Chapter 50
Achange came over the audience as Ceridwen played. They didn’t talk to one another, carrying on as if the performer wasn’t even there, as many had with the first two. Instead, men and women stood transfixed, listening to her beautiful song spill out into the night. Some of the guards on the upper-level walk relaxed their stances. One of Drystan’s fellow dragons almost seemed to nod off, his head sliding forward before quickly snapping upright. But most amazingly, perhaps, the king sat absolutely still, not twitching nor moving as he often did.
There was a power in her music, strong as any magic.
But of all the people present, Drystan was the one who could not relax and enjoy the wondrous tune. Instead, every bit of him was on edge, standing there in the shadows as one of the king’s loyal dogs. Guards wouldn’t be seen as a threat this night, just a normal precaution. The very present stance of three dragons a bit behind the king? That was a message, a reminder to the nobles—those forced to attend and those who came eagerly—exactly who was in charge and what might await them should they step out of line.
They were lucky the king hadn’t decided on more. Drystan could no longer be sure how many the king’s dragons numbered. A few identities he knew, but many were a secret or falsified, just like Drystan Winterbourne. Even if they were successful this night, enemies, those loyal to the king, would still lurk in the shadows. Whether they would act out or fall in line, who could say?
Ceridwen drew the song to a close, the familiar last notes of the second movement of The Blessings of the Goddess hanging in the quiet evening air. Per the schedule, she should play the third, the rare piece that had commoners and nobles alike flocking to the opera house.
Instead, Ceridwen lowered her flute, stood a little taller, and stepped closer to the edge of the stage, staring out over the crowd. Drystan held his breath as she began to sing.
“Once a king and queen of light ruled the kingdom touched by night. Together they fought back the darkness to bring peace to all who lived within. But darkness grew where light had shone and rose among one of their own. The son of light fell to darkness, tricked by the king’s only brother.”
Restlessness swept through the crowd. Murmurs rose. The fine hairs on the back of Drystan’s neck stood on end.
“The monarchs sought to save their son. Too late. The king’s brother had won. The house fell ’til only the son remained. Blamed and accused, his death was faked.”
“Enough.” The king’s voice cut through hers, drawing the song to an abrupt halt. The noise of the crowd continued, building in earnest. Drystan closed his fingers around the hilt of the sword strapped to his side. It was a normal one, refined yet simple. The Gray Blade was sheathed inside his coat, out of sight and awaiting the perfect moment for its use.
Slowly, Ceridwen turned to the king, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.
King Rhion jumped to his feet and flung out a hand encrusted with sparkling rings, pointing at the woman Drystan loved. “She sings the truth!”
Gasps rang out through the crowd. Malik leaped from the edge of the royal box and onto the stage. It took everything Drystan had not to join him.
“The girl’s songs are nothing but honesty!” the king yelled again before he clamped his hand over his mouth.
Blessed Goddess.Malik’s spell struck true. He could not lie.
The king twisted this way and that, his eyes burning with inhuman rage and flickering red in the torchlight. “Alistair, rein that girl in,” he snapped.
“With pleasure.” Malik sauntered her way. A cruel smirk painted his features. His dragon brooch gleamed in the light.
Drystan edged toward the side of the raised area, aiming for an easy path to leap between the king and Ceridwen should he need to.
Chest heaving, Ceridwen retreated, the perfect picture of terror as Malik grabbed her upper arm. He turned them both to the crowd.
Drystan paused, uncertain. He was supposed to lead her away, get her out of there. They’d agreed.
“The girl has sung an interesting tune.” Malik’s voice boomed, strong and clear. “You all know me. You’ve known me all your lives. My mother, Goddess give her peace, was one of your number before she married my father. Believe me when I tell you, every word she sang is true.”
A cacophony of sound rose from the crowd, voices drowning out one another until an older man roared, “It’s true! Tristram lives! King Rhion killed his brother and the queen!”
Lord Stellan. Thank you.
“Stop this!” the king yelled, his eyes flickering an eerie and unnatural red. “Arrest them!”
That was his cue. Drystan advanced with the two other dragons, leaping from the box and onto the stage. But halfway across, his companions halted. The light-haired one slammed a fist against the invisible barrier—light magic to hold back the darkness.
“King Rhion killed King Jesstin and his beloved queen, but there is one royal he missed,” Malik yelled to the crowd.
Drystan pulled free his mask.
“Prince Tristram lives.” Malik thrust a hand toward him. “He’s innocent. Framed!”
The crowd vibrated with tension and sound. Some echoed Malik’s claim. Others hastened to the exits.
The snap of crossbows rang out just before bolts crashed into another barrier, falling to the stage in a clatter of wood. Drystan’s heart clenched tight in his chest, his monster roaring its fury. They’d aimed at Malik. At Ceridwen.
Other guards rallied against the ones who’d fired. “Listen to the prince!” one called as he knocked a man unconscious. Adair. So he held true after all and recruited a number of supporters from the look of things.
It was now or never. He had to act while the distraction held. Without another thought, Drystan pulled his sword, sprinted a few paces, and slammed the tip into one of the dragon’s chests.
The man let out a guttural groan and grunt as the blade sank deep. Drystan twisted it for good measure before pulling the blade free. The man fell lifeless to the ground.
The other, the light-haired man, gave a bestial roar. Clothing ripped, warped limbs bursting through seams, as he transformed into a dark beast. Drystan’s own echoed the call, the horrible sound ripping from his throat, but he held it back, forced it to stay buried deep inside him. Let the people see the king and his cronies for what they were, but not him, not yet.
Panic rose in the crowd, accompanied by shouts from guards begging for calm and order. Malik grabbed Ceridwen and made for the stairs leading from the stage.
Drystan faced off against the remaining dragon in his beastly form, which prowled back and forth like a wolf waiting to spring. From the corner of his eye, Drystan saw the king rush to the side of the stage, but advancing guards halted his progress. They didn’t raise a hand against their king, but neither did they let him through. Wicked claws extended from the king’s hand in a flash before they sliced a guard across his face. Screams and blood followed in their wake.
He loathed the loss, the innocents in harm’s way, but hopefully the nobles remaining in the yard would finally see their king for the monster he was. The king had submitted to the darkness to the point that there was little separation between man and monster, the man able to summon bits of his beast at will, like the garishly long claws still extended from his hands. There was no king, no beast, just one dark whole that had once been two halves.
The prowling beast sprang at Drystan. He barely had time to get his blade in front of him before the bastard was on him. The impact of the lunge knocked him to floor, his head and back slamming on the wooden stage. Sharp claws dug into his arm. Drystan roared in fury, thrashing against the monster pinning him down and narrowly dodging the snap of its maw. He twisted the blade in his hand, wrenching it up until he caught the beast in the side. It cried out and leaped and away.
Within him, his own beast begged for release, throwing itself painfully against the shell of his human form. Blood and violence beckoned, and he wouldn’t be able to hold it back much longer. The other beast sprang again, but this time, Drystan was ready. He met its swiping claws with his blade, the two meeting in a horrible screech of metal. But the beast was clumsy. Drystan’s blade sliced a deep gouge along its foreleg before it could retreat. Blood splattered on the ground as it leaped back, putting no weight on the injured limb.
“Father!” Malik’s roar carried over the chaos.
The king’s attention snapped to his son, bloody claws dripping where he’d disposed of two guards with ease.
Fuck. Run, damn it!
Malik stood little chance against his father. And Ceridwen? He started to turn his head to look for her, but the beast sprang at him again, nearly sinking its teeth into his arm before Drystan bashed it with the hilt of his blade to knock it away.
“Fool boy,” the king mocked. “I should have known you had too much of your mother in you.”
A heavy wave of air knocked into Drystan, barely letting him keep his feet. The dark cloud rushed across the open space, snuffing out several lanterns in its wake. Red sparks of magic floated down to the stage. The protective barrier was gone—destroyed by the king. Nothing would keep the people or the woman he loved safe from that monster of a man now.
A surge of dark magic floated over him, blurring his vision and tingling across his skin. The beast he faced off against roared, and his own answered. His beast lunged against him from within, sending him to one knee.
Not yet.
He shoved to his feet, facing off against his opponent, just as he heard Ceridwen scream.