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Malik

M alik watched Bronwyn as she stared out the window on the carriage bench across from him. She’d been quiet all day, more reserved than he’d ever seen her, as if all the nastiness of the world was finally starting to wear her down.

More than anything, he wanted to pull her into his arms and soothe her worries. But he wouldn’t press her, not on that, anyway. He' meant every word he’d said after the party. He would be there when she was ready. However long that took … and however difficult the waiting.

She’d told him about the protest the day before, as well as the results of her afternoon tea with Charlotte Davies. The appointment had been cut short, but she’d gotten the information they needed. Miss Davies wasn’t using dark magic or harboring any dark spells, at least not then. Still, Malik refused to consider her innocent. He didn’t believe in coincidences, not really, and in his eyes, her unique ring made her a suspect until they found evidence to the contrary.

Not that he would tell Bronwyn that. He sensed that she desperately needed some good news to cling to, and he wouldn’t be the one to spoil it.

Besides, they had bigger things to worry about, plans that might finally reveal the real players at work.

The carriage rocked to a stop in front of the opera house. He’d made sure to request a coach without the royal seal or colors on it. Something more discrete for their outing.

“Are you sure you want to come?” Malik asked. “I can handle this myself if you’d rather not be involved.”

“No,” she said at once, seeming to snap out of her thoughts. “I want to help if I can.”

Drystan had been strangely pleased when Malik reported finding the presence of dark magic at the opera house. That made sense, though; any good lead or opportunity brought him one step closer to saving Ceridwen.

Bronwyn had been less pleased. Though no one could doubt her love for her sister, upon hearing the news, her eyes had turned glassy. She’d waffled between sorrow and anger.

Similar emotions had plagued Malik. Finding the presence of dark magic there, reasoning that it could be a target, felt personal somehow, like the dragons had planned an attack where it would hurt the most.

But then, it wouldn’t be the first time they tried to cut the royals where they would bleed the worst. They’d done just that with Ceridwen. Who knew how many other attempts they’d made that never came to fruition?

Malik had sent word ahead that he and Bronwyn were coming. Wynni was waiting for them in her office. The gaudy room, decorated in pink fabric and gold-painted wood, was about the most atrocious space imageable, yet it fit Wynni to a tee. He supposed when one had the fame and financial success that she did, one could arrange one’s office however they liked.

The opera house owner’s usually bright aura was subdued as she gestured to the open chairs on the other side of her ostentatious desk. Malik and Bronwyn sat. “I suppose you’re not here to tell me that you’re finally engaged,” she said without preamble.

Bronwyn stilled as if she’d been turned to stone. Her eyes flew wide. A flush broke out across her chest.

“Unfortunately not, no,” Malik replied after he, too, had had a moment to recover from his shock. He’d expected direct questions after his letter, but not … that .

“Thought not.” She sighed heavily and leaned back in her chair. “Though a woman can wish, can’t she?”

A wish he shared. One he was determined to make true … someday. But that day was not today.

Wynni’s eyes suddenly narrowed. “He didn’t break your heart, did he?” she asked Bronwyn. “Because if he’s gone on some foolish noble tirade or denied his feelings—”

“It’s not that,” Bronwyn said quickly. “It’s— This is not about us.”

One carefully painted brow arched upward. “So, there is an ‘us?’”

“Wynni…” Malik warned, even as Bronwyn frowned.

“Oh, fine, fine.” She waved her hand back and forth. “So, what is this urgent matter that’s taking me away from our final rehearsals?”

Malik and Bronwyn proceeded to tell Wynni a summarized version of their struggles against the dragons, both since Drystan had claimed the throne and, more importantly, since Ceridwen had been cursed. It was a risk, letting anyone in on their secrets, even someone he trusted as much as Wynni. But the truth was, they needed help, and if the premiere of the new opera was to be a target, she needed to know. Even Drystan had, reluctantly, agreed on that front.

One slip to the wrong person, one individual running off to spread rumors of what was really happening in the castle—about the cursed queen, the fake wedding moon, how close the dragons were to truly ending the king’s reign and sending the country into chaos—could be the straw that broke them.

But without risk, the odds of victory diminished every day.

It didn’t take long for all traces of humor to flee from Wynnifred, or for her to grab a bottle of spirits from a desk drawer and pour three glasses. Even Bronwyn took a sip and, rather than being disgusted as he expected, seemed to appreciate the strong beverage.

“Damn.” Wynni took a swig of whiskey. “I knew there was something more going on, but I never imagined… Damn. That poor girl. Just when all was looking so bright and right in the world.” She stared at the bottle in silence before looking back at Malik. “And my opera house is to be the next target of one of these accidents, you think?”

“We do,” Malik confirmed, hating it all the while. “The spell on Bronwyn’s painting wouldn’t have triggered unless someone there, in that very room, was a user of dark magic or in possession of it.”

Bronwyn sat forward in her chair. “Some of the other accidents have taken place at large and notable events—the wedding, the art gallery, the races. You said yourself that this opera premiere will be the event of the season.”

“I should just cancel the whole damnable thing,” Wynni grumbled.

Bronwyn jolted. “No. You can’t!”

Wynni stared at her like she’d grown a second head. “I’ve always thought you a smart one, girl, but if you think I should sit by and let disaster befall my troupe, my opera house—”

“Not disaster,” Malik said with as much calm as he could muster. “You know I’d never want any harm to come to you or this place. Bronwyn, either. But this”—he jammed a finger on the top of the desk—“is the first time we’ve had a clue about what they might be planning and when. We can prepare. Stop them. And catch the bastards while we’re at it.” He slammed a fist down a little too hard, making the desk groan. The impact reverberated in the tense silence.

Wynni stared hard at both of them in turn. “You know I hate secrets. Especially ones that affect my people.”

“We told you as soon as we discovered it.” Well, a day later, but close enough.

She sighed. “So you did. And I do want to help, you know that.” She drained the contents of her glass and pushed it aside. “It’s still hard to imagine that someone I’ve hired, trusted, let in to my business—my home—would be plotting such a thing.”

“They could have broken in,” Bronwyn suggested gently.

“Maybe,” Wynni mused.

“And didn’t you bring on some new help recently? Perhaps it’s one of them?”

“Aye. That I have.” She frowned. “And I guess I’m stuck with them now. If you won’t let me cancel, I don’t suppose you’ll let me fire the new ones, either.” She glared at Malik.

He shook his head. “It would arouse too much suspicion. And to Bronwyn’s point, we don’t know that they are to blame. Although…” His gaze slid to Bronwyn and the locket around her neck. It hadn’t triggered yet—they’d placed a new bespelled paper in it that morning and checked just before entering the office. “We could test it. Maybe the princess would like to offer them each her best wishes for a good show?”

“ Princess ,” Bronwyn mouthed. Her annoyance was plain, but she didn’t rebuke him.

“Then if one of them triggers the spell, we know who to watch.”

“Hmm. Yes, I like that idea. I would like to know who I get to string up by their entrails after this is all said and done.”

Bronwyn let out a small, breathy laugh, but from the gleam in Wynni’s eyes, Malik wasn’t entirely sure she was kidding.

*****

Wynni led them backstage, where they watched rehearsal wrap before Wynni called everyone together and told them that representatives of the crown were there to personally wish them luck—wasn’t that grand?

One-by-one, each performer was led to one of two dressing rooms, the men to meet Malik in one, the women Bronwyn in the other. A tiresome activity, but necessary, and brightened by the genuine enthusiasm and joy on the faces of many Malik met. Funny how a smile and handshake could brighten someone’s day—or dim it, in the case of a disgruntled few who clearly had no love for his station or title. Even so, not a one turned the paper he’d carefully set next to the guest chair black.

Bronwyn reported similar findings, and they continued with the support staff. Thankfully, they were all there that day. It was all hands on deck before a show opening, and no one was allowed a holiday.

By the time they were done, Malik’s cheeks hurt from smiling. He desperately wished to wash his hands after shaking so many others. He finally got the chance just before they retreated into Wynni’s office.

“None of them. You’re sure?” Before, she’d been offended by the idea of a staff member being in cahoots with the dragons, but now she seemed a bit disappointed that they apparently weren’t.

Bronwyn frowned. “As best we can tell.”

“I’m mean, I’ve always thought I had a decerning eye for people, but you seemed so convinced—”

“I am,” Malik interrupted, not wanting her to spring toward false hope. “The results are not entirely surprising given that your staff is almost entirely made up of commoners, is it not?”

“All save me, as far as I’m aware,” Wynni replied. “Not that the nobility choose to count me among their number anymore.”

A shame, that. Wynni had stood to inherit both wealth and title, but her inclinations and interests were frowned upon by her family, and she was eventually cast out. If she had any magic in her blood, she’d never learned to use it, a fact she’d told him years ago.

“Right,” Malik said, “so they can’t work the dark magic themselves. It wouldn’t be in their blood.” Unless they had some unacknowledged parentage or had been cast out like Wynni. But the lack of results from their little test ruled that out—at least on the dark magic front. “That doesn’t prevent them from carrying in something that is bespelled, though.”

“It’s possible they might not even know that it’s afflicted, or what the spell is meant to do,” Bronwyn added. He couldn’t help but feel the words were meant for herself as well, perhaps some wish that Charlotte hadn’t known exactly what she was doing when she gave a bespelled object to that kitchen boy. If she had.

“That does present a quandary. Your little papers”—she gestured to Bronwyn—“could they find it? If it’s still here, that is?”

“I believe so,” Malik said.

“Good.” Wynni gave a stiff nod. “Then we search the place. Leave nothing unchecked.”

A plan he’d already considered. “We need to find a way to do it without arousing suspicion. If the dragons believe we know, they may abandon their plans, and we’ll be worse off than we were.”

“Hmm, yes, that rules you two out, then.” Wynni waved at them. “A prince and princess meandering about the opera house all night?” She snorted.

“I agree. Unless we were sure everyone was in their dormitories or out for the night, it would be impossible. Even then, we’d likely miss something in this maze of a place.”

Wynni tsked. “There’s no need to beat around the bush. I’ll do it. It is my opera house. Who knows it better than me? Tell me what to look for, and I’ll let you know what I find. Then you can inspect it more closely on the morrow.”

“Thank you, Wynni,” Bronwyn said. “Really. This means so much.”

“Of course, of course.”

“I know you don’t like to think that your people could be up to no good—”

“Let me stop you right there,” she interrupted, her features softening. “You’re my people, too.” Her gaze turned unusually affectionate as she looked from Bronwyn to Malik and back again. “I have a thing for taking in strays in need of belonging, even royal ones. Though I do wish I could teach him to be a little bit more forthcoming on certain topics.” Wynni glanced at Malik askance.

He raised his hands in defense. “What did I do this time? We’ve told you all the important things.”

“It should be good practice for you coming clean to others, then.”

He nearly groaned. Wynni. Back at it again. Not even a threat on her beloved opera house could stop her from playing matchmaker.

“He does like to hide things,” Bronwyn grumbled.

Wynni froze. Blinked. Turned to Bronwyn, her lips parted. Then, all at once, she beamed. “You weren’t joking the other day, were you, Malik?” She almost leapt from her chair with glee. “Oh, you rogue!”

“Joking about what?” Bronwyn pinned him with a stare sharp as any dagger.

Goddess, these women would be the death of him.

“Do let us know what you find.” Malik rose, dusting off his pants though they weren’t dirty.

“Malik…” Bronwyn warned.

“Oh, you’ve become quite personal with him now, too,” Wynni crooned, her usual humor returning to her voice.

“I… That is…”

“Come along now, darling ,” Malik drawled as he headed for the door. “Don’t want to keep the carriage waiting any longer.”

“Malik!” Bronwyn squeaked and leapt to her feet, her cheeks bright red.

He laughed to himself, smiling honestly for the first time all day as he turned to leave the office. The fuming beauty hurried after him.