The Swan Kingdom Read online

  The room was dark, but enough moonlight came through the window screen to illuminate the furniture, allowing him to place me carefully on the edge of the bed. I sat up, clasping my hands in my lap as he looked down at me.

  “Shall I get a maid to come and unlace you?” he asked, his eyes going to the front of my dress.

  The bodice of the dress laced along the front, where it could be easily undone and pulled off. Shamefully I remembered the last time I had dreamed of him, and felt my skin tighten and heat. I crossed my arms over my chest hurriedly so that my treacherous body could not give me away, and shook my head.

  “Ahem.” He cleared his throat and shuffled his feet. “Well, I’ll wish you goodnight then.” With an unfamiliar clumsiness, he ducked down and pressed a swift kiss on my lips. Before I could kiss him back he had turned away, framed in the doorway just as he had been when I had my first sight of him earlier that day. Then the door closed behind him, and I was left alone in the quiet.

  I pressed my fingers to my lips, as if I could somehow capture the fading sensation of his kiss. Then, with a noiseless sigh, I got up and unlaced the dress, folding it and the muslin shift over a chair, smoothed my hair with one of the brushes thoughtfully laid out for me, and climbed under the crisp, fine sheets of the luxurious bed. As I lay there, I realized with a stab of guilt that I had barely spared a thought for my poor brothers all evening. Tomorrow I must make the best of my good fortune here and get to work on the nettle tunics again. If that good fortune held, it would not be long before I finished them. And then…

  My thoughts faded away, and I slept.

  In my dreams, I was back in the Kingdom, in the wild fields where I had played with my brothers as a child. I lay in the golden grasses by the hawthorn hedge, and watched the clouds drift overhead. But the clouds were swans, their great wings spread so that their shadows chilled me; and when the sky darkened, it was not snow that fell down to brush my face and hands and blanket the ground, but pale feathers.

  A maid woke me the next morning, bringing with her a generous pitcher of hot water for washing, and an armful of dresses – hastily altered, I gathered – for me to try on. The bustling, plump woman left me when I managed to convey that I could dress alone, and came back shortly with a tray of breakfast. I feasted on thick slabs of freshly baked – still warm! – bread with butter and honey and sweet fragrant tea.

  “If you please, Miss,” the woman said as she cleared away the crumbs. “The Princess asked if you’d attend her in the solar.”

  I nodded, picking up my leather sack with its precious nettles inside. I hoped Rose didn’t have any plans for me today; I wanted to finish the square I was working on and get at least part of the way through another. Not having to search for my own food and maintain the cottage would save me a great deal of time and I intended to make the most of it.

  The solar was a large, round room situated near the top of the great tower, with recessed windows in the walls and cushioned window seats. Rose was seated at one of the windows with her feet up and a book in her lap. Coloured pictures of herbs and plants filled the pages.

  “Hello, my dear,” she said. “I thought you might like to get some work done on your nettle clothes, and this is the most pleasant room for it.”

  I smiled in thanks.

  “Come and sit by me.” She pointed to the other end of the window seat, and I settled happily there, leaning my back against the wall. I opened my pack and pulled out the square I was working on.

  My fingers busy with their accustomed task, it was a few minutes before I glanced up. Rose was not attending to her book, but looking out of the window. There was a fine view from where we sat, down into the front courtyard of the palace; I could see the glitter of a moat below, and the busy comings and goings of various carts and tradespeople across the lowered drawbridge.

  I caught her eye and tilted my head in question. What are you looking for?

  “Caught.” She smiled. “My husband has been away for more than a month on a matter of state. We are expecting him back any day now. This is the best place for watching, as well as working.”

  Her eyes strayed back to the view, and I reached out to touch her arm in a tentative gesture of comfort.

  She patted my hand. “It’s only that he’s been away longer than normal. If I’d known how long his trip would take, I might have chosen to go with him. But I should have felt a hypocrite showing respect at the old fool’s burning. I never liked the man much, and his recent exploits beggared belief. Marrying a slip of a girl, exiling his own children at her behest, emptying Farland’s coffers to build some ridiculous pleasure palace for her, and then being pushed into an early grave by trying to keep up with the little drab, no doubt. I can’t think of any man less deserving of respect. I only hope his children can sort out the mess he’s created.”

  I felt the blood draining from my face as her meaning sank in. My skin turned clammy and cold and I hurriedly bent my head so that she could not see my expression. Rose’s friendly chatter washed over me as I stared at the greeny-grey square pooled in my lap. I realized, with a sense of numb shame, that I was not even shocked. Some part of me had been expecting this since I had seen Zella at Olday Hill. Why would she keep the besotted king around when she was ruler in all but name? When she had managed to dominate all those who should have given him their loyalty? He could never have been more than a nuisance to her.

  There was not a shred of doubt in my mind that Zella was responsible for my father’s death. He had been ruddy with health before she had arrived.

  I was an orphan. Perhaps I had effectively been so since my father sent me away, but now it was true in fact as well as spirit. Involuntarily my memory reached back to an earlier time, those golden days of my early childhood, when I had been more to Father than an annoyance, when he would sweep me up in his arms and call me his sweeting. I had loved him then. But those days were so distant that they hardly seemed real. I could not even remember his smell, though I could remember taking comfort from it once. He had ignored me for far longer than he had ever loved me.

  Looking back with sudden clarity, I knew that he had been a rigid man, a man who expected perfection from everyone. When he decided that I was not the daughter he wanted, I had ceased to exist for him. There was no rhyme or reason to it. There was no law that said a father must love all his children; nor one that said, if he did not, he must be evil through and through. He was just … father. And now he was dead.

  When I blinked, I was surprised to find a film of moisture in my eyes. I blinked more vigorously, and took up the nettle square again. My home rested squarely in Zella’s fair hands now, and it was up to me to do something about it. I swore to the Ancestors it would not be much longer before I freed my brothers and my people.

  A week passed at the palace with no sign of the prince’s return. The days were filled with the comfort of Gabriel and Rose’s company – and the more practical comfort of a soft warm bed and plenty of food. Just as I had hoped, my work on the tunics progressed beautifully. I did so well, in fact, that I felt no guilt during the afternoons when Gabriel showed me around his favourite parts of the palace, and took me on tours of the city. Or when I spent the best part of my evenings with Rose and Gabriel in the hall, listening to music and occasionally letting Gabriel persuade me out onto the floor into his arms, where I would try frantically to remember my long-ago dancing lessons while my heart surged against his.

  It was a fine morning, surprisingly warm and bright with autumn sunlight, when the prince of Midland finally came home. I was sat on a wooden bench in the terraced gardens outside the banqueting hall, working – not entirely successfully – on a new nettle square, with Gabriel at my feet reading aloud from a book of Midland folk tales. I had been twitchy and ill at ease all morning and was hardly listening to him as I laboured over the stubborn nettles.

  There was a sudden, joyous burst of noise from beyond the hall in the front courtyard of the palace: horns sounding the me
lody that welcomes the hunter home, and cheering and shouting. Gabriel’s head came up, a grin splitting his face, and he jumped to his feet.

  “It must be Father!” he cried. “At last! Come on.”

  He grabbed my hand and pulled me up, barely giving me time to put my work down before he had the screen open and was through it. The hall was bright and echoing at this time of day, with the long tables put away and the sunlight streaming through the high windows and the pierced stone screen. As we walked in, the door to the left of the sweeping staircase was flung open and a man in dusty travel-stained clothes appeared. He was tall and well muscled, with curling sandy hair that was greying at the temples, and a slight smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. If that had not told me his identity, the grin that creased his lips would have.

  “Gabriel!” he bellowed, leaping forward to embrace his son. They hugged for a long moment, slapping each other’s backs vigorously. I hung back, feeling left out and still troubled by the uneasiness which had dogged me all morning. Something was hovering just beyond the reach of my awareness, making the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

  “Father, I thought you were never coming home.” Gabriel said, pulling away at last. “What have you been doing? Why did you send us no word?”

  “You’re as bad as your mother.” The prince laughed – a happy, booming laugh. The sound was somehow familiar. I shivered.

  “I’ve a surprise for you,” he continued. “That’s why I sent no word. Come on.” He grabbed his son’s shoulder and pulled him through the door. I hesitated, then followed slowly.

  A quartet of giant carriages stood in the courtyard, laden with boxes and trunks that were being unloaded and ferried away by droves of servants. There were several men and women who looked as travel-worn as the prince, each surrounded by a cluster of family members welcoming them. They were all wearing smiles oddly similar to that of the prince, and again I felt that shiver of worry.

  Rose stood in the centre of it all, directing the servants and greeting the returning members of her household as they passed. I had expected her to glow with happiness at the return of her husband, but instead she looked slightly pale and strained. Could it be that she felt this strangeness too? Her face brightened as she saw Gabriel and me step into the light, but I hung back, my unease increasing. There was something wrong with the air – a low droning that grated against my spine and made me hunch over defensively.

  “There you all are!” Rose said, sounding relieved. “Maybe now you’ll tell us what this surprise of yours is, Mark!”

  “Of course, my dear.” He complied with alacrity, stepping towards one of the grand carriages and pulling the door open with a flourish.

  The drone of swarming hornets filled my ears, pressing me against the wall, and I gagged on the stench of rotting flesh. The cheerful noise and bustle of activity ceased. Every head turned; every face went blank. All eyes focused on the open door of the carriage.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  In frozen disbelief I saw a tiny figure, clad in shimmering bronze, emerging from the shadows of the vehicle. Zella languidly reached out a hand to the prince, who stepped forward with doglike gratitude to take it and help her down from the carriage. She straightened and raised her free hand, flashing with rubies, to brush back a strand of gleaming chestnut hair from her temple, a curiously stately gesture for a girl who looked no older than I.

  Dear Ancestors. She’s grown stronger.

  The breath seemed to have turned to lead in my chest, my mind filling with a desperate refrain: not here, not now, not here, not now… Not with all these people here – not before the tunics are finished. Not yet … not ready. Not here … not now… My fingers were clenching and unclenching in desperate distress. If only I’d worked faster on the tunics; if only they were finished. Not now! I wasn’t ready.

  Zella’s gaze travelled slowly over the people assembled in the courtyard, her face expressionless. She had not yet seen me where I cowered against the wall, and her inspection was leisurely. She appeared to ignore the prince’s eager babbling about the honour of her visit and the welcome he wished to extend, though he still held her hand clasped in his.

  My eyes flicked from those clasped hands to Rose’s face and then to Gabriel’s, and I saw that they alone lacked the glazed eyes and vacant smiles of the others. Instead Rose looked grimly upset and Gabriel incredulous as they took in the prince’s behaviour. In a tiny flash of insight, I thought, it’s their gift. They’re like me – like my brothers.

  And they would share my brothers’ fate. As obstacles to Zella’s plan, which was plainly to execute the same conquest of Midland as she had the Kingdom, their lives would be worthless. The moment she saw them…

  Before I could think, my feet were moving; I was away from the wall and stepping into her sight line, intercepting her attention before it could fall on my friends.

  Zella’s gaze fixed on me like a punch to the face. I saw her lips part in a tiny gasp of shock; and then I was caught in the black opacity of her eyes. I was pushed backwards across the courtyard as the ravening strength of her mind bored into me. Terror screamed in my head. Her will was a black, enveloping cloud of rotted hatred and anger – and hunger, the terrible hunger for death and pain.

  I had to dig my heels into the flagstones to halt my involuntary retreat, frantically throwing my gift down through the ground and out into the air to anchor myself. My nails bit into my palms as I forced myself forward. One step. Then two. Another step. I fought back with every fibre of my brain, drawing power from the land and hurling it at her, each muscle in my body contracting as if I could push her back with my physical strength. I closed my eyes. Another step. On the inside of my eyelids I could see the pulsing lines of our struggle, blackness and light intertwined, writhing together like lightning and clouds.

  I became aware of her hold on the people around me wavering. She was being forced to divert energy into this fight, and let them go. They were stirring, looking at us in bewilderment. Another step. And … another… Her rage beat down on me with increased fury – pummelling, scratching, slashing, and tearing at my mind.

  I tasted blood as I bit my tongue. And then – wonder of wonders – I felt something give. The darkness seemed to falter for a second. My eyes snapped open.

  I stood nose to nose with her, so close I could feel her breath on my face, and shivered with revulsion at the sensation. Her lips were drawn back in a snarl over the sharp white teeth. A low growl echoed from deep in her throat.

  Then, incredibly, the snarl smoothed away, the red lips forming a soft smile.

  Oh no…

  There was no time to dodge or brace myself. Her hand flew up in a blur of speed, smashing into my jaw. Her strength was inhuman. A back tooth shattered in an explosion of pain as I was lifted off my feet and flung through the air. I hit the ground on my side, my hip bone and ribs jarring over the uneven flagstones as I skidded, rolled and then thudded into the wall. I opened my mouth and vomited blood and tooth fragments, choking and gasping through the pain. I heard shouting, but could not identify the words or voice through the beating of blood in my ears and the mad wasp drone of Zella’s suddenly released power.

  My eyes streamed; sunlight rippled and refracted through the tears, blinding me as I rolled onto my back. I knew, abruptly and with utter surety, how my mother had been defeated. It was this – the pure unexpectedness of physical attack in the midst of a magical battle. Mama had been no match for it. Neither was I.

  The shouting went on, somewhere out of sight. Gabriel. It was Gabriel’s voice. Fear knifed through me, bringing me back to true consciousness, and I reached up, ignoring the darts of pain in ribs and arm, to scrabble at the wall until I could pull myself into a sitting position and see what was happening.

  The bystanders were huddled against the wall, terrified and helpless. Opposite me I could see the prince and princess, sheltering beside one of the carriages. Prince Mark was bleeding from an injury
to his forehead and Rose was frantically trying to staunch the blood. Gabriel stood in the centre of the courtyard, hands extended before him, holding Zella back with what looked very like one of the bubble shields from Olday Hill – a flickering, iridescent globe. His shouting became intelligible at last; he was swearing ripely, his voice shaking with strain.

  “No! No!” I heard a new voice and for a moment did not recognize it. Then I realized it was mine. Croaky, hoarse with disuse and cracking on the words, I screamed, “Gabriel, no!”

  Zella lazily reached out a hand, penetrated the shield and touched one of her long fingers to Gabriel’s forehead. The flickering bubble disappeared. He crumpled to the ground, eyes rolling back in their sockets as he convulsed on the flagstones.

  I tried to get up, couldn’t and instead struggled to my knees, crawling towards him. “Robin! Hugh! David!”

  I don’t know why I called them then. I didn’t even know I could. But my voice boomed like thunder, carrying ripples of power with it. There was an explosion of brightness that knocked Zella to her knees. And then they were there.

  Their wingbeats rocked the courtyard, nearly blowing me over as they dropped from the sky. Their form was partially that of swans, but they wavered and flickered like lightning, their great wings casting a shadow that engulfed Zella as they mobbed her. Rage and power shimmered from them, until they looked like a crackling ball of white fire. I heard her screaming, and began crawling again.

  In the seconds it took me to reach Gabriel, the shudders racking his body had lessened. Now he was only shaking weakly, as if he hadn’t the strength to fight the convulsions. Foam flecked the corners of his lips. Before I even touched him I knew that I did not have the strength to affect any kind of healing. My battle with Zella had taken almost all I had. I was powerless. Half whimpering, half sobbing his name, I cupped his face in my hands, fingers helplessly stroking his skin.