Page 9

Malik

M alik knelt before a young boy no more than six, who sniffled and rubbed at his eyes and nose with his fist.

“It’s okay,” the prince said in his most soothing voice, trying to calm the boy. “You’re not in trouble.”

A short time ago, Malik had returned to the castle with news of the latest disaster only to discover Kent, the under-butler, waiting for him with an update on the wedding investigation. They’d suspected one of the castle staff must have assisted the dragons in planting their spell-work, and it turned out they’d been right. Only, Malik had never expected the culprit to be so young, or so innocent.

“I—I—” The boy sniffled.

“Calm now, Harri.” The boy’s mother crouched behind him, her voice wobbling, her arms around him—probably half in comfort and half in fear that her son might be stolen away for his unfortunate part in the disaster. As if Malik could be so cruel to a child. “Tell His Highness what you know.”

The young boy, Harri, had been the one to weave a ribbon through the chain of the chandelier, a ribbon spelled with nasty dark magic. He’d been unaware of what it contained, or so the mother claimed. Rather, someone had paid the boy to do it, saying it was a good luck charm. How the dragons had managed to activate the spell at the right moment was still a mystery. Malik refused to believe the timing was simply luck.

Harri’s mother, a kitchen maid, had discovered this days ago but had only come forward to Kent today, begging that her son be spared for his naivety. As it turned out, someone else among the staff had caught wind of the affair and threatened to turn the poor kid in if she didn’t come forward.

The loyalty, however valuable, tasted bittersweet. If only they could all understand that Malik was nothing like his father.

“I’n didn’ know.” The boy sniffled. “They give me two gold coins to add it when I filled th’ lamps.”

Disaster at such a low cost. He nearly tsked.

“And who was it? Did you know them?” Malik asked.

The boy shook his head vigorously.

“What did he look like?” Kent asked.

Harri blinked up at where the under-butler stood, arms crossed, beside Malik. The boy hunched in on himself. Ridiculous, since Kent was possibly one of the most charming men on staff. His luck with the ladies, and the men, proved as much, though his debonaire looks seemed to have little effect on calming the child.

“No detail is too small,” Malik said.

“They…” The boy looked to his mother, who nodded for him to continue. “They were a woman.” Then, belatedly, “Your Highness.”

Malik’s brows rose. “A woman?” Now that was unexpected. King Rhion’s followers had been exclusively male. His father hadn’t placed as much value in women, which spoke as poorly of him as any of the horrible things he’d done despite how long a list that was. They hadn’t considered that the new leader of the dragons might share differing views … on some things, anyway. “Tell me about her.”

“She was a fine lady like. Dark hair. Could a’ been lighter.”

“How old was she?” Kent asked.

The boy chewed on his bottom lip, clearly unsure.

“About my age?” Malik asked instead.

The boy swallowed and gave one nod. “A young lady. She seemed k-kind.”

“Anything else stand out? Scar? Jewelry?”

“There … there was a pretty ring. Sparkly and big as my thumb!” His eyes positively glittered, the memory seeming to wipe away his fears. “Real strange. Like …” He made the shape of a heart with his hands.

“Anything else? Did she give you a name?”

Another vigorous head shake.

Malik reined in a sigh. Great, a dark-haired young woman. That could be a good portion of the kingdom, though if she wore such lavish jewelry, that did limit their selection.

The door to the storage room where they’d been holding the discussion cracked open, and Jackoby slipped in, looking grim even for someone as stoic as himself.

“Excuse me, Your Highness. You’re needed at once.” He shifted his attention to Kent. “You as well.”

Goddess help him, couldn’t he catch a break? Malik shoved to his feet. It seemed like they’d gotten everything they could from the boy, anyway.

“Do let us know if your son remembers anything else,” Malik said to the maid.

After being given abundant promises to do just that, Malik went with Kent and Jackoby into the main kitchen, where the head chef waited. The maid and her son fell under the chef’s supervision, so it was only right she be involved; however, Malik still preferred to keep the details of the suspect as quiet as possible.

“See that the boy and his mother are taken care of,” Malik said to the older woman.

The chef’s eyes widened. “Your Highn—”

“Not like that!” Malik snapped.

The fear fled the older woman in a rush.

Malik sighed and rubbed his forehead. All these months, and people still immediately thought the worst of him. “I meant, see that they are comforted. Make sure they have what they need. Food. Money. Whatever. I don’t want them tempted by so little. We ought to be able to meet the needs of our own and then some.” Clearly, he and the king needed to review the staff wages and make some improvements.

“I— Yes, Your Highness. Right away.”

One situation resolved—for the moment—Malik turned to Jackoby. He swore the man had paled since last he saw him. Hopefully, he was not ill. “Where are we needed?”

Jackoby swallowed. “Just come with me.” He turned on his heel, not waiting for Malik to agree.

Malik’s brows furrowed as he followed the butler, Kent a step behind. “No hint?”

“Just … just come.”

Malik looked over one shoulder, sharing a look with Kent, who shrugged. The further they ventured into the heart of the castle, the deeper the pit of Malik’s stomach grew. When they turned down the corridor to the royal quarters, the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

The halls were vacant, not a guard in sight as there usually were at all hours.

Not knowing was agony, yet he couldn’t find the voice to ask amid the deathly quiet surrounding them. He was ready to burst from his skin when Jackoby finally stopped in front of a door and knocked lightly.

Rather than go in, however, he turned and addressed them both. “What you learn does not leave this room, by order of His Majesty Tristram Ithael.” He did not wait for their reply before turning, cracking the door open, and ushering them in.

Malik saw Drystan first among the small crowd gathered and breathed a sigh of relief. But the relief was short lived. Halfway into the room, he stopped in his tracks. Every fear became a glaring, cold reality as he took in the form lying motionless on the bed.

Ceridwen lay tucked in like she might be asleep, but the somber silence and quiet sniffles told a different story. Jaina, the housekeeper who’d become a surrogate mother to the Kinsley children, cried as she sat next to the queen and brushed her fingers over her cheek. Immediately, Malik sought Bronwyn, panic spiking anew at her absence, but another step into the room and he spied her where she knelt beside the bed, staring at her sister.

“What happened?” His voice hardly sounded like his own.

All eyes turned to him. The crowd consisted of Ceridwen’s family, mostly. Her brother Adair, with his arm around their father’s shoulders, trying to console the older man. Jaina and her husband Gerard, who’d tended them for years and were family by love if not blood. Of the castle staff—besides Jackoby and Kent—there was Drystan’s head housekeeper, Gwen, who presently sobbed into a handkerchief. The only two whose names he didn’t know were the guards sitting dejected and alone in a corner.

Drystan bared his teeth, a deep growl rumbling through the room before he spoke. “My wife was attacked.” The hard edge in his voice and the sight of his white-knuckled fists had Malik’s heart kicking in a new way. His cousin was close to losing control. Holding on by a thread.

“Attacked?” he echoed, dumbstruck. “Here in the castle?”

Gerard rose from his chair, shaking his graying head. “It was something hidden in the wedding presents.”

Drystan snarled again, his eyes blazing with fury. Jackoby hurried to him with Kent not far behind. They had more experience with Drystan’s monstrous side than most, and though Ceridwen had mostly tamed it and he hadn’t slipped in months, this was liable to send him down a dark path. The violent thoughts no doubt churning through his mind weren’t helping.

They led him to a chair, whispering to be calm, that Ceridwen wouldn’t want this. Gwen composed herself and attempted to offer him wine, which Drystan briskly refused.

It was Bronwyn who answered Malik properly, rising and turning to him. “It was a metalworking of a miniature spinning wheel.” Her voice was hollow but steady. No tears stained her cheeks, but her eyes were red, her gaze vacant.

A desperate ache in his chest begged him to take her into his arms and hold her close, but he held himself back.

“It cut her, and moments later, she collapsed.” Her gaze dipped toward her sister’s still form. “She sleeps, but we cannot wake her no matter what we try.”

Relief flooded him. She was alive, then. Thank the Goddess for that. If there was any light to be found in this dark night, it was that she hadn’t died as he’d feared upon first entering the room.

“She sleeps for now, but she’ll sleep forever if we can’t undo this,” Adair spat. Fury burned in his eyes. The eldest Kinsley child had his faults, but no one could doubt his love for his sisters.

“How do you—” Malik began.

“There was a note in the package,” Bronwyn said, shifting her attention back to him.

“A threat!” Drystan snapped. He nearly lunged from his chair as he spat the words, but his staff urged him back down with calming tones.

Malik closed the distance between himself and Bronwyn. “Tell me,” he whispered.

Her throat bobbed, but she nodded. “Drystan tore apart the box it came in. Inside was a scroll.” She grabbed a small strip of paper from the bedside table and handed it to him.

One line was written on it in neat, even script.

Tristram Ithael abdicates his throne or, in one month’s time, his queen sleeps forever.

Sketched at the end of the paper was a little dragon.

A sleeping curse… Malik shuddered. Such was the work of dark magic.

He rolled up the paper and turned to Drystan. “You’ve tried your healing spells?”

The king simply snarled at him in response.

“I can try—”

“And finish the job you started?” Drystan snapped. A red sheen glazed his eyes. Several of those nearby gasped.

Malik gaped at him, horrified. “You think I’m responsible?” he asked, voice barely a whisper; then, louder, “This is dark magic. You know I don’t involve myself with that.”

“Which is the only reason you’re here and not in a dungeon.”

Malik reared back as if he’d been struck. His cousin truly thought so poorly of him, after everything? His breath came in short, quick bursts.

“If I wanted the crown, I would have taken it for myself when you killed my father. But I didn’t! I placed it on your head! You made me your heir.” He thrust an accusing finger at Drystan. “I never even wanted that!”

Drystan lurched to his feet, shaking off those that tried to stop him. “But the dragons want you on the throne.” He stalked toward him. “Why is that?”

“How should I know?” Malik scoffed. Most likely, they wanted him dead, too. He leaned in, refusing to back down. He shifted his stance and clenched his fists at his side, ready to defend himself.

“Stop it!” Bronwyn leapt between the two men, palms out to each of them.

Instantly, some of the fight went out of him.

“Stop this right now!” She scowled at both of them before turning on Drystan. “How dare you! My sister, your wife, is cursed. Dying! Yet you fight each other.” She glanced over her shoulder at Malik. “Don’t you think that’s what they want?” She looked back at the king, staring him down in that way of hers that could make any grown man cower. “They want to weaken you. To tear you down. Don’t be the monster they want you to be!”

Drystan flinched, shrinking in on himself. The red vanished from his eyes, and he looked away.

“Besides…” Bronwyn crossed her arms. “If you two keep yelling, half of the castle is going to know exactly what happened before dawn, and I thought you didn’t want that?”

“No,” Drystan grumbled.

Gwen, brave woman she was, was the first to approach him. “Now, now. Let’s calm ourselves.” She wrapped an arm around his shoulders and turned him toward the chair. “It’s been a trying night.”

Malik nearly snorted. To say the least.

Drystan sighed, and that exhale of breath diffused much of the tension in the room. He hung his head for a moment before raking his hand through his hair and glancing at Malik. “I’m sorry.”

Malik blinked. Anger, he’d expected. He was used to that. Apologizing? That was new. Ceridwen’s work, he was certain.

“I’m sorry,” Drystan repeated. “I just…” He trailed off, glancing to where his wife slumbered.

Malik followed his gaze, hand tightened into a fist. Whoever harmed her must never have met her. If they had, how could they ever choose such an innocent victim? But then, they recruited children to do their dirty work, so who knew how low they were willing to go?

“I know,” Malik said. When his mother had died, when he’d discovered his father was likely responsible… Well, he tried not to think about those days too much. It was a chapter he wished to erase.

“Good.” Bronwyn stepped back into the fray, hands on her hips. “Now, how do we wake my sister?”

Drystan hung his head once more, a clear sign that his healing spells had done nothing. It made sense. There was no physical injury here that magic could weave back together.

“We would have to understand how the curse works and design a counter,” Malik said. And that was if they could figure out the spell to place such a counter. If there even was a counter. The threat alluded to it, but the villain might plan to let Ceridwen die no matter what Drystan did.

“You have to understand dark magic?” Bronwyn confirmed.

Everyone looked at Drystan, the only dark magic wielder in the room. The only one on their side at all, most likely. They’d done a fair job eliminating or scaring off the others they’d identified.

He didn’t look up this time, simply hung his head like the weight of the whole world rested upon it. Malik supposed the weight of his cousin’s world did rest upon him.

“And if we can’t? Is there another way?” This question, Bronwyn directed to him.

There was one sure way to destroy any spell. “If we kill whoever worked the spell, it will break.”

She nodded slowly, her gaze drifting away. “Then we have to find this dragon and slay it.”