I have many reasons to worry.
But tonight, at least, every other concern is consumed by my misery over Lucien.
My feet take me through the steps and turns of the minuet while I concentrate on not allowing myself to look at the man who was – so briefly – my lover. Three months have passed, but my heart fractures a little further whenever I think about the one night we spent together, about our last meeting. Whenever I silently murmur his name. Lucien left court straight after my coronation. He came back only a week ago, and that only because of the Solstice. Because I specifically invited him to the celebration. Insisted, in fact, that he should come.
‘Aderyn?’ Aron has raised one white-blond eyebrow; the dance has ended and he’s waiting for an answer to a question I didn’t hear.
He sighs. ‘I said, do you want to dance again, or rest?’
I become aware of the flightless musicians, bows poised above strings, waiting for me to decide whether I wish to continue. Of the dazzlingly clothed nobles observing me. ‘I’ll rest.’
‘As you wish.’ Aron kisses my hand as I leave the floor. He walks over to his sister, Odette, and leads her back into the dance. As the music resumes, I return to my seat on the dais and let my eyes stray towards Lucien. His dark hair – the same iridescent blue-black as the raven into which he can transform – is a little longer now; it curls against the edge of his collar. But otherwise he’s little altered. He’s still handsome and broad-shouldered. He’s even wearing the same sleeveless grey silk tunic he wore on the night we first arrived here – less than six months ago, though it seems like another lifetime. A life in which I was merely the Protector of the Dominion of Atratys, hoping to find answers about my mother’s murder, hoping to survive the intrigues of my uncle’s court. A life in which Lucien was merely my clerk.
But now … Now I am the Queen of Solanum. And Lucien seems more remote than ever.
Another dance begins. Aron is still with Odette, so I take a sip from the goblet of mulled wine a servant has placed at my elbow, grip my courage between my teeth and rise, making my way down the room to where Lucien is standing, chatting to his dance partner. Courtiers part and bow as I pass. The heavily armoured Dark Guards patrolling the edge of the room stand to attention, and household servants – now clad in the blue and silver of my house, Cygnus Atratys – drop their gaze. Yet Lucien does not appear to notice my approach. He is talking and laughing loudly, and doesn’t stop until the woman he is with bows and backs away.
‘Your Majesty.’ He ducks his head. His expression is calm, but his dark eyes are hard, glittering too brightly. ‘May the Creator grant you safe passage through the dark season.’
A well-worn expression. His first words to me since he told me to leave his room, after I revealed my marriage to Aron. They are appropriate to the time of year. Still, I’d hoped for something more, given what we had been to each other. I swallow my disappointment and force a smile.
‘I’m glad to see you back at court, Lord Lucien. Will you do me the honour of being my partner in the next dance?’
His face flushes – whether with surprise or vexation, I’m not sure – but he cannot refuse my request. I place my hand on the bare skin of the arm he has offered me, try to ignore the surge of desire in my belly as he leads me back to the centre of the hall.
While the orchestra tunes up and we wait for the other dancers to assemble I make conversation, asking about news from home – his estate of Hatchlands lies within Atratys – about the health of his mother, his father, his brother. About anyone I can think of who is connected to him, since I cannot ask the questions to which I actually want the answers: how he is, and whether he has forgiven me.
The brevity of his responses, the cool tone of his voice, tell me more than his words. Anger sparks inside me as we begin to dance. I want to shake him, to ask what choice he thinks I really had. To remind him that I married Aron to save the kingdom. To save Lucien himself. But I don’t. Instead, I focus on my steps, wishing that I hadn’t forced Lucien to come back to court.
Aron, I know, is watching us.
Finally the dance ends. I sweep away from Lucien before he has finished bowing, making for the full-length windows that lead out onto the terrace. I need some air – clean, cold air, not stuffy with woodsmoke and the scent of wax. But before I reach the windows the heavy doors at the far end of the great hall are flung open. There are cries coming from the entrance hall. The Dark Guards stationed at the edges of the room swarm towards the source of the commotion.
‘Aderyn!’ Aron is hurrying towards me, his hand held out. Together we return to the dais, other guards taking up position in front of us. Aron has a sword belted to his waist; I regret that I have not. Both my ceremonial swords are locked, useless, in my rooms.
We don’t have to wait long. One of the guard captains runs across the ballroom towards us. ‘Majesties …’
‘Speak, Hemeth.’ Aron gestures the man closer. ‘What’s amiss?’
‘Nobles, from Celonia.’
‘An invasion?’ I ask, my heart racing. ‘Has Siegfried launched an attack?’
‘No, my queen.’ The captain hesitates. ‘They claim there has been a rebellion, that the flightless of Celonia have risen up. The nobles are here seeking refuge.’ He gestures behind him. ‘Those who survived.’
The flightless seizing control of an entire country? The word impossible rises to my lips. But I can’t disbelieve my own eyes. People, some robed, some still naked from transformation, are crowding into the ballroom. Some are limping, many are injured – a woman with long, matted red hair clutches one hand to her face as blood wells between her fingers.
A man who seems to be leading them drops to his knees. ‘Mercy …’ He clasps a young child, bundled in a robe, to his chest. ‘Mercy and shelter, we beg you …’ His words are punctuated by rapid, shallow breaths.
One of my courtiers pushes forward – Nyssa, Lady Swifting. Lucien’s cousin. ‘What of my betrothed? Where is Lord Bastien?’
The man stares at her, uncomprehending.
‘Bastien of Verne,’ Nyssa repeats. ‘Where is he?’
‘Behind us. I hope. We were separated …’ The child in his arms begins to writhe and cry, a high-pitched keening that makes me wince in sympathy. I’m about to step forward and take her from him when Aron’s fingers curl around my wrist. Whether to protect me or to remind me of my position, I’m not sure. Instead, Nyssa helps the noble lay the child on the floor.
‘Aron …’
He nods, moves his hand briefly to my shoulder before turning away to begin issuing orders. The injured must be tended to. But I saw in my husband’s eyes my own fears: Solanum is about to be plunged into more uncertainty. More danger.
I leave Aron to organise the servants and summon doctors. I am the queen: my role is to be seen to rule, to be in control. So I walk briefly among the injured, dropping words of comfort here and there, counselling patience to my own nobility. Like Lady Nyssa, some here have family and friends in Celonia, but I would not have anyone fly off in rage and get killed. I remind them of the enduring nature of Solanum, of storms that we have weathered before. But I know – everyone here now knows – that the world is shifting beneath our feet. Whether we like it or not.
Finally I feel my work is done. Back in my own rooms, my maidservants help me out of my heavy gown, relieve me of the diadem, bracelets and rings that have been weighing me down. They depart. Naked – alone – I make my way out onto the private landing platform that is tucked away at the back of the royal apartments. I need to feel the wind beneath my body, to lose myself in the consuming joy of flight. To get as close as I can to the stars that burn above the surrounding mountain peaks. Wading into the frigid water of the lake, I give in to the power that is always waiting just beneath my skin. Hair morphs into feather, muscles shift and bones lengthen and lighten as I let myself transform from girl into swan.
I spread my wings and claim the cold night sky.
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First published in Great Britain in 2020 by
HOT KEY BOOKS
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Text copyright © Katherine and Elizabeth Corr, 2020
Illustrations copyright © Sally Taylor, 2020
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
The right of Katherine and Elizabeth Corr and Sally Taylor to be identified as authors and illustrator of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 978-1-4714-0876-2
This eBook was produced using Atomik ePublisher
Hot Key Books is an imprint of Bonnier Books UK
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