The Flight of Swans

by Sarah McGuire

  “Andaryn, my dear.” He motioned us up. “Come! Sit.”

  I smiled back at him, not even glancing at the Queen. It was going to be a perfect evening. The only shadow was the Queen’s wild men, who stood in a ragged line along the back wall, just a few strides from the table itself. I could feel them behind me as I sat.

  Troubadours and magicians stepped into the Hall, filling it with song and laughter. There was a flourish of trumpets, and servants arrived in a grand train, piling the tables with stuffed quail, platters of fruits that glistened in the candlelight, and pastries formed into swans as big as the ones that lived outside the castle.

  I was reaching for my goblet when I saw it: a single clove just beside my plate.

  The world slowed around me as I looked at the Queen.

  She smiled.

  The clove wasn’t just a warning. It was a promise of punishment for defying her. Father’s invitation hadn’t meant her power was weakening.

  It was bait for a trap.

  I wanted to run, but Father was already standing.

  He gestured to the ambassador seated beside him. “Welcome to the heart of Lacharra, seat of the House of Cynwrig! May the Swans of Cynwrig ever fight beside Danavir—and never have reason to oppose it.”

  Even in my haze, I saw the puzzled look on the ambassador’s face at the warning in Father’s voice. We’d always been allies with Danavir. We had no reason to fight them, nothing to gain.

  The Queen, however, watched the ambassador with narrowed eyes. Nothing except a larger kingdom.

  Father continued. “This is not only a feast for allies—it is a celebration of the bright flame who found me in the forest and rescued me.” He held a hand out to the Queen, who stood beside him.

  Father kissed her hand and motioned to the archway nearest the dais. Two men inched out of the shadows, their backs bent under the weight of what they carried between them. They deposited their burden before the dais, turning the massive stone so that the swan carved on it faced our guests.

  The Kingstone.

  The entire Hall fell silent.

  As a child, I’d played with Father’s crown. I’d whacked Owain once with the scepter of Lacharra. But even I gasped to see the Kingstone pulled from its proper place in the Abbey and dragged into the Hall. It felt like someone had yanked the moon from the sky and hung it from the ceiling like any other bauble.

  To the confused Danavirian ambassador, it must have looked like an ordinary building stone, pulled from some forgotten ruins.

  But to any citizen of Lacharra, it represented the root of the king’s authority. The Kingstone was the only thing the Cynwrig brothers brought from their manor when they fled the King of Brisson. When the first Cynwrig brother was crowned King of Lacharra, he’d stood upon that stone, which was engraved with a swan wearing a collar around its neck—a sign of their former bondage to the Brisson king.

  From that first coronation, every Cynwrig king received the crown while standing on the Kingstone. It became part of the king’s authority, a way of saying: This is where we came from, collared to another king. This is what we will never be again.

  And Father had dragged it into the Hall.

  “People of Lacharra!” he announced. “You know that I have been restored to you through the good graces of my wife, the Queen of Lacharra. It did not seem enough thanks to merely crown her Queen.”

  Father turned to two men by the Kingstone. One of them drew a mallet and chisel from his leather apron.

  “No . . . ,” I murmured.

  Cadan grabbed my hand and squeezed a command: Hush!

  He was right. The Queen looked around the Hall to see if anyone challenged her right to the Kingstone. To Lacharra itself.

  We all knew that anyone who challenged her would lose.

  Aiden spoke anyway, his voice carrying across the now-quiet hall. “Father.”

  For a moment, I thought I saw Father falter.

  The Queen laid a pale hand on his arm, and the Father I’d known disappeared once again. “I will do this. Do not stand in my way, boy,” he said.

  The mason shuffled up to the Kingstone, holding the mallet and chisel in shaking hands, while his head swiveled from Father to Aiden and then back again.

  Father raised his chin. “Bring me a piece of the Kingstone. Bring me a piece from the swan itself!”

  He pointed to a portion of the swan that showed the collar low around its neck and a portion of its wing. “There!”

  Horrified, the mason looked around the Hall one last time, a plea that someone—anyone—stop him.

  The room was silent.

  He brought the mallet down, and it struck the Kingstone with a sound like a broken bell.

  A small fragment clattered to the Hall floor.

  He’d done it. Father had actually done it. I think every soul in the Hall would have been less astonished if he put his own crown on the Queen’s head.

  The mason picked the fragment up and gently set it on the defaced Kingstone before hurriedly backing out of the Hall. How I envied him! I wanted nothing more than to escape that awful moment.

  Father’s voice echoed in the breathless hall. “Bring it to my wife . . . Andaryn.”

  I touched the clove the Queen had left for me.

  What a little fool I’d been! Here was the Queen’s trap: defy Father or give the Queen something that represented the heart of Lacharra.

  I saw Cadan’s shoulders bunch, his brows lower. Gavyn stirred. They were going to do something. And Father would punish them in front of all Lacharra.

  I shot to my feet and left the table before they could stop me. Then slowly, I stepped off the dais.

  It was like moving through water, approaching the Kingstone while every soul in the Hall watched. Sounds were muted too—even the roar of the fire seemed to come from a distance.

  There was only me and the Kingstone—the poor, ruined Kingstone.

  I ran a hand along the still-intact neck of the carved swan, fingers trailing over what remained of the collar. Then I picked up the fragment, feeling the sharp edges where it had just been chipped free.

  What do I do, Mother?

  I turned to Father, desperate for time. “Tell me the story, Father. Tell me about the House of Cynwrig and the Kingstone.”

  He smiled the way he had in the library, when he explained why “game of swans” was an insult. “Ah, Andaryn. Tell us yourself!”

  It was more than I’d hoped for. Time to think. Time to speak. And the opportunity to use my family’s story as a weapon.

  I began to recite the portion from The Annals of Lacharra. And when I had told of the battle, I recited all that had happened with the Kingstone, how Emrys ap Cynwrig had stood on it when he was given the crown of Lacharra.

  And as I spoke, I knew I could never give the Queen any part of the Kingstone.

  I held Father’s gaze as I finished. “That is the story of the House of Cynwrig, the flight of swans. This is the story of the Kingstone, the story of how we will never be collared to another king.”

  I drew a deep breath. “Or to another Queen.”

  And I threw the fragment of the Kingstone over the heads of the nobles nearest me and into the great fireplace.

  The next moments were a blur.

  The great hearth’s flames enveloped the Kingstone fragment.

  The murmur in the Hall swelled to a roar as my brothers—all of them—leaped up and raced toward me.

  The Queen shouted something, and one of her wild men ran to the fire.

  Father’s shout rose above the clamor: “Seize her! Seize her, I say!”

  Father’s guards at the dais reached me before my brothers did. The moment they took hold of me, the Hall silenced. My brothers slid to a stop.

  “Bring her closer,” demanded Father.

  Aiden went to Father and whispered something.

  “No. I will not overlook this!” Father bellowed. “She has defied the crown and will suffer the consequences.”


  Suffer the consequences? I wasn’t a knight. I was his only daughter!

  I’d never seen Aiden or my brothers so shocked. Even the ambassador looked frightened. My family was unraveling before me.

  “Father,” I stammered, “please . . . don’t be angry with me. Look at me. I’m just your Ryn.”

  The hard-as-iron fury in his eyes softened.

  “Please, Father!”

  Then the Queen touched Father’s shoulder.

  “Kneel,” he said.

  I stared at him, unbelieving.

  “Kneel, Andaryn, or my guards will make you kneel.”

  I slowly gathered my skirts. I’d spent my life curtsying, but not kneeling. And never to my father. I faltered and fell the last few inches to the flagstones.

  An awful, ugly stench filled the room as one of the wild men approached. He knelt before the Queen, extended a horribly burned hand, and placed the fragment of the Kingstone at her feet.

  I gasped. He’d pulled it from the fire.

  “For your continued, public defiance of the crown, for the disrespect shown to the Queen of Lacharra . . .”

  Father’s words buzzed in my ears.

  Mael shook his head, horrified.

  “. . . for these crimes, you will be banished from Lacharra. You are no longer a daughter of this house. You are no longer part of this court. You will spend this last night alone in your rooms. In the morning, you will be taken beyond the borders of Lacharra and delivered to your fate. You will be punished by death if I ever suffer your presence again.”

  I fell forward, both hands braced against the floor. I couldn’t breathe. I crouched on hands and knees, staring at the cracked flagstone beneath me, while my breath came too fast and my heart beat too slow.

  “Remove her.” I could hardly hear Father over the roaring in my ears. “The Queen’s guard will see her to the border tomorrow.”

  The guards pulled me to my feet. Some small part of me knew I’d never survive the trip to the border if the Queen’s men escorted me.

  But I couldn’t think past banished.

  Banished.

  Everything after that was unclear, images half-drawn and blurred around the edges: my brothers standing near, whispering that they’d do something, as the guards led me away . . . my chambers without a single maid waiting for me . . . the scrape of the key as I was locked in.

  I slowly sat with my back to the locked door, hands covering my face.

  The trap had been sprung.

  Chapter 6

  Get up.

  The words were so strong, so real, that I raised my head to see who’d spoken them.

  My chambers were still empty. Shafts of moonlight fell across the floor, bleaching all color from the rich carpet, looking for all the world like white wings in the night.

  “A flight of swans,” I whispered.

  It was time to fly away. And it would be close to flying, climbing from my balcony to the elm where the white bird from my dream had perched. But I’d done it before. If I left now, I could escape the Queen’s guard. My brothers wouldn’t have to risk Father’s displeasure by protecting me. Perhaps last week’s dream had been a threat after all—a promise of what would happen if I resisted the Queen.

  I stripped off my finery and went to my garderobe, pulling out an inconspicuous, plain wool dress, perfect for travel. Next came calf-high riding boots.

  Then I scurried back to my room and scrabbled under my bed to retrieve Owain’s satchel. I’d hidden it there when he fought with me two months ago. I’d held on to that anger for weeks, even after I couldn’t remember why we’d fought.

  What else should I bring? My chambers were decorated for beauty and comfort—not for provisioning an escape.

  I turned slowly, taking in my room, the fireplace—

  I snatched my dagger off the mantel and put it in the satchel. It was there mainly for decoration, but surely it would come in handy. I tossed Mother’s gold belt in after the dagger. It would be something of hers I could bring with me—something that wouldn’t be noticed.

  The two lap rugs would travel well. They were sturdy, boiled wool—bulky, but warm. I rolled them tightly, then strapped them to the outside of the satchel.

  I’d taken my last few meals in my rooms. I wrapped the remaining bread in a kerchief, shoved that into the satchel, and lifted the bowl of cold stew to my lips. Best to leave on a full stomach.

  And then it was time to leave. Just like that.

  I went to my writing desk and pulled out a piece of parchment and scrawled “Dear Father” across the top.

  I wanted to tell him that I loved him, that I’d miss him, but knew the words would never touch him.

  So I sketched three swans flying, necks stretched toward freedom. I was a daughter of the House of Cynwrig, whether he recognized it or not. And he was a son of the same house. He didn’t belong in bondage, even if it was as sweet as the Queen’s enchantment.

  Perhaps one day he’d look at the swans and remember who he was.

  I straightened and saw the tapestry of Lady Rhiannon in the moonlight. There was one last farewell, after all.

  “You don’t frighten me anymore,” I told her. “But then, I don’t think you ever intended to.”

  Then I slipped out onto the balcony, closing the doors behind me. A moment later, I’d swung myself into the elm and into the dark night beyond.

  Chapter 7

  My escape from the Queen led me into the forest she’d emerged from.

  It swallowed me up. Dead branches clattered and moaned around me, whispering sharp and twiggy secrets to the moon.

  I startled at every sound, jumping when fallen leaves rustled nearby.

  It’s just a small creature, I told myself, pulling my cloak around me, and happy. It’s very happy and very full. It doesn’t want to eat the big noisy creature trudging along the path.

  I stopped walking, dust and wind swirling around me, and looked up at the moon sailing through thin clouds. It reminded me of the Queen’s face: beautiful and pale and blank.

  She’s not watching me. She can’t be.

  But I was too tired to believe my own lies. I tugged my hood over my face so the moon couldn’t see me.

  I could never be too far from the Queen.

  * * *

  I heard the hoofbeats too late.

  I dashed off the path and huddled among the shadowy trees.

  A single rider. Though even one of the Queen’s wild guard would be enough.

  I sank deeper into my hood and prayed he’d ride past.

  The rider slowed, then stopped altogether—right where I’d been standing.

  I hiked my skirts and—

  “Andaryn! Ryn!”

  It was Aiden.

  He looked so wild in the moonlight that I thought the Queen had enchanted him again.

  “What were you thinking?” He dismounted, and a moment later he took me by the shoulders, punctuating every word with a small shake. “What were you thinking, running like that? You scared the life out of us!”

  Not enchanted, then. Just furious.

  I didn’t care that he was angry. It was so good to see him that I threw my arms around him.

  He pulled me close, and hope began to grow inside me. “Father changed his mind?”

  Aiden’s arms dropped to his sides and he shook his head.

  “Oh.” I realized then that I’d expected Father would change his mind, that something would keep the worst from happening.

  “Don’t take me back to the castle, Aiden. I won’t travel with her awful soldiers.”

  “I wouldn’t give a dog to those men,” grunted Aiden. “We have a plan: we’re going to hide you until Father comes to his senses.”

  “Where? And where is everyone else?”

  “Mael and Declan went to your room hours ago to beg your forgiveness, even if they had to talk through the door to do it.”

  “Truly?” I asked. “They’re not enchanted anymore?”

 
Aiden walked his horse to the side of the road. “If one good thing came from the feast, that is it. All of us—even Owain—know the truth about Father’s new bride.”

  “Except Father.”

  “Yes. Except Father.” Aiden’s shoulders slumped, but he pushed ahead with his news. “When you didn’t answer, we unlocked your door. Gavyn saw your picture for Father and realized you meant to leave for good.”

  I turned at the sound of more hoofbeats in the gloom. Aiden stiffened, then drew his sword and stepped between me and the approaching horsemen.

  I gripped his cloak with both hands and braced for the worst.

  As they came within sight, Aiden relaxed. “It’s Owain and Mael.”

  My brothers pulled their horses to a stop. Mael leaped from his charger and swept me into a hug. “I was a fool, Ryn.”

  I blinked back tears.

  Mael released me and motioned Owain forward. “Your turn.”

  Owain dismounted and looked anywhere but me: the ground, the chargers stomping and chewing their bits, my shoulder. “I was—”

  Mael rolled his eyes. “—a complete and utter ass, and I’m . . . ?”

  “. . . sorry,” finished Owain.

  I hugged him too, mostly because I knew it would irritate him. To my surprise, Owain hugged me back and whispered, “I am sorry.”

  Mael turned to Aiden. “The others are close by. When we didn’t find Ryn on the road to Roden, we realized our best chance was along this trail. This is good. She’s nearly a third of the way to Roden.”

  “I’m not going to Roden,” I said.

  Aiden raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

  “I don’t want the Queen anywhere near Tanwen.”

  More horses and riders. It was the triples: Declan, Gavyn, and Cadan.

  Declan slipped off his horse and put an arm around my shoulder. “I’ll never forgive myself. I knew there was something different in her songs. But I didn’t let myself care. And now—”

  I snuggled into Declan’s side. He was my favorite, he and Cadan, though the two of them couldn’t stand each other. I loved Declan because he loved me, and I loved Cadan because he didn’t care what anyone thought. I needed that too. I could borrow it and wear it like armor sometimes.