The hut itself was well situated, close to the lake and sheltered by pine trees and a rocky bluff just behind it. I smiled. The hut reminded me of myself when I slept: pressing against something solid for protection.
It had been a good hut, once. One that princes might have used when they wished to hunt alone. The roof—what was left of it—was slate, something that wouldn’t rot like thatch if it wasn’t tended to regularly. The walls had been stacked stone.
I inspected the outside of the hut, stepping silently over the pine needles that velveted the ground. Three walls tilted against scrubby pines that grew beside them, but the wall that faced the lake had collapsed entirely, spilling stones inside the hut. The roof above the collapsed wall had fallen into the hut as well, and the portion that remained sagged dangerously under the weight of the slate shingles.
I found a nearby branch and poked the walls with it, determined not to walk into a hut that might fall on me.
Unsteady as they looked, the walls didn’t topple, no matter how I pushed.
I clambered over the collapsed wall into the hut itself, nearly slipping on the pine-needle-coated rubble. Then I wedged the branch under the sagging end of the roof to support it until I could fix it.
Fix it. I turned in a slow circle, taking in all that needed to be done. There wasn’t even room on the dirt floor for me to sleep!
I nodded to myself. That was where I’d start, then.
Even if I could completely repair the roof, I was certain water would seep under the walls and gather on the floor if it rained hard enough. So I moved some of the stones in the middle of the hut to the far corner, creating a raised platform I could soften with branches. Even if the entire floor became a puddle, I’d be able to sleep on something dry—a luxury after these past weeks.
Near the fallen wall, I created a hearth for cook fires, building up the wall behind it so that the fire would be protected. But laying stone for a wall had never been part of my training as a princess of Lacharra—more the pity!—and I didn’t know how to keep it from toppling over once I stacked it more than a few feet.
I sat back on my heels and surveyed my work. That would be a problem for another day.
Then I moved the rest of the rubble outside.
By the time night fell, I sat inside the hut next to a fire that I’d built. I ate a bit of cheese and roasted the last egg by way of celebration, while Owain-the-hen cluck-cluck-clucked to herself on the small nest I’d built her. The fire quickly warmed me, and the three walls and roof kept the rising wind from touching me.
I looked out the open wall beyond the fire and watched the moonlight edge the ripples on the lake with silver. I didn’t feel safe yet, not while I was so exposed. Not while I could imagine the Queen’s wolf men outside. But I felt safer than I had since leaving the castle.
Tomorrow, I’d find a place for the weir. And . . . perhaps there were different types of doors to make me feel safe. The old woman had talked about how nettles kept the wolf men away. Maybe I could plant nettles around my own hut.
Tired as I was, I didn’t fall asleep right away. I’d placed my bed so that I could sleep with my back to the wall, but everything was so new.
Then I saw the dark form hopping across the hut’s floor.
Owain-the-hen. She stopped right beside me. In the bit of moonlight slanting through the open wall, I could see her cock her head one way and then another.
What do you want?
Ah.
I rolled onto my back and patted my chest. Owain gave a small cluck, fluttered up on my chest, and settled herself so that the featherless part of her breast warmed me.
You are the maddest hen I know if you think I’m an egg. I rested a hand on her feathery back as I fell asleep. But I am so glad you do.
Chapter 19
I’ll see my brothers tonight was my first waking thought. I have so much to tell them!
I opened my eyes to see Owain-the-hen perched on the half-wall behind the hearth, a beetle struggling in her beak. She bobbed her head to swallow it down, then clucked loudly.
It was a scolding for sleeping late, if ever I’d heard one, and I was grateful for it. After almost two months alone, it was heartening to wake up to a living creature, even if she was a fierce, silly hen. I sat up, blinking in the morning light, and Owain flapped over to me, pecking my toes as a sort of good morning.
I smoothed the fine little feathers under her neck as I looked out to Cairwyn Lake through the ruined wall.
This is my home.
I sat motionless as my world rearranged itself around that truth: This is my home.
I would live here for six years. Six summers. Six winters. I’d be a woman by the time I left, a full eighteen years of age.
I looked down at my torn dress, my calloused hands. What would I look like in six years? Would I forget how to be a princess?
And then I remembered that even when I was free of the spell, I wouldn’t be free to return home. I was the banished princess of Lacharra. What had the men in Etten said? The princess who had betrayed her six brothers to their deaths in Roden.
I wouldn’t be free to return unless I returned with my brothers.
And I would.
I pulled the Kingstone from beneath my bodice, held it so tightly my fingers whitened. The old woman had called the Queen’s life at the cottage her Before. The Kingstone shard was mine: a reminder of life when my family and country had been whole.
The Queen fled her past, but I would fight for mine.
In six years, we’d return to Lacharra, all seven of us, the flight of swans flown up from exile. I’d fit this shard back into the Kingstone and make our land whole again.
Six years of nettles and silence were not too high a price.
I tucked the Kingstone shard back into my bodice.
* * *
I walked a portion of Cairwyn that morning, looking for rivers running into or out of the lake where I could position the weir. An hour later, I’d found the spot: a little hollow beneath the lake where the water threw itself down a rocky hill and dashed between some boulders.
I also found nettles, an entire patch of them, running along the banks of the stream and gathered in the ruined stone foundations of some clan that had lived here ages ago.
Funny that nettles—like me—should live among ruins.
The long stalks nearly reached my shoulders, already browned and curling from the cold, lengthening nights. A breath of wind gusted around me, ruffling the nettles till they swayed.
I gently touched one of the browning leaves—and felt the sting. The plants were dying, but not the fire inside them.
I knelt by the edge of the nettle patch to better see them. They were wicked-looking, with rough-edged leaves. What looked like silvery hairs along the stem and leaves were needle-like spikes.
This, too, would be part of my life. I’d harvest nettles for the next six years.
Do it now, I thought, before you lose your courage.
I held my hands open in front of me, noticing how they’d become rough and covered with calluses.
It’ll be almost like gloves.
It was a bald-faced lie, but it was enough. I drew my dagger and in the same movement, I grasped a handful of nettles and took the dagger to the base of the stalks.
It was like holding hornets in the palm of my hand.
The stalks were tough and didn’t give way immediately. I gritted my teeth, held the nettles even tighter, and sawed at the stalks while fire burned my hand.
Finally, they gave way. I threw the clump aside and examined my hand.
White welts already covered my fingers and the tender skin of my forearm.
I sat back on my heels, lips pressed tight against the pain. I couldn’t do this today. I still had to catch and prepare the fish for my brothers. I had to cook it.
But first, I had to stop the fire in my hand.
I glared at the nettle patch. You can’t make me run away, I vowed. I’ll come back agai
n. And again. Until I have all the nettles I need for my brothers.
Only then did I walk to the river and plunge my hand into the icy water.
* * *
When I pulled my hand from the water, the welts had disappeared, leaving behind tiny red pinpricks. Yet the fire had only burrowed deeper, a flickering, searing pain that burned beneath my skin.
And it burned hours later as I cleaned the fish I’d collected from the weir. The pressure of simply holding the fish made it worse.
I was cleaning my hands in the lake when I heard the sound of wings.
My brothers!
I’d hoped they’d come. I’d expected it. But I hadn’t been sure of it until this moment.
Six black swans drifted low over the lake’s surface, necks extended as if they’d longed to come to this place. They landed in a spray of water, scattering it like diamonds around them.
For a moment, I forgot my stinging hand while I watched them trumpet and splash as they fed.
We’ve done it. We’ve made it this far.
Owain-the-hen came up to me, pecking around my skirts and sending baleful looks toward the water, as if she distrusted the swans. I smoothed her feathers—and saw how dirty I was.
My swan-brothers were far enough away that they shouldn’t mind me bathing close to shore.
I stripped off my dress, stopping at the under-tunic. I still didn’t know if anyone lived near. Best to bathe in it, just in case.
The water was cold, but the sun was strong. I waded in until the water reached my shoulders, then ducked my head under the water, scrubbing my face with my hands to clean off, then coming up with a gasp.
I unbraided my hair and went under again, running my fingers through my hair to clean it. Soon I found a rhythm—ducking under, coming up for breath—that seemed as natural as breathing itself.
The final time I emerged, one of my swan-brothers waited for me, his red beak inches from my face. He extended his wings a little, startled.
I stilled, releasing my breath slowly. I’m not going to hurt you.
Finally, he lowered his wings and trumpeted a three-note honk that ended on a higher note, like a question. Another swan-brother joined him, and they circled me like they couldn’t decide what sort of bird I was.
I remained still—toes gripping the bottom of the lake, arms floating near the surface—and kept my eyes averted so I wouldn’t scare them.
A gentle tugging on my arm.
I kept my head averted but watched from the corner of my eye. The swans were nibbling at my under-tunic’s sleeve. One saw me watching him and paused, head raised. When I didn’t move, he glided over to explore my other sleeve.
A few more honks, and my other swan-brothers joined us—all six black swans circling me slowly. Some nibbled at my sleeves. Others tweaked gently at my hair that floated on the surface of the water.
It was a breathless moment—my brothers so close to me.
Their red eyes and red beaks against the black feathers had seemed monstrous the first time I saw them, especially compared to the white swans I knew. And perhaps the Queen had meant it to be so.
But my swan-brothers were beautiful, with feathers as black as a moonless night—though not all the feathers were black. I’d caught glimpses of white feathers on the undersides of their wings. And the feathers along their wings settled into curled rows when their wings were folded, like ruffles on a dress.
I imagined Cadan in ruffles, jerking a bit as I held back the laughter.
Most of the swans scattered, but one stayed near, watching me.
I watched back.
The swan twitched his head, uncomfortable, but he didn’t swim away.
He was Aiden, I was sure of it.
When he drifted by again, I lifted one finger and let it run lightly along his side. Aiden-swan flinched, and his head flicked back as if to bite.
But his beak snapped short of my hand.
We can try to keep our minds, he’d said. Somehow, for a moment, he had.
I’d seen my brother.
Chapter 20
Second full moon
When I finally climbed out of the water, I slipped into the boy’s clothes I’d bought in Etten. Then I darted back to the hut to prepare dinner. I’d created a perch for Owain-the-hen in the corner by my bed, and she settled there, watching me work through half-closed eyes. I hoped the firelight would keep her awake until my brothers arrived.
My swan-brothers grew uneasy as dusk neared. I wasn’t sure if their minds pushed against the enchantment that bound them, or if the swans simply sensed the coming change.
As the last bit of light faded, a rush of wind tore through the pines that sheltered the hut. I knew the sound—it was more savage than any storm I’d ever heard. I waited in the hut’s open wall as the wind pulled at my still-drying hair and rolled toward the swans.
After a moment, the swans’ trumpets changed to men’s voices.
I grinned, bouncing on my toes like a little girl, willing them to hurry.
“Ryn, Ryn?” called Aiden.
“There’s a fire,” said Mael. “She’s well.”
I heard splashing as they stepped out of the water.
Cadan’s laughter rolled up out of the darkness as he discovered the clothes I’d set out for them. “Clothes! Clothes, bless her! There’s sign enough!”
Half a minute later, my brothers ran up to the hut. Aiden scooped me up first, and I was passed from one to the other and hugged close—until I reached Owain. He simply nodded.
Cadan smacked the back of his head. “You’ll wear the clothes she brought you, but you won’t hug her?”
“We wouldn’t need these clothes if she hadn’t—”
Cadan reached to smack Owain again, but I grabbed his arm. Don’t.
“Whatever you want, Ryn. What’s for dinner?” Cadan tilted his head back and sniffed. “I’ve waited all month for this.”
I motioned them to follow me to the hut.
Mael paused when we reached the hut. “I thought we were seeing the firelight through a door, not a broken-down wall.”
They stepped gingerly over the half-wall, taking in my bed and the fire in the nearby hearth. Gavyn went to the branch that propped up the roof and prodded it, nodding when it held firm.
“BWAAAAK!”
There was an explosion of noise and motion, a glimpse of feathers and beak and clawed feet, as Owain-the-hen launched herself at my brothers.
Cadan bellowed and stumbled backward. Mael reached for the sword that was no longer on his hip. The rest of my brothers dissolved into a tangle of flailing arms and churning legs as they tried to figure out what monster was attacking them.
I darted toward Owain-the-hen, thumping my chest to call her to me. She flapped away from my brothers’ reach and turned to me, as if to be sure that I was safe. I patted my chest again, and she flapped up to my shoulder and settled there.
“What was that?” bellowed Aiden.
Owain clucked smugly from my shoulder.
Cadan strode toward us, ready to wring her neck. “We’re having hen tonight, brothers!”
I kicked out, just as he’d taught me, raking the edge of my boot down his shin.
“Ow!” He rubbed his leg. “That hen attacked us, Ryn!”
I looked at him, eyebrow raised, waiting for him to hear the words he’d spoken.
Owain-the-brother snorted.
“The House of Cynwrig routed by a hen . . . ,” mused Mael.
Cadan shook a finger at him. “I didn’t say that!”
“But you screamed like it,” Gavyn pointed out.
“You all did! I wasn’t the only one!” protested Cadan.
Aiden guffawed, but Declan watched Owain-the-hen as she settled on my shoulder. “She thinks Ryn is her chick.”
“That’s ridiculous,” said Gavyn. “I’ve never heard of such a thing!”
“That coming from a man who was a black swan an hour ago,” pointed out Cadan witheringly. “Exactly
how many years have you studied hens?”
Poor Cadan. He’d come to the hut expecting a meal and had been routed by a hen instead.
The meal!
I deposited Owain-the-hen on her perch before kneeling by the fire. After making sure that she stayed put, my brothers crowded close, peering over my shoulders.
“You just put all those fish straight on the coals?” asked Mael, poking one with a stick. “The flesh will be burned. It already is.”
Aiden glared at him, eyes wide: Hush!
“Have you considered skewering them and then creating a frame so that you can roast them over the coals instead of on them?” asked Gavyn. “That might produce a better meal.”
I rolled my eyes. I’d cooked fish on the coals for weeks. If you waited till the coals were just right, the meat cooked perfectly even though the skin charred.
“And our dinner wouldn’t be able to look back at us.” Cadan scowled at the fish with their wide, dead eyes.
“Since when does that bother you?” asked Aiden.
“Since they got all shriveled from sitting on the coals.”
“Oh, for sweet pity’s sake,” muttered Declan. “You face an enchantress, but these fish make you shudder? I could have composed and sung an entire song about your cowardice in the time that you’ve moaned about them.”
He reached down to the coals, gingerly felt the tail of one of the fish, and then tugged it off the coals.
I handed him the dagger. In a few deft movements, he peeled the skin back, revealing tender meat beneath. He looked up at me and saluted with the dagger. “Excellent! May I have their fish too?”
I grinned and nodded.
At the threat of losing their dinner, all my brothers surged forward, pulling fish from the coals and settling into the dinner.
Finally, Aiden wiped his mouth, brushing a few scales from his beard. “It was an excellent meal, Ryn. Never mind what they tell you.”
Mael threw the bones of his fish back into the fire to keep pests away. “Now.” He rested his elbows on his knees. “Tell us about your journey here.”
So much to tell them! But now that it was time, I was frightened. I took a deep breath and tapped my temple.
The Flight of Swans Page 11