Chapter 52
Drystan’s monster didn’t stop with the king’s last gurgle of life. Ceridwen had known what it could do and seen some of the result, but watching it happen was an entirely different matter.
The monster feasted on blood.
Her vision turned blurry around the edges. The world spun.
Someone, possibly multiple someones in the yard, retched. Others clamored in confusion. One brave soul yelled, “Kill the monster! End this.”
Adair tried to hold him back, but it wouldn’t last for long. Already two other men pulled free their blades.
Impossibly, they’d done it. But if Drystan were to die now, it would all be for nothing. And if he lived but killed even more innocents… How much could one soul take?
Ceridwen pushed to her feet, ignoring the pain radiating through her body and the dizziness threatening to spill her onto the bloody ground.
“Ceridwen, what are you doing?” Bronwyn asked in a harsh whisper.
“Stay here. No. Go to Malik.” If anything went wrong, maybe he could protect her. Though he’d yet to rise himself.
“Don’t even—”
Ceridwen’s look silenced her. Resignation. Determination. Bronwyn didn’t try to talk her down again.
Her voice floated across the stage, clear and strong as she began to sing. “Select children she blessed with the gift of light.”
She stepped closer to Drystan, her focus on his pointed ears, the ridge of fur along his back, anywhere but the nauseating mess under his paws and jaws. Bronwyn took the opportunity to slink away, over to Malik.
“Giving them an extra share of speed, grace, and might.”
“There’s nothing to hold him back. He’s just feasted.” Malik grunted in pain. “Don’t!”
Ceridwen ignored him, too, and continued singing the third movement of The Blessings of the Goddess. It was what people had come to hear after all, even though most of the audience had long since fled. The words centered her. They calmed her soul, just as singing had before grief stole her voice. She wouldn’t let that happen again. Never.
“From blood they called forth further skill.”
The monster raised its head. A long dark tongue licked away the blood on its fangs. She nearly gagged, but a quick shake focused her attention. Adair yelled from the yard, accompanied by other men, but Ceridwen waved them off with a gesture of her hand. At least one called her mad. Others had more creative ideas or warnings.
Not now. Don’t interrupt me now.
“Given form through heart, shape, and will.”
She stepped over the corpse of the king. Claws clicked on the wood as she neared. A whimpering groan slipped out of its mouth as it sniffed the air.
“Ceridwen, step back. You can’t—”
“Don’t move yet, you idiot,” Bronwyn reprimanded Malik somewhere behind her.
“To test the hearts of man, she gifted darkness too,” Ceridwen continued to sing.
Drystan sat on his haunches, a massive wolflike monster whose head was almost as high as hers, though it sat. She reached out her hand as she sang, leaving it to hover between them just a few inches from his snout. The dark tongue flicked out, licking her fingers.
No biting. No clawing.
“A temptation one can only resist if they stay true.”
Her whole arm shook as she stepped closer, running her hands along his head over coarse, dark hair. He rubbed against her arm.
One false move, and he could bite her in two. Despite the risk, she slunk closer until she wrapped her arms around his bloodied fur and stained leathery skin.
“To balance the two, magicless humans remained.”
His body shook. A sharp whine, like an injured animal, split in the air.
“Drystan,” she whispered before the next line. “Their gray the counterpoint to the magic strain.”
Limbs shivered in her grip, giving her voice a harsh warble. Bone twisted and shifted. Fur receded. His skin changed.
“I love you. Please come back to us.”
Tears leaked down her face, dripping onto the monster slipping back into the form of a man.
“Ceridwen,” he gasped.
She smoothed her palm along his face, now more human than beast.
“I’m here. Right here.”
Weak human arms slid around Ceridwen’s body as Drystan collapsed on top of her, no longer able to maintain his strength in human form. She took his weight, sliding to the floor with him in an embrace of body and soul. Her heart stuttered as she took in the blood marring his bare skin and the wounds that covered him.
Alive, but—
“I love you,” he whispered, barely conscious.
“Hold on, Drystan. You did it. You’ll be okay.” Tears blurred her vision again. The damage to his body undid her where nothing else had.
Malik limped into view at her side, Bronwyn supporting him. In his hand, he held a glittering golden hoop. Ceridwen sniffled and wiped at her tears.
He held a crown. The crown.
Malik placed the object on Drystan’s head and dropped to one knee. Bronwyn followed.
“All hail King Tristram Ithael, the king who banished darkness once again,” he proclaimed.
The men in the yard echoed him. “All hail King Tristram Ithael.”