The Flight of Swans

by Sarah McGuire

  Oh, he belonged in the sunlight! He was gold all over, the sun warm on his skin, his hair looking like the spun gold of Ionwyn’s stories.

  The Ri—Corbin—glanced at Aiden and dipped his head as a sign of respect. Aiden nodded.

  So they’d spoken already. I’d expected my brothers would demand an introduction, that I’d have to tell Cadan to behave and Mael not to kill him—

  Suddenly I wished I could, just so I could get used to words on my tongue before having to talk to the Ri.

  The way he smiled at me made it hard enough to talk anyway.

  “Ryn,” began Cadan, and I turned to him, relieved at the reprieve. But Cadan was mock-scowling at me. “You can talk now. It may just be me, but I think he’d love to hear what you have to say”—Cadan saluted the Ri—“and frankly, I think he’d be happy with anything you have to say.”

  He gave me a gentle shove toward Corbin.

  Corbin still held the spindle in his hand.

  “Princess Andaryn.” He winced at the unfamiliar title, then shook his head. “Forgive me! Leaving you was all I knew to do.” He half-smiled. “You told me you had six brothers, and when . . . my mother mentioned the six men you traveled with—I knew. I knew I had to hunt them to save them. I thought it was what you’d want.” He shrugged, shoulders bending under his sadness. “Didn’t I tell you I envied you the memory of your mother? That I knew what it was to have a heartless one?”

  I nodded.

  He looked down at the spindle, tossing and catching it in his hand. Finally, he held the spindle up. “Do you want it?”

  It would be almost like a talisman. I’d hang it over the door to remind myself that the Queen had been thwarted, that I’d carried her undoing with me the entire time.

  Then I looked back. Cadan lifted his hands as if asking why I was taking so long. I looked at my other brothers, at Carrick held in his father’s arms.

  I had all the reminders I needed.

  I held my hand out, and Corbin gave me the spindle, his fingers brushing my palm. I strode to the shore and hurled the spindle as far as I could, watching it tumble and spin before it splashed into the lake.

  I’d planned to tell him so many things! But all I could manage was, “I don’t want to see it again.”

  I saw the rise of his chest when I finally spoke to him.

  “What do you want, Princess?” He shook his head. “Ah! I say that word and I think I’m talking to another person. What is it you want, my Lady Ryn? For that’s who you are to me. I know what I want.”

  Run. It was as clear as it had ever been, the command like thunder inside me.

  With my last bit of strength, I ran. I didn’t stop as I neared him, and he opened his arms the way a castle throws open its gates.

  He caught me, half spinning me, his arms around my waist.

  “Are you sure, my Lady Ryn?” he asked, then glanced at my brothers. “Are you certain, Princess?”

  “Yes,” I whispered, resting my palms against his chest. “Yes, Corbin.”

  I’d wanted to say his name for so long.

  And perhaps he’d waited just as long to hear it, for he grew perfectly still.

  And then the words came as thick as rain or tears, and I couldn’t stop. “I wanted to tell you so many times, but I didn’t know how. There was no way to draw my story. And what if I hurt you? What if she—?”

  He rested his forehead against mine, his arms tight around my waist, as if I was his home, his castle. “She’d cut me long ago, my heart. Long ago.”

  For six years, I’d longed for speech, but now that I could speak, I didn’t know what to say. “She turned them to swans six years ago—and I agreed to it, six years of silence if she’d just set them free.”

  “Your brothers told me everything.”

  I nodded. “But I want to tell you. I want you to hear it from me. Besides, Cadan exaggerates.”

  Corbin peered over my shoulder. “Which one is he?”

  “The loud one with the tunic made out of the cloak.”

  “Ahh.” And he smiled down at me. “Tell me your story, Lady Ryn.”

  So I did.

  * * *

  I filled the next hour with speech, though I wished for silence all over again when I had to tell my brothers about Father.

  The one small consolation was that he died as himself and not as the Queen’s pawn.

  By the end of the day, Corbin had arranged provisions so that the next day we could return with soldiers to Lacharra to set things right. Our country had made many enemies with the Queen’s constant battling. We couldn’t afford to leave it without a ruler for long.

  After my brothers went to their beds, I lingered by the hall’s fireplace, tracing pictures in the soot, grateful for the familiarity of it. Everything—almost everything—I’d longed for had come to pass. The old life I’d fought to reclaim had been won. Why did I feel like a stranger in it?

  “Lady Ryn.”

  I turned to Corbin.

  When the last of the fire’s light flickered over his face, I saw the concern. “My lady Ryn, you’ve told me your story, but you’ve not yet told me how it ends.”

  “I must return to Lacharra,” I said.

  Corbin nodded slowly. “Of course.”

  “But first—” I stepped forward, suddenly uncertain.

  “Yes?”

  I stamped my foot, angry at my cowardice. “I told you what I wanted to do the day I could speak, but now that it’s here, now that we’re alone, I don’t know if I can. I have to go back to Lacharra, you see.”

  The side of his mouth twitched and he stepped forward. “You already said that.”

  “Because it’s true! And it’ll take months, and—”

  He grinned.

  I kissed him. And when he kissed me back, every word flew from my mind. And he wasn’t nearly close enough. I looped my arms around his neck and then I kissed him the way I’d wanted to for so long.

  Because sometimes, words aren’t enough.

  * * *

  I returned with my brothers to Lacharra and remained there long enough to slip the shard of rock back into the Kingstone. It didn’t fit perfectly. Six years had worn off the sharp edges so that anyone could see the violence that had happened, even after the Kingstone was whole again.

  Before I returned to Corbin, I visited the library. The nobles told us that Father never visited the library after he’d banished his children, and I believed them. I found The Annals of Lacharra on the table where I’d left it years ago, buried under other books.

  I sat one last time in Father’s chair and opened it.

  I smelled the faintest scent of cloves.

  And I traced the figure of the Cynwrig crest at the top of the page.

  I hadn’t come here to mourn the time lost between Father and me. I came to celebrate his return to me, even if it had only been for a few moments.

  I gathered six years of memories, moments as small as cloves, as common as nettles: my childhood in Lacharra, the Queen’s curse, six years of hiding with my brothers.

  They were all my Before: a story that could not be stolen or silenced.

  I read aloud:

  “The flight of swans, bearing swords . . .”

  The library’s silence fell away. I could hear Father’s voice above and below mine, the way the rush of the ocean fills the empty spaces between words.

  I heard Owain-the-hen’s low, rolling clucks.

  I heard Tanwen’s voice, fire and laughter.

  I heard Cadan saying he’d always call for me.

  I heard Corbin calling me Lady Wyn when others had seen only a mad girl.

  My voice filled the library, strong and sure. When I reached the end of what Father had read, I marked the page with a strand of nettle yarn I’d cut from one of the tunics, and—

  “Ryn?” Cadan poked his head in the library door. “I’ve been looking for ages! Carrick—”

  He stopped when he saw me at Father’s old place.


  I motioned him to go on. “Carrick?”

  Cadan raised an eyebrow. “Carrick walked into the kitchen and proceeded to eat every single sweet those soft-headed women fed him. He’s crying fit to bring the walls down, and his new nursemaid doesn’t know what to do. Aiden’s in a meeting with his top lords, Mael is flirting with Landon’s oldest daughter, who doesn’t mind a black swan wing half as much as I predicted—” He drew a deep breath and hurried on: “Declan’s trying to sing Carrick calm while Gavyn checks his books to see if anyone ever died from eating too many sweets, and Owain—”

  Owain, sporting a beard that even Aiden would admire, joined Cadan at the door. “I was sent to discover what was taking Cadan so long!”

  I laughed and didn’t once think about holding it inside me. “I’m coming! Half a second and I’ll be there.”

  I closed The Annals of Lacharra, leaving the nettle yarn pressed between its pages.

  “Hurry, Ryn!” said Cadan. “Or Declan will be crying too.”

  “I’m ashamed to call you my brothers, every last one of you!” I called back. “I used to comfort that little man alone. And without being able to make a sound.”

  One last glance out the library window, past the forest, to where the island of Eyre lay beyond the horizon. In a week, I’d begin my journey back to Fianna. And Corbin.

  My future lay ahead of me.

  “I’m coming,” I said.

  Acknowledgments

  I was told that sophomore novels were the hardest to write. I didn’t believe it two years ago, but oh-my-word, I believe it now. Many times, The Flight of Swans felt like a marathon. Through the mountains. In the rain. Or relentless sun. (Whichever is worse.)

  So I am deeply grateful for everyone who helped me reach the finish line:

  My agent, Tracey Adams. I still can’t quite believe I’m fortunate enough to be represented by such a rock star.

  My editor, Alix Reid. Her unfailing patience and key insights helped me unravel some of the story’s most tangled knots.

  The entire team of people who take an author’s words, turn them into a book, and then get that book onto bookshelves: designer Emily Harris, art director Danielle Carnito, production editor Erica Johnson, marketing manager Livy Traczyk, and marketing associate Libby Stille. Thanks also to copy editor Julie Harman (who I hope has forgiven my inability to distinguish between further and farther) and Junyi Wu for the amazing cover art.

  All the teachers and librarians and bloggers who champion both books and their readers.

  The women who helped me with the details of nettle-craft: Krista Rahm of Forrest Green Farm, who spent part of an afternoon teaching me about stinging nettles and sent me home with the nettles I harvested. Ann Vonnegut, who taught me how to use a drop spindle. (And Michelle, who introduced us.) Any mistakes are mine, not theirs.

  The hen-whisperers, who helped me with Owain-the-hen: Maya, Lisa, Laura, Katy, and Martha.

  Julie Dillard, who asked why nettles were so important and wouldn’t accept “Because they were good enough for the Brothers Grimm and Hans Christian Anderson” as an answer. I wrote one of my favorite chapters after that conversation.

  The Slushbusters, my critique group that still gives spot-on feedback.

  My LYLP girls who read key portions and listened to the ups and downs of writing and selling books.

  The amazing SCBWI community that has encouraged, taught, critiqued, and befriended me. What a joy it is to write with such talented, warm-hearted people!

  Everyone at the 2015 Hood River Breakout Novel Intensive who helped me tackle this tale: Don, Lorin, Brenda, and Jason.

  My family and friends. I am so, so grateful for you and wish I had another page to list all the ways that you are awesome.

  Fred, who understands deadlines and celebrates hitting send, even though he wishes I wrote more explosions. I’m glad you asked me out for smoothies.

  Topics for Discussion

  How does Ryn’s connection to the House of Cynwrig affect her actions? Why is the difference between “game of swans” and “flight of swans” so important?

  Why is the Kingstone so important to Ryn and the Queen? Do you think Ryn does the right thing when her father demands she give part of it to the Queen?

  List some of the things Ryn fears throughout the book. Which of those do you think she fears most, and why?

  Ryn demonstrates her bravery many times over throughout the book. What do you think is her first brave decision? The hardest decision?

  Where do you think Ryn’s bravery comes from? Where does your bravery come from?

  Does Ryn have a favorite brother? How does she recognize her brothers even when they are swans?

  What are different ways that Ryn communicates? How would you communicate if you couldn’t speak or write?

  How does Ryn try to protect her brothers, and how do they try to protect her?

  Why do you think Ryn’s brothers don’t always believe her? Do you think you would have believed her? Have there been times when you weren’t believed?

  Ionwyn talked about how a person could be the “turning point” in a story and cause everything to change. List characters that you think influenced Ryn during the six years of enchantment. Explain why you chose them.

  How does Ryn change throughout her six years of silence? How does she stay the same?

  What was Ryn’s original opinion of the kingdoms of Eyre? How does her opinion change when she lives in the kingdom of Fianna?

  What do the Ri, Tanwen, Finn, and the people of Fianna think of Ryn and Carrick when they first arrive at Castle Hill? How do their attitudes change, and what do you think causes that change?

  Why doesn’t Ryn want to face the Queen alone after her brothers are enchanted? Does she ever change her mind? Why or why not?

  Now that the enchantment has ended and the Queen has returned to the Otherworld, what do you think the future holds for Lacharra and Fianna?

  Compare and contrast The Flight of Swans with the original story, “Six Swans” (or Andersen’s “Wild Swans”). What would you have changed or kept the same if you were retelling the story?

  About the Author

  Sarah McGuire is a nomadic math teacher who sailed around the world aboard a floating college campus. She writes fairy tale retellings and still hopes that one day she’ll open a wardrobe and stumble into another world. Coffee and chocolate are her rocket fuel. She wishes Florida had mountains, but she lives there anyway with her husband (who wrote this bio in less than three minutes!) and their family.