Meanwhile, Convocation has gathered and has begun examining the letters I handed over. They questioned me for nearly three hours. Based on my description of the room, someone has been sent to look for the body of the dead hawk assassin. Others have been given the job of searching the queen’s apartment and Siegfried’s rooms for further evidence; the murderers themselves took flight before the guards could catch them. Their clothes were found by an open window, but that was all.
Turik is dead.
Messengers have been dispatched to Brithys, Fenian and Lancorphys, summoning their Protectors to the Citadel; the Protectors as well as Convocation are required to consider the question of the succession, and to decide what steps should be taken against Olorys.
I fear war is coming, whatever we do.
I have sent another letter home to Lord Lancelin, asking him to join me here as soon as possible. I want his advice. I also want him to be here to take care of his son. Lucien has suffered enough, physically. And I’m about to hurt him even more. He shouldn’t have to hear it from someone else.
Lucien is sitting up in bed reading when I peek into his room.
‘I thought you might be asleep.’
He puts the book down and grins at me. ‘I have been, for most of the day.’
I’d hoped that would be the case. I smile back and sit on the edge of the bed. The bruising on his face still looks fresh, and there are bandages encircling his torso, as well as his wrists and his neck. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘I’d be lying if I said my back didn’t hurt.’ He pulls a face. ‘All of me hurts. But the doctors gave me something to help with the pain. To make it less … painful.’ He takes my hand. ‘When you arrived, and I saw you transform … I thought I was dreaming. That I’d finally become delirious from thirst and torture. But I was glad. Because even if it was a fantasy, it meant I got to see you again. In a way.’
‘I’ve finally found my ability again, Lucien. Without the help of Siegfried’s potion. You’re right though. Everything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours has felt a bit like a dream. Or a nightmare.’
‘But we’re here now.’
‘We are. And …’ I swallow, ‘Aron helped.’ I describe everything that happened, from when I left him in the dungeon up until I arrived in Aron’s room. More or less; I gloss over any detail that I think might upset him. I don’t tell him what Siegfried called me, or what he did to me in the boat. When I reveal that it was one of Aron’s servants who found Siegfried’s letters, Lucien whistles and looks up at the ceiling.
‘Another thing I owe Aron. He’s going to enjoy having me in his debt.’
‘I think … I think he might consider that debt to be repaid.’
‘How?’ Lucien frowns, but he’s still smiling. ‘What promise have you made on my behalf? What am I going to have to do?’
‘It’s not something you have to do.’ I drop my gaze and begin twisting my Protector’s ring around on my finger. ‘It’s something I’ve already done.’
‘Aderyn? What have you done? You’re making me nervous …’
I don’t dare look up. ‘He gave me the letters. But he wouldn’t help me in any other way, unless … He talked about civil war, the dominions fighting over the crown, and he said … he said he’d found a way he could rule, if I would agree to …’
Lucien doesn’t respond.
‘I did it for you, Lucien. I had to be sure I could save you. And save Atratys. And marrying Aron –’ Lucien flinches as I say the words – ‘was the only way. Please …’ I half reach out for his hand. ‘Please, say something.’
He bites his lip and nods a little. ‘Well … we can find a way. It’s not what I wanted. What either of us hoped for. But we’re both alive, and we can find a way. Aron can’t be so unreasonable as to expect you to …’ He stops, flushes, slips his fingers into mine. ‘I mean, you don’t love him. You love me. You’re married to him, and you can rule with him, but that doesn’t stop us being together the rest of the time.’ He lifts his eyes to mine. ‘It doesn’t, does it?’
I remember Aron asking me to honour the vows I was about to take.
I also remember the look in his eyes. The expectation of hurt.
‘I’m sorry, Lucien. I never wanted to cause you pain. But I am married. I’m bound to Aron until one of us dies. And I made a promise –’
‘But, Aderyn …’ He shakes his head, helplessly. ‘Surely …’
I don’t answer him. But I don’t need to.
Lucien slides his hand away from mine. There’s a tear tracking its way down his cheek. ‘Of course. I’m sure you did the right thing, Your Grace. I’m …’ His lip trembles, before he regains control. ‘I’m very grateful for your care of me.’
‘No one else knows yet, but it didn’t seem fair for you to keep on thinking –’
‘Of course. I thank you. And I hope you and His Highness will be very happy.’
‘Lucien –’ I lean towards him, swallowing the sob of anguish caught in my throat, refusing to add my own grief to his burden – ‘you know I won’t be happy. How can I ever be happy, without you?’ For a moment I stare at him, pleading silently. Not for forgiveness – I’m not sure I can forgive myself – but for understanding, for anger, for something.
‘Please, Aderyn …’ Lucien’s face crumples, and the agony in his voice is like a knife twisting in my chest. ‘What do you expect of me?’ He turns his head away. ‘Please, just go. Now.’
There’s nothing else I can say. Nothing I can do. I leave the room and shut the door quietly behind me. Somehow, I make it back to my own apartment before I collapse.
It takes another five days before all the members of the Skein – an interregnal Skein, technically, a meeting of Convocation and Protectors in the absence of a monarch – are gathered. But now they, Aron, Odette and I are in the throne room. The Crown of Talons is missing, stolen or destroyed by the queen and Siegfried. The ancient, gold-flecked throne that dominates the far end of the room is empty. Waiting.
With the exception of Aron, who is wearing his usual black leather tunic and trousers, all of us in the Skein are wearing the long, dark robes used after or just prior to transformation; the confirmation of a new monarch is traditionally followed by a ceremonial flight. But above us the gallery is crowded with brightly dressed courtiers, just like it was for the trial staged by the queen. Aron’s idea: after the lies and deceptions of the last few months, everything should not just be done, but be seen to be done.
Lord Lancelin is among the crowds, and I have secured a space for Letya too; she is the first flightless person, apart from the Dark Guards, to witness the Skein. But I search in vain for Lucien. Perhaps he is still too ill to leave his room.
Once everyone has come to order, Lord Semper Corvax, an elderly member of one of the crow families and current leader of Convocation, addresses Odette. ‘So, Your Highness, we come to the question of your marriage. To take up the throne it is required –’
‘Yes.’ Odette nods curtly. The wound on her neck is healing, but it’s likely she will bear a scar for the rest of her life. ‘I know what is required.’
‘Then have you given any other thought as to whom you might marry?’
‘There is no one else I can consider marrying.’ My cousin takes a deep breath. ‘My feelings for Lord Siegfried, irrational as they may appear, were nonetheless real. I am not ready to contemplate marriage with anyone else.’
Lord Corvax clears his throat. ‘That is of course understandable. But still, as heir to the throne –’
‘I don’t want the throne. I never wanted it. In front of the Skein, in front of all Solanum, I solemnly renounce my claim and ask that I be removed from the succession.’ Odette smiles at me, and I realise Aron must have told her our news. We haven’t informed anyone else so far.
Arden of Dacia raises his hand.
‘We all know the Protector of Atratys is next in line. But she is also unmarried, and extremely inexperienced. Perhaps Co
nvocation would consider an alteration of the succession –’
‘I object.’ Grayling Wren’s father has raised his hand, but the objection comes from Patrus; he has returned to court wearing a patch over his empty eye socket, but otherwise behaving as if absolutely nothing has happened. ‘To fulfil the Decrees, Convocation should require the Protector of Atratys to marry someone older, someone who has the necessary experience …’
Next to me, Aron groans and shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.
I can’t help smiling as I raise my own hand.
Lord Corvax nods to me. ‘The Skein will hear from the Protector of Atratys.’
‘Thank you. I wish to inform the Skein that I am already married.’
Corvax bangs his walking stick on the floor to silence the murmuring of the assembly and the less restrained reaction from the gallery. ‘A marriage to Lord Rookwood would, unfortunately, mean that –’
‘I am not married to Lord Rookwood.’ I take a deep breath, trying to ignore the regret surging through my core. ‘My husband is Prince Aron. The Venerable Mother has the marriage pledge. She conducted our wedding an hour or so before Siegfried and his sister fled.’
‘But … but, my lord,’ Arden pushes further forward, ‘we already know that the prince cannot rule –’
‘Is that so?’ Aron walks up to Lord Corvax and hands him the scroll with the relevant Decree. ‘One monarch has to be able to transform. Not both.’
The noise level rises, unabated, as Corvax and the rest of the Skein pass around the scroll and discuss it. Aron and Odette and I wait, a little apart.
‘Thank you for what you’ve done,’ Odette murmurs. ‘I hope you can be happy.’
I nod. I can’t force myself to say anything else, even for Aron’s sake: it’s too soon. When I close my eyes, I can still feel Lucien’s lips against mine, his hands on my body.
Odette kisses my cheek. ‘It’s selfish of me, but I’m glad you’ll be staying at the Citadel. As I said, I always wanted a sister.’
I jump as Corvax bangs his walking stick on the marble tiles.
‘The Skein has considered.’ He glares until all present are silent. ‘And, in the absence of a ruling monarch, our decision is final. The kingdom is in danger, and we will not add to that danger by leaving the throne empty. We therefore agree that Aderyn, of the House of Cygnus Atratys, being married, is the rightful inheritor of the throne.’ Aron’s hand finds mine. ‘And furthermore, we agree that Prince Aron may rule alongside her, and by her right.’ With a grunt, leaning on his stick, Corvax goes down on one knee in front of Aron and me. Odette copies him. And one by one, every other person in the room does the same.
Aron turns to face me, and kisses my hand. ‘I wish you joy, my cousin, my wife, my queen.’ He too drops to one knee. ‘Long live Queen Aderyn.’
The acclamation is taken up by the others, on the floor and in the gallery. It echoes round the throne room, and as we process out to the landing platform I hear other voices, inside the Citadel and out in the courtyards and in the city, shouting out the same words. Calling them over and over until the noise makes me want to cover my ears.
I don’t, of course. Instead, I turn to my cousin – my husband, as I suppose I must learn to think of him. ‘Aron –’
‘Go. I’ll be waiting here for you, when you return.’
Odette stays close to me as we hand our robes to the waiting guards, and I’m glad. Together we enter the water. Together we kneel, transform – no difficulty any more, it’s as natural as drawing breath – and together we launch ourselves into the deep golden blue of the late-afternoon sky. I hear Odette’s exclamation of delight as the rest of the Skein transform and follow us. And below me …
Below me, the Silver Citadel sparkles. The city of Farne spills down to the open waters of the fjord, and I can see the upturned faces of the people crowding the streets. Banking, turning, revelling in the cool wind slipping across my feathers, in every strong downbeat of my wings, I lead the Skein upward. Up towards the pine-clad mountains and the blue-green glaciers cradled amid the crags.
The high peaks are snow-clad, their white tips stained crimson by the light of the setting sun. An omen, perhaps, of imminent bloodshed.
Still, in this moment, I’m not afraid. The fierce joy of flight – a joy so deep it is almost agony – overwhelms every other sensation. Borne up by the wind, I look down to see the towns and fields of the Crown Estates spread out like a living map below me. A patch of glitter on the edge of sight marks the sea. And somewhere, off in the distance, lost on the hazy horizon, lies Atratys …
When our enemies return – and they will return – I must be ready.
This is my home now.
This is my kingdom.
Acknowledgements
We officially started working on A Throne of Swans shortly after The Witch’s Blood (the final instalment in The Witch’s Kiss trilogy) was published in March 2018, though the story had been bubbling away in the background for nearly a year before that. Leaving behind our first family of characters was hard. But at the same time, we were really excited about the prospect of writing a high fantasy novel, with all that might entail. Our hopes weren’t disappointed: it’s been a joy to venture beyond the leafy suburbs of Surrey (the main setting for our previous books) and into a world of shape-shifters, palaces and dynastic feuds. Once again, our characters have completely stolen our hearts. We just hope the story we’ve created gives as much pleasure to you, our reader, as it does to us.
As with our previous books, A Throne of Swans has been a team effort. It wouldn’t have come into existence without the input and continuous encouragement of the following people.
Claire Wilson (Rogers, Coleridge & White) continues to be the the best agent ever (and yes, that is a hill we’re prepared to die on) and one of our biggest cheerleaders. She’s always available to calm our jittery author nerves, and her continued rock-solid support for our writing means the world to us. A shout-out and thank you to the ever-helpful Miriam Tobin too.
The team at Hot Key have been an absolute joy to work with, and we are both amazed and delighted by their boundless enthusiasm. We can’t say a big enough thank you to our brilliant editors, Emma Matthewson, Carla Hutchinson and Talya Baker, or to our marketing and publicity gurus, Roisin O’Shea, Amy Llambias and Molly Holt.
Our unbounded gratitude goes to Alexandra Allden and Steve Newman for designing our stunningly beautiful cover. Thank you to Sally Taylor for giving our kingdom a map and for the other artwork within the book. We'd also like to thank Jamie-Lee Turner for creating crests to adorn our website.
Over the three-plus years since our first book was published, we’ve made some wonderful and supportive friends amongst the writing and blogging communities – too many to list in this limited space, but hopefully you know who you are. Thank you; we couldn’t keep going without you. Special thanks and love to Perdita Cargill, Peter Davey, Sinéad O’Hart, Lu Hersey, Vic James, Kiristina Perez and the Feminism 2.0 gang.
Finally we’d like to thank our family for putting up with us, particularly our partners, Neill and Nick. Dinner’s on us.
Katharine and Elizabeth Corr
Katharine and Elizabeth Corr are sisters, originally from Essex, now living in Surrey. When they both decided to write novels – on account of fictional people being much easier to deal with than real ones – it was obvious they should do it together. They can sometimes be found in one of their local coffee shops, arguing over which character to kill off next. Katharine and Elizabeth are authors of the spellbinding series The Witch’s Kiss.
@katharinecorr
@lizcorr_writes
Instagram: katharinecorrwrites / lizcorrwrites
www.corrsisters.com
PROLOGUE
Winter has caged my kingdom in ice.
For the last month the snow has been relentless: an endless fall of frozen feathers, too thick to fly through. The glass-panelled octagon of the great hall creaks
with the white weight of it. But this evening, at least temporarily, the clouds have dispersed, and beneath the cold gaze of the stars the inhabitants of the Silver Citadel are celebrating the midwinter feast of the Deep Dark, the first Solstice of my reign. Pine logs crackle in the fireplaces. The scented smoke mingles with the aroma of the delicacies heaped upon the tables. Roasted venison, still sizzling from the spit; winter roots tossed in spiced flour and fried in salted butter; sugar-iced plum cake and thirty or more other dishes. A thousand candles blaze in ornate crystal chandeliers in an attempt to dispel the darkness of this long, frostbitten night
Dressed in a cloth-of-gold gown, with a gold and diamond circlet set in my dark hair, I’m dancing with Aron, my cousin and co-ruler. My husband, at least in name. I’m surrounded by servants and courtiers, all of whom have sworn loyalty to me. Many of whom claim to love me. But in this glittering throng, my thoughts and feelings are focused entirely on one man. A man who has been ignoring me, and flirting with others for the last three hours.
With every laugh, with every look – Lucien Rookwood drives another dagger into my heart.
Aron takes advantage of a pause in the music to lean forward and whisper to me: ‘You look tired.’
‘I didn’t sleep well.’ It’s true. I have many reasons to lie awake, and I haven’t slept well for weeks. The violence of this winter is bringing sickness and fear of famine to my people. I’m tired of being cooped up by bad weather, unable to take to the sky. And I’m tired of the protectors and the nobles through whom I rule. Of their stubborn resistance to the reforms Aron and I want to introduce that would grant greater protection to our flightless population. Of their blind insistence that Siegfried and Tallis, the Oloryan half-siblings who nearly succeeded in seizing the throne, are no longer a threat, merely because they seem to have vanished from the kingdom. I cannot forget for a single day Tallis’s promise: that she and her brother would return to exact revenge upon Aron and me, and that the whole of Solanum would pay the price for our defiance …
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