Or very, very foolish.” She’d either signed their death warrants or discovered the key to the prison of their lives. Only, she didn’t know which. Unfortunately, the first was more likely.
“Either way, you’re very, very brave.”
His arms loosened ever so slightly. “Don’t leave, not yet.”
“They’ll be wanting to close up the opera house soon, and I need to get back.”
Logic did nothing to calm the need humming through her. “A few minutes more. Just like this.”
He tilted her chin up and to the side until his face was a breath from hers. “I have a better idea.”
Drystan’s kiss was far from chaste. He kissed like a man on the way to the gallows, one last taste of sweetness before his doom. Perhaps he was. Perhaps they all were. So Ceridwen kissed him back the same, giving everything she had to the man she loved.
He eased her down onto the settee, their mouths still locked together, sliding his fingers through her hair and ruining the careful updo Wynni’s assistants had crafted. Drystan followed her down, his weight settling over her and pressing her into the cushions. His lips left her mouth to trail kisses down her chin, her neck, her collarbone. The barest hint of teeth dug into the skin of her shoulder, causing a little yelp of surprise.
“The door locks?” Drystan asked, lapping at the spot he’d nipped.
“Y-Yes.”
“Good.” Drystan pushed up on his arms, hovering above her. His gaze hooded as he stared her down. The look alone had Ceridwen’s thighs rubbing together in response to the delicious pleasure building there.
“Stay absolutely still, my beauty. I have my own plot to see out before this night is done.” And with that, Drystan rose to lock the door, giving them a much-needed moment of peace together.
Bronwyn fiddled with the edge of the bandage wrapped around her wrist. The white cloth barely peeked out between her long sleeves and the dainty gloves on her hands.
“Nervous?” Ceridwen asked, if for no other reason than to distract herself from the monstrosity they approached.
Outside the carriage window, tall stone buildings rose into the sunlit sky, bathing the road they traversed in shade. Only a few more blocks and they’d reach the castle. Already, its towers rose above the high buildings, purple pennants waving in the slight breeze.
“A little.” She tugged down her sleeve, covering the bandage. “But my job is easy. I’m just the help after all.” She gave a tight smile.
Bronwyn would pose as Ceridwen’s attendant rather than her sister today, there to make sure the king’s musician had everything she needed for the performance. Ceridwen had hoped she’d stay at Malik’s apartments, especially after Chesa volunteered with a little too much enthusiasm to be her assistant, but no such luck. She should have known, given her stubborn will, that she’d insist on coming along.
“The better question is, how are you doing?”
The crimson silk skirts of Ceridwen’s dress spilled out around her, and she tried to smooth them down. Anything to calm herself. She attempted a smile but failed.
Someone would die today. Maybe many someones. Whatever the result, she’d be at fault for putting this plan into action. Each bounce of the carriage stirred the tight bundle of knots in her stomach.
Bronwyn reached out across the narrow space between them and covered Ceridwen’s hand with hers. “Malik finished his workings, and if things go oddly, we can always make a run for it.”
They’d heard nothing from Drystan. She didn’t really expect to, but the silence worried her. Had he been successful? Would he be able to let them know if he wasn’t? And Adair… Who knew if they could trust his so-called friends and regiment members. They might have sold them out already.
The carriage rocked to an abrupt halt, sending the women sliding along the velvet seats. Ceridwen’s flute case nearly tumbled off her lap and onto the floor.
“Idiot driver,” Bronwyn grumbled.
When the driver finally came over to open the door, Bronwyn exited first with the flute case, as expected of an attendant. Ceridwen followed with careful steps. Between the billowing skirts and heeled boots, she surprised herself by not tumbling into the street.
Ceridwen didn’t need to shade her eyes as she stared up at the high castle walls looming before them. The setting sun had already dipped beyond their reaches, though evening was still a little way off. Tonight’s event would begin as soon as the sun touched the far horizon. She performed third. If they could make it until then without someone discovering the wards or something else going awry, they might have a chance.
Bronwyn passed their papers to the guards stationed at the gated side entrance. Early guests would already be milling around the main gates awaiting entry. Performers had their own entrance.
“Miss Ceridwen Kinsley, as requested by the king.”
The man gave the papers a thorough inspection before he nodded to his companion, who opened the gates. “I’ll show you to the waiting area.”
Numerous performers waited with their attendants in the space provided, occupying the plush chairs that filled of the room just off the central yard. Time passed more slowly than the melt of snow in winter, but eventually the noise outside grew, and excited murmurs tickled her ears, hinting at the many people in attendance at the king’s party.
Potential witnesses. If they could keep them here long enough.
The first performer, a dancer wearing layers of thin, flowing silks, was called for. A wall of sound burst inside as she exited to thunderous applause and cheers.
Her performance most likely wouldn’t last long, nor would the next, a man who twirled flaming knives. Ceridwen stiffened in the chair. Soon she’d be up.
Each minute stretched like an hour. Her throat grew dry despite the water she sipped. Her boots tapped lightly on the floor. Everything would fall apart if she couldn’t play at all.
The door opened again, revealing a middle-aged woman in forest green with two long feathers sticking out of the brown hair pulled back behind her head. “Miss Kinsley, you’re up in just a moment.”
Outside, cheers rose as the man finished his performance. A mass of colorful bodies filled the space beyond where onlookers crowded toward the front, several holding glasses full of light-amber liquid.
Ornate crystal oil lamps hung from tall posts, bathing the area in light. More torches and lamps clung to the walls and the base of the stage. At the back of the wooden stage, erected before the crowd on one end of the yard, stood the king’s box.
The coordinator led the sisters toward the stage. Eyes roved over Ceridwen like spiders in the deep forest, leaving a tingling trail in their wake.
As they neared the stage, she froze. The king sat in the center of his box, draped in an elaborate jacket trimmed in fur that sported his vile dragon brooch, a golden crown upon his head. Malik stood a few people away, resplendent in navy and gray—traditional winter colors. A smaller crown adorned his head. At this formal occasion, he played the role of prince—for now.
A tangle of doubt tripped Ceridwen up as she caught sight of the brooch pinned to his collar. An iron dragon.
Had he turned against them? She thought they could trust him, she was so sure, but that brooch…
Ceridwen looked away, her heart racing as she took in the three men standing behind the king, almost in the shadows. All wore outfits of midnight black, like Drystan had worn the other night, but today their faces were each hidden by dragon masks that concealed their features. Two sported dark hair, one had light brown. Their skin she could not distinguish behind the mask and clothing.
Drystan, which one are you?
One man’s attention slid to her and held. Almost as if he’d heard her, though she knew it to be impossible.
“Come along, Miss,” the coordinator instructed. Behind her, Bronwyn raised her brows and cocked her head. A question and a reminder.
Ceridwen locked eyes with the young man on the stage one last time, drinking in the support he offered, before she ascended the rest of the way onto the platform.
Bronwyn opened the flute case and passed the precious instrument to her. “You’ll be fine. It’ll all be fine,” she whispered.
If only Ceridwen had her confidence. With a tight smile, she took the flute and crossed the stage. Her heels clicked along the wood, barely audible, as the crowd quieted.
The coordinator followed. Her voice rang loud and clear as she introduced the next act. “Miss Ceridwen Kinsley, playing the three movements of The Blessings of the Goddess.”
A few heads turned, accompanied by soft murmurs as the song name floated through the crowd.
A familiar tingle traced over Ceridwen’s back, igniting a true smile on her face. They could do this. I can do this.
Mother, are you watching tonight?