A Throne of Swans

by Katharine

  ‘That’ll do.’ Lucien takes my hand and starts walking briskly; I have to jog to keep up with him.

  ‘You still haven’t told me what’s happening.’

  ‘A punishment. The court has been summoned to the arena to witness it.’

  ‘A punishment? For what reason? And who?’

  ‘You’ll know soon enough.’ He stops abruptly in a corridor, glances from side to side and takes me by the shoulders. ‘Whatever you see, Aderyn, don’t say anything, or do anything. Don’t react at all.’ He’s gripping my shoulders so firmly it hurts. ‘Please – will you promise me?’

  ‘I promise.’

  There are voices approaching. Lucien grabs my hand again and we hurry onward. More and more people join us, all moving in the same direction. Eventually we emerge onto a railed balcony, open to the cool morning air. The balcony stretches along one side of the Citadel, and there’s a smaller, higher balcony at a right angle to it. Both overlook an open space: a natural, grassy amphitheatre in the side of the mountain upon which the palace is built. The flightless servants who work in the Citadel are crowded behind the fences that enclose this arena at ground level. The arena itself is empty at the moment. But my eye is drawn towards two tall stone pillars with various metal rings and sets of manacles hanging from their sides.

  I clutch Lucien’s hand tighter. He’s trying to push through the throng to a space at the far end of the balcony, where it follows the line of the wall away from the amphitheatre. But before we can get there, someone calls my name.

  A servant approaches us and bows. ‘Your Grace, His Majesty has requested that you join him in the royal box.’

  I turn slowly and find the king watching me, Odette and Aron next to him. He beckons. Letting go of Lucien, I join them on the smaller balcony.

  The king nods briskly. ‘That’s right. Come and stand here, with your cousins.’ He runs his hand down the curve of my back as I pass, and I hold my breath so that I don’t shudder. Odette’s eyes are red-rimmed.

  Aron murmurs in my ear, ‘Remember, cousin, there are no secrets here.’

  ‘What’s that you’re saying, my son?’ The king leans nearer.

  ‘Merely wishing my cousin a good morning, Father.’

  ‘And it is indeed a beautiful morning. Though not, perhaps, for everyone. We are here to see a punishment for treason, niece. Treason leads to instability, and instability threatens the entire kingdom. Tell me, my dear, have you heard of nobles having their wings clipped?’

  ‘No, uncle.’

  ‘It is an old punishment. But Cygnus I chose to retain it when he reformed the Honour Codes. Ah, here is the miscreant.’

  Dark Guards appear from the rooms below the balcony. And held between two of them, his head bowed and bloodied, is Lord Hawkin.

  I bite my lip, but my pulse is thrumming so hard that I’m sure the king must be able to hear it. One of the guards salutes the balcony. ‘Shall I read out the charges, Your Majesty?’

  The king waves a hand in consent, and the guard unrolls a scroll.

  ‘Rees, Lord Hawkin, stands accused of malicious agitation against the crown and collaboration with foreign agents. Having confessed the same, he is hereby sentenced to have his wings clipped.’

  ‘Have you anything to say, Lord Hawkin?’ the king calls out. ‘We will hear you, if you wish to beg for mercy.’

  Hawkin lifts his head, though it seems he has trouble focusing on the royal box. ‘I am an old man, Your Majesty. I have served the kingdom well. I have spoken nothing … nothing but the truth. If I have spoken to the wrong people, a true king would forgive my indiscretion –’

  ‘Enough.’ The king waves a hand, and Hawkin is gagged. ‘Carry out the sentence.’

  On the main balcony an elderly woman – Lord Hawkin’s wife? – begins pleading for clemency, but no one pays her the least attention. The guards manacle Hawkin’s shoulders and wrists to the pillars so he is stretched between them. Two more guards come forward with lit torches, and a third with an axe. The smoke from the torches drifts upward; the smell of it turns my stomach. I want to grip the railing in front of me, to hold myself up, but Lucien told me not to react …

  Beside me, Odette’s fingers brush against my own. A sudden burst of affection for my cousin steadies me; hidden by the folds of our gowns, we hold hands.

  ‘Chins up, my dears,’ the king murmurs. ‘We will at least do Lord Hawkin the courtesy of giving him our full attention.’

  I raise my head, fixing my gaze on a patch of ground just in front of the spot where Hawkin is chained, so I don’t have to see what is about to happen.

  But I can still hear. I hear him moaning in terror. I hear his shrieks of agony as both his arms are hewn off. Screams that go on and on, echoing off the mountainside, as the stumps are cauterized.

  Until, suddenly, the screams stop. There is a long, drawn-out wheeze, and then silence, and the stink of blood and burnt flesh drifting upward on the breeze.

  ‘Unfortunate,’ the king observes. ‘It appears the trauma was too much for him.’

  I risk a glance towards Lord Hawkin’s wife. She is slumped on the ground, unconscious, a clear space around her as if the other courtiers are afraid that something – his treason, or her grief – might be catching. Down in the amphitheatre the Dark Guards are already dragging the body away, leaving smears of blood across the emerald grass. The hacked-off limbs are left attached to the posts; a true crow is already eyeing them hungrily.

  And is this because of me? Because Hawkin spoke to me about my mother?

  ‘Walk with me, Aderyn.’ The king is holding out his arm. I take it, and we begin moving towards a door at the far side of the small balcony. ‘I have …’ He pauses, wincing a little, fingering a patch of red, oozing skin on the side of his chin. ‘I have a special honour for you.’

  ‘Thank you, Your Majesty.’ I’m amazed that I can speak, that my voice sounds flat and everyday.

  ‘You know your cousin is to be married soon.’

  I nod.

  ‘After seeing the two of you dance so delightfully together yesterday, I have decided that you shall be one of her maidens. It is not an onerous role. You merely have to fly with her to the sacred lake at the top of the mountain, spend the night there as a swan, and then fly back with her in time for the marriage ceremony. By custom, that takes place on the landing platform, at sunrise.’

  He keeps talking, something about robes, and music, but I can’t concentrate. That one word, fly, swallows up every other thought. It beats against me like wings.

  ‘Aderyn, you do not answer me. I hope you are not insensible of the very great honour your cousin and I are extending to you.’

  My uncle’s face is bland, but there is no hiding the triumph in his eyes.

  I swallow, and try to think about Atratys, and Lucien.

  ‘Of course, uncle. I am deeply honoured. Has …? Has a date been set?’

  ‘The first night of Pandion, weather permitting. The early-autumn star showers are an auspicious time for weddings.’ We have reached the royal apartments. I bow as the king leaves me and make my way automatically towards my own rooms. But my chest is tight, and I don’t seem to be able to breathe properly –

  ‘Take my arm.’

  Lucien is next to me. I do as he says, leaning on him, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. Finally we are back at my apartment.

  As soon as the door shuts behind us the words spill out of me. ‘A few weeks, Lucien. That’s all I have left. I have to be able to fly by the time of the wedding, and if I can’t …’

  ‘Calm down. We’ll think of a way around it.’

  ‘But you were right. If he can, he’ll have me executed.’ I remember the doll, with its missing arms. ‘He’ll claim Atratys and then he’ll chain me to those posts and –’

  ‘Aderyn, listen to me!’ Lucien grips my shoulders. ‘I am not going to let that happen.’ His dark eyes are boring into me, as if he’s trying to convince both of us th
at he really can magically solve this problem. ‘I know what I said the other day, but you’ve done nothing wrong. Even if Convocation collectively lost their minds and allowed the king to proceed against you …’ He trails off.

  Because we both know that Convocation can’t defy the Decrees. If it’s discovered that I cannot transform, I may be spared public execution. But the best I’ll be able to hope for is banishment, and an assassin’s blade not long after.

  Or maybe the talons of a hawk …

  ‘Atratys – I can’t let him ruin it, Lucien.’ I imagine Merl Castle surrounded by the slums of Lower Farne, the neat houses of Hythe replaced by the broken-down hovels of Brithys. ‘I can’t. You’ve got to help me.’

  ‘We’ll find a way to protect Atratys. I’ll think of something. I promise.’ He lets go of me and moves to leave. ‘It’s early still; you should try to get some more rest, my lady. I’ll send Letya to you.’

  ‘But, Lucien –’

  Too late – he’s gone.

  And I am left staring at the door, missing the feeling of his hands on my shoulders.

  I’m still standing there when Letya arrives. She helps me off with the heavy satin gown, brings me a cup of chocolate and sits on the sofa next to me.

  ‘I saw what happened to Lord Hawkin.’

  ‘I killed him, Letya. I made him talk to me about my mother, and now –’

  ‘You didn’t kill him. The king did, black-hearted monster that he is.’ She sighs. ‘I wish I could hug you. Properly hug you, I mean.’

  I understand; she wants to be able to put her arms around me and hold me tight and not have to let go.

  ‘I wish I could hug you too, Letya.’

  My friend is wearing gloves. I am not. But still, she squeezes my hand briefly in hers.

  The day of Lord Hawkin’s death is an Ember Day. Thankfully there will be no banquet this evening, no requirement to assemble in the great hall. I take a bath and go to the sanctuary to light a candle for the homing of Lord Hawkin’s soul. The rest of the day I spend with Letya in my rooms.

  The next morning, I try to transform again. Perhaps because my need to fly is now a when, instead of an if, I fare worse than ever. The current runs beneath my skin as always. But I can do nothing with it. I can’t even find the spark that triggers transformation, the tipping point from which the power that I possess by birth should almost force me into the shape of a swan. I try again and again, until I scream and smash my fist against the looking glass in the corner of the room.

  It breaks.

  Letya bandages my hand when she brings me breakfast. But when I ask her to find Lucien, she can’t.

  I don’t suppose it matters; he can’t help me anyway, not really. Not even if he wanted to.

  But perhaps someone else can.

  It takes me a while to track Siegfried down. I try the library, the throne room, the great hall and the long gallery. The guest master thinks that he saw his lordship entering the sanctuary. One of the Venerable Sisters tells me that he was there, but has since left. He is not in his rooms, and he is not with Odette. I even ask Aron; my cousin ridicules me for falling under the spell of Siegfried’s charm, and tells me that he neither knows nor cares where the future king may be. Eventually I decide he must have gone flying. I pick up one of my books and go into the gardens, hoping to calm my nerves.

  Siegfried is lounging on a stone bench in the herb garden. He has his eyes closed and his face turned up to the sun, as if he’s asleep. I hesitate, and am about to retreat – after all, this whole thing is ridiculous; what can Siegfried or anyone really do to help me transform? – when he looks at me and smiles.

  ‘Your Grace. I was just thinking about you.’ He pats the bench next to him.

  I sit down, still clutching my book to my chest. I know what I want to say. At least I think I do. But as to whether I should say it …

  Siegfried clears his throat. ‘I’m not well read, as I mentioned, but I believe you need to open a book if you really want to get the best out of it.’ He taps the book gripped between my hands. ‘Or so I’ve been told.’ The humour in his voice is a pleasant change from Lucien’s usual tone of barely disguised impatience and Aron’s mocking contempt.

  I force a smile. ‘I’m sorry. I’m distracted.’

  ‘No – you’re distressed.’ He frowns and peers into my face. ‘Is there anything I can do, Aderyn?’

  I rush the words out before I can change my mind. ‘You said before that you could help me.’

  He sits up straighter, suddenly serious.

  ‘And I can.’

  ‘How?’

  The bench we’re sitting on is made of red marble, with the imprints of sea shells somehow trapped within it. Siegfried traces the outline of one of these shells with his forefinger. ‘What do you know of the study of potions and elixirs?’

  ‘Not much. My father experimented, trying to create medicines. But he allowed me into his laboratory only a handful of times.’ I see the room in my mind’s eye: tables covered in notebooks and jars and glass vessels, the air thick with smoke and strange scents. It’s been locked up since he died. ‘Why?’

  ‘I know someone – an alchemist of sorts. He works with plants from outside the kingdom mostly. Trying to find out how they can harm, how they can help. He discovered a rare herb, a couple of years ago now, and from this herb he developed a potion. When given to the flightless, this potion emphasises the dominant aspect of their personality: bravery, recklessness, whatever. But when given to our kind, it has a more extreme effect. If you take it, it will force you to transform. Your conscious mind will have no say in the matter.’ He pauses, drumming his fingers the bench. ‘Now, I don’t exactly know what difficulties you are having. Odette mentioned pain …’

  He waits, leaving the sentence hanging.

  I press my hands against the uncertainty churning below my ribcage, studying Siegfried’s face. His expression is open; there’s no trace of deceit that I can detect. If I continue, I am putting my life – and the future of my dominion – into his hands. But if I do nothing, in a few weeks’ time –

  Lord Hawkin’s screams of agony are too fresh in my memory.

  ‘It’s true there’s pain. The skin on my back … it didn’t mend properly. But I lied to Odette. It’s not that I don’t want to transform. It’s …’ I close my eyes as I force the words out. ‘It’s that I can’t.’ My voice trembles as I speak my secret. But there is also a sudden, unexpected surge of relief. ‘Can you really help me, Siegfried? And this potion – is it safe?’ I know enough to know that these elixirs have side effects.

  ‘I promise you, it is safe. It’s been extensively tested. Would you like to try it?’

  I don’t reply. The very first thing Lucien told me was to trust no one. This could all be part of a plan to kill me, or cripple me.

  ‘I understand why you’re nervous,’ Siegfried says quietly. ‘The canker that sits at the heart of our kingdom is a threat to us all. But soon I’ll be married to the heir to the throne. I can help you. I can protect you. But only if you’ll let me.’

  We look at each other.

  ‘Very well.’

  He nods. ‘I’m glad. And I’m honoured by your trust in me, Your Grace.’ He lays his fingers lightly over mine. ‘Keep trusting me. You’ll have no cause to regret your honesty.’

  I sigh, hoping he is right.

  ‘Do you know the lake in the far corner of the gardens?’ he asks. ‘The one planted round with juniper trees?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The moon is waxing. And it looks as if we’ll have a clear evening. Slip out after dinner and meet me there.’ He squeezes my hand. ‘Tonight, you’ll fly again.’

  I don’t know how I get through the rest of the day. I try to study, but I can’t concentrate. I pick up the latest letter from Lord Lancelin, asking for my decision on a boundary dispute that has arisen back home, but I find myself reading the same line over and over again. Eventually I give up and sit, staring out of th
e window, until it’s time to dress for dinner. Lucien escorts me as usual. I don’t ask him where he was this morning, and since he doesn’t ask me about my day I’m spared the necessity of lying. Aron notices my lack of appetite and draws attention to it, asking which of my suitors I’m pining for, exposing me to the obsequious attentions of Patrus. But finally the banquet ends. Once we are in the long gallery I make an excuse about my head aching, and slip away.

  First I return to my rooms, where I swap my teal-blue evening dress for a long robe and lock my mother’s ring away in my jewel case. I’ve already told Letya not to wait up for me. By the time I get down to the gardens, having taken the most circuitous route I can think of to confuse the watching guards, the tendons in my neck and shoulders are singing with tension. The lake is a forty-minute walk from the upper terrace behind the palace. My feet crunch too loudly against the gravel. Every shadow among the trees and flower beds seems as if it might be concealing an enemy.

  To my relief, Siegfried is already waiting for me. His silver-blond hair glimmers in the darkness; like me, he’s wearing a robe.

  ‘You came.’ He sounds a little surprised.

  ‘I said that I would.’ There’s a small glass vial tucked into his palm. ‘Is that it?’

  ‘Yes. I’m afraid it doesn’t taste very nice. The antidote –’ he taps a small leather pouch hanging from a cord around his neck – ‘is a little more palatable.’

  ‘Antidote?’

  ‘To reverse the transformation. I’ll administer it to you when we return. Don’t worry: I’ve tried them both. You’ll be fine.’ He walks to the edge of the lake, and I follow. Together we wade a little way out, until the water comes nearly to our knees. He turns to face me. ‘Shall we?’

  My breath suddenly seems to be lodged in my lungs. I knew I would have to disrobe – it’s possible to transform while dressed, but definitely not advisable. Now it comes to it, though, the thought of uncovering myself before him terrifies me. ‘It’s been so long –’

  ‘I understand. Shall I go first?’

  Without waiting for an answer, Siegfried undoes the fastenings of his robe and lets it slip into the lake.