Princess of the Wild Swans

by Diane Zahler

  “No,” Riona agreed. “She mustn’t become suspicious. I will find out how best to break the spell, and I’ll send Liam to you, for I dare not show myself at the castle again. But we must work quickly. The days are getting shorter.”

  “What does that matter?” I asked, confused.

  “The lakes freeze, and the swans must fly south, Princess,” Riona said gently. “If your brothers are not changed back by then, they will have to leave—or they will starve, or die of the cold.”

  “Oh!” I cried. “Then be swift, please! And come to me soon,” I begged Liam, who bowed his head.

  “As soon as I can, Your Highness,” he replied. As he and his sister turned to go, the swans did the strange dance they had done when I first saw them, rising on the water and beating their wings furiously. In reply, Riona waved to them, and I called out to Cullan, “Behave yourself when I am gone!” But the answering “And you too!” that I longed for did not come. My heart heavy, I sped up the long hill as Riona and Liam ran down toward town.

  I was too late to appear at the queen’s dinner, but already so many guests had arrived that no one seemed to notice. And the ball was unspeakably awful. Lady Orianna had chosen a dress for me to wear, one I had never seen before. She’d had it made in Ardin before she came back with Father, Mistress Tuileach told me. It had a bodice that laced so tightly that I could barely breathe, and its skirts were as heavy as lead. Ordinarily I would have loved the rich blue satin fabric, the embroidered shoes, and the lapis stones she sent me to weave on silver threads through my hair. But I shrank from it all as Mistress Tuileach tried to help me dress.

  “Let me fix these in your hair,” she urged me, holding out the stones as I sat before the looking glass.

  “No!” I said obstinately. “The only jewel I will wear is this.” I held up my sapphire necklace, its clasp broken by Cullan’s strong beak.

  “Oh, did it break?” Mistress Tuileach took the necklace from me. “We can string the stone on a black velvet ribbon, and it will look beautiful.”

  It did look beautiful. The black ribbon made my skin seem pale and creamy, and the jewel gleamed in the hollow of my throat, making my blue-green eyes seem darker and more mysterious.

  “Why does she want me at the ball?” I asked Mistress Tuileach, looking with displeasure at my image in the mirror. “Father has always said I am not old enough for balls.”

  “You are older than you were,” Mistress Tuileach pointed out, tucking an errant curl into place. “I think the queen feels that it is time to introduce you to society.”

  I turned to face her, taken aback. “Do you mean that she thinks I should marry?” I demanded.

  “You are twelve—still too young for that,” Mistress Tuileach said, but her gaze slid away from mine in a way that made me very uncomfortable.

  In the past, I had always watched my father’s parties from a gallery above the ballroom where I could sit unobserved. I loved to see my brothers dancing, even Darrock, whose stiff, self-conscious movements made me giggle, and Druce, who usually looked as if he would rather be in the library or curled up on a window seat, reading. I had yearned to be part of the festivities for as long as I could remember. Now I would be going to the ball—but I wished I were not.

  I descended the stairs to the open doors of the ballroom with dread. I knew I looked pretty, but I did not welcome the admiring glances I received from the noblemen whom Lady Orianna had invited. I ignored them and made my way quickly over to Sir Brion, Father’s old friend, who greeted me warmly.

  “Princess Meriel, you are a vision of loveliness this evening!” he told me, bowing.

  I dipped in a curtsy and replied, “Thank you, milord. I am glad to see a familiar face, for I think that most of these guests are the queen’s. Many of them appear to have come from far away. I do not know them at all.”

  He nodded, looking out at the throng on the dance floor, their fine plumage of silks, satins, and jewels shimmering in the candlelight. It was a much more elegant gathering than we usually hosted; I could see no linen dresses anywhere. My brothers’ friends were not there. Even the lords who were Father’s usual companions were missing, except for Sir Brion.

  “Aye,” Sir Brion said, shaking his head sadly. “It does not seem that many of the old crowd are here. It is not the same without your brothers.”

  “No, not the same at all,” I said in a choked voice, picturing my brothers as they swam in the waters of Heart Lake. Tears threatened, and, unable to bear Sir Brion’s sympathetic gaze, I excused myself quickly.

  Before I had walked more than a few feet, though, a strange gentleman bowed to me and invited me to dance. I hesitated, but he took my hand and drew me out onto the floor into a set dance, seven separate quadrilles performed with three other couples. When that set was finished, my partner handed me to another, and I danced set after set for hours as the night became a blur of movement and unfamiliar faces. Each time I tried to flee back upstairs I found myself caught in a new dance with a new partner, all handsome, all young, all strangers to me. Perhaps once I might have enjoyed the attention and the excitement, but I could not stop thinking of my brothers, and I longed to escape. By midnight I was dizzy with twirling and spinning, and quite exhausted.

  At a break in the music I pulled away from my partner and fled, picking up my skirts and running out of the ballroom, down the hall, and out the side door. The queen’s guards were off for the night, as guests would be coming and going until all hours, so I could move freely. The moon lighted my way as I made for the garden and found my favorite bench, sheltered inside a wooden arbor. The last roses of the season climbed up and around the trellis, and I breathed in their sweet scent as I tried to calm myself. The air was chilly with the first bite of autumn, and I thought of my brothers and the lake water, cooling.

  I heard footsteps on the gravel path and groaned, then tried to make myself very inconspicuous. The last thing I wanted was to face another handsome, tedious lord. The footsteps made straight for my arbor, though, so I steeled myself and decided to be as rude as necessary to get rid of the intruder.

  As the guest neared me, I said in my most scathing tone, “If you are looking for a dance partner, you will have to search elsewhere. I am weary to death of all the oafs who have stepped on my toes at the ball tonight.”

  There was a snort of laughter, and Riona’s brother, Liam, poked his head into the arbor. “But you have not danced with me yet, Princess Meriel!” he said, grinning as he swept me a low bow. “I am known for my uncommon grace.”

  Before I could stop myself, I snapped, “How could one so common be uncommon in any way?” The smile slid off his face, and I clapped my hand to my mouth, but it was too late.

  “Forgive my boldness, Your Highness,” he said coldly. “I come with news from my sister. Here—she sends you a note.” He held out a folded sheet of paper to me.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, but my tone was all wrong. It occurred to me that I did not really know how to apologize. To cover my embarrassment, I opened the note quickly and held it up to see it in the moonlight.

  It can be done, but it is very difficult, I read. One who loves the victims must sew them shirts from stinging nettles. When the shirts are finished and put on, the spell will be broken. But beware! If the seamstress speaks before the task is done, each word will be as a knife in the victims’ hearts.

  “Oh, this is madness,” I gasped, looking up at Liam. “Have you read it?”

  He nodded, his expression softening a little.

  “Perhaps Riona is mistaken,” I suggested hopefully. How could anyone sew shirts from stinging nettles?

  “She is not mistaken,” he said gently. “She sent word to our mother, who is away, helping the ill. She is a full-blooded witch. This is what Mother sent back. There is no question about it.”

  I looked again at the paper. “Why would the queen do such a terrible thing? I do not understand.”

  Liam came closer, and I motioned him to sit beside
me. “My mother believes that she wants her own child to be king.”

  “Yes,” I said, low. “I have heard her say as much.” I looked again at the paper. “Well, there is no one who loves them all but Father and me, and Father is under the queen’s spell.”

  “That leaves you,” Liam said, and added hard- heartedly, “I do not think you can sew five shirts from nettles, though—nor do it all in silence.”

  I did not blame him for his harshness, for I had insulted him. And I agreed with him. I did not think I could do it either. I could not spin nor weave, and I could sew but a little. Yet his words provoked me, and I raised fierce eyes to his and said, “I will do it. I must. Else my brothers all will die.”

  5

  The Task:

  And How It Commenced

  Before Liam left the garden, we decided that I would come to the cottage as early as I could the next day, and with Riona we could make a plan for harvesting enough nettles to make the shirts. Then I went back inside, avoiding the guests who were saying their farewells to my father and the queen in the forecourt. I trudged up the stairs to my room, where Mistress Tuileach awaited me. As she helped me undress, she said, “I watched you dancing from the gallery, Princess. You were very graceful.”

  “Was I?” I asked distractedly. I drew my first deep breath of the evening, glad to be uncorseted at last. “It was all so strange—I didn’t know any of my partners. And the dances were all quadrilles, not the country dances that you have taught me. I couldn’t tell if I danced well, or spoke well, or even looked well. It was very tiring.”

  “You looked very well indeed. I think some of your dance partners will be calling on you,” Mistress Tuileach said as she shook out my dress. A few pieces of gravel from the garden path dropped from the hem, and she looked at me sharply.

  “I truly hope they do not,” I said, avoiding her gaze and climbing into bed. Then I told her, “Mistress Tuileach, I cannot come to my lessons tomorrow. There is something I must do.”

  “Something important?” she inquired mildly, hanging the dress in my closet.

  “Very important,” I said.

  “Then we shall spend twice as long on lessons the next day” was her surprising response. “Your father and stepmother would like you to come to breakfast in the morning, though, and that you must do. Good night, Your Highness.”

  “Good night,” I said. She went out of the room, and I nestled down in my pillows. I didn’t think that I would sleep, but the dancing and the worry over my brothers had worn me out completely. The next moment, it seemed, my eyes opened to the sun streaming in through the window.

  Mistress Tuileach helped me dress, tying my sapphire on its ribbon around my neck and braiding my hair. Then I went down to breakfast, where Father and Lady Orianna awaited me. I took scones and tea, and spooned jam onto my plate very deliberately, saying not a word and trying hard to guard my thoughts.

  Finally the queen broke our silence. “Did you enjoy the ball, Meriel?” she asked.

  I did not look at her. “No, not very much,” I replied.

  “Did you not find any partners who pleased you?”

  “They were dandies. They wore too much cologne and used too much hair oil,” I said, biting into a scone.

  “Meriel,” Father said in a scolding tone, though I could tell his heart was not in it. I turned away from them, but I could still see the queen reflected in the gold-framed mirror at the end of the table. Her eyes narrowed.

  “Was there no one whom you might consider?” she persisted.

  My anger overwhelmed me then. “Consider?” I exclaimed, turning back to look at her directly. “Do you mean consider as a husband? I am not yet thirteen! Father, do you think I am old enough to marry?”

  Father looked rather blankly at me. “Why . . . no,” he said. “You are still quite young.” He turned to the queen. “Do you intend for her to marry, my dear?”

  Lady Orianna pressed her lips together in a tight line, and I hid a smile. “Of course not, Gearalt,” she said smoothly. “I was only thinking of the future. Before long, Meriel will be of an age to take a husband.”

  “Yes . . . before long,” Father agreed. “In the meantime, though, do have some more jam, my love.”

  We finished breakfasting in silence, as we had begun, and then I left them together and rushed down to the cellar, where Ogan stood at guard duty.

  “Your Highness,” he said to me, “the queen has spoken to all of the guards about you. She noticed the other day that your dress was wet and knew you had been outside. She has made it clear that it is worth our jobs—or worse—if we let you leave.”

  “Oh!” I cried. “How can she do this—make me a prisoner in my own home? Will you not let me pass?”

  “I cannot, Your Highness,” he said regretfully.

  I scowled at him. In the past, if I ordered a guard to do something, he did it without question. Now everything was different; my desires were no longer of any consequence. I spun on my heel, prepared to march away.

  “I recall,” Ogan said in a conversational tone, “that your brother Prince Cullan often left the castle without notice. Perhaps you know how he did it.”

  I turned back and stared at him. Of course I knew how Cullan did it! I grinned at Ogan, and he smiled back. As quickly and quietly as I could, I ran up to Cullan’s bedchamber. It was clean and uncluttered, the bed neatly made, my brother’s usual piles of clothes, hats, and boots put away. Ignoring the unnatural tidiness, I opened the long mullioned window across from the bed. Then I stood on the window seat and reached out, grabbing the thick ivy trunk that conveniently climbed up the stone wall just outside. I swung out and let myself down, hand over hand, just as I had watched Cullan do a score of times on his way to meet some girl or other in town or by the lake.

  When I was clear of the castle and sure that no one observed me, I raced down the hill and onto the path that skirted the lake. As if they had been waiting for my arrival, my swan brothers swam to greet me. Quickly I went from one to the next, pressing a kiss on each bird’s head.

  “Darrock, Cullan, Baird, Aidan, Druce.” I named them all, looking into their eyes, and told them, “Riona has found out the task I must perform to break your spell. It may take some time, but I shall do it. Only—” I paused here, looking for Cullan among the flock. His green gaze was intent on me.

  “Only I cannot speak again until I am finished.” Was that a glint of amusement in Cullan’s eyes? I frowned at him. “If you don’t think I can be silent, I will prove you wrong.” The Cullan swan opened his beak and clapped it closed, the only sound a voiceless swan could make, and the others followed suit. It was as if they were applauding me, and I felt pleasure and anxiety warring within me. Perhaps I had finally begun to gain my brothers’ confidence—but what if I should fail?

  I left them then and ran to Riona’s cottage. When I arrived, I took a moment to look more closely at it, for I had barely noticed my surroundings the previous day. It was tiny but sweet, only a little larger than a toy cottage I had once played in as a child. Autumn flowers ringed its front and spilled from window boxes, and in the cool of the morning, the chimney puffed sweet-smelling peat smoke.

  I knocked, and Liam again answered the door. I was embarrassed to see him after my discourtesy the night before, and he did not look entirely pleased to see me, but he stood back to let me enter. I followed him into the cottage and stood in its main room, gazing around in fascination. Two overstuffed chairs covered with pretty floral cloth were angled toward the hearth, where a fire burned briskly. Between them was a table that held a vase overflowing with fresh fall blooms. Flowers, in fact, were everywhere—in fabrics and vases, dried and hung from the rafters in bunches, woven into the little rugs scattered here and there about the room. It was like a garden indoors. And there were birds, living birds—a thrush with one bent wing was perched on the mantel, and the crow I had seen before sat on the back of one of the chairs.

  Riona came from the kitchen bearing
a tray that held a teapot, three flowered cups, and a little vase of wild pansies. As she put down the tray, a small, sleek animal dashed from beneath the table, and I gave a little shriek.

  “What is that?” I asked, holding up my skirts.

  Liam grinned. “It’s a stoat, a kind of weasel,” he said. “I found it in a trap, its leg broken. I set it, it healed . . . and it stayed.”

  “Oh my,” I said faintly. “Do your parents not mind you keeping these creatures in the house?”

  “Our mother is often away. And Father . . . well, he died when we were very young. He was a sailor, and he drowned at sea.”

  “Ah,” I said. “I’m sorry.” We sat on rickety wooden chairs at the table in the main room and drank tea while Riona outlined what must be done.

  “There is a field of wild stinging nettles just this side of Tiramore,” she said. “The grazing animals all avoid it, and no one claims it, for it cannot be cultivated. We can collect the nettles and bring them here to spin.” She pointed to a small spinning wheel in the corner.

  “I don’t know how to spin,” I admitted.

  “I will teach you,” she assured me.

  “But are you allowed to help?” I asked.

  “Mother has said that I can help in certain ways. Liam and I can both aid in collecting the nettles, and I can show you how to spin and weave and stitch the shirts. But you must do the work yourself.”

  I suddenly wished that I had paid more attention to Mistress Tuileach’s sewing lessons. “I am a very bad seamstress,” I said glumly.

  Riona and Liam exchanged a smile. “As long as the shirts hold together,” Riona told me, “that will be enough.”

  I nodded. “And when must I stop speaking?”

  “When we begin to pick,” she said.

  “But how can I stay mute?” I wondered. “What will I do when Father wants to speak with me, or the queen? Or my governess?”

  Liam laughed, but kindly. “I can imagine that silence would be difficult for you,” he said. “But I’ve no doubt that you will find a way.” I grimaced at him, imagining the hardship of trying to avoid conversation for days, maybe weeks on end.