A Throne of Swans

by Katharine

  ‘You should get some rest,’ Letya observes.

  ‘You’re right.’ Needles of pain stab the muscles in my shoulders and back. ‘Shall we go for a ride later on? I’d like to –’ There’s a knock on the door.

  It’s Lucien.

  ‘Come in, my lord. I’m glad to see you.’ It’s the truth: I’m pleased to see another familiar face, a reminder of my home. For a brief moment I study his face, trying to trace in his features some resemblance to my dear Lord Lancelin. But then I remember the thoughts I had about Lucien last night. And I remember his words to Turik. The spark of happiness fades, replaced by a churning mixture of guilt and anxiety, as I wonder whether spending the night away from court with Siegfried comes under Lucien’s definition of endangering the dominion. I take a deep breath, preparing to deflect the conversation onto some neutral topic, but Lucien forestalls me.

  ‘The king wants to see you. As soon as possible.’

  My heartbeat accelerates. ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He rubs a hand over his face. ‘You’d better get changed.’

  Letya has already set aside her knitting and has rung the bell. ‘I’ll have the maid fetch you a tisane. Hopefully it will wake you up a bit …’

  Half an hour later I’m walking alongside Lucien towards the king’s apartments. I’ve not been in this part of the Citadel before; all the doorways here are watched over by Dark Guards. My clerk is silent, glowering at the ornate carpet covering the floor, but he remembers his role and gives our names to one of the servants when we arrive at the receiving room.

  The man returns shortly with a reply. ‘His Majesty is currently engaged, but he’s requested that you should wait, Your Grace, if it’s not an inconvenience.’

  Deferring to my convenience is a formality, obviously. Maybe the king really is busy, or maybe this is a reminder that he has power here and I do not. Either way, we have nothing to do but stroll about the receiving room until my uncle decides to send for me. I wander over to a large book of maps displayed on a stand in the corner, thinking that I might at least look at the outline of Atratys, even if I can’t be there. But Lucien follows me.

  ‘Where were you last night?’ he mutters.

  I run my finger down the index page, giving myself time to think.

  ‘Here. Why?’

  ‘Don’t lie to me, Your Grace.’

  ‘If you think you know where I was –’ I make a show of turning to the correct page – ‘I wonder that you should take the trouble to ask me, my lord.’

  ‘Letya is discreet. But Siegfried’s servants are not. Either that, or he wants everyone to know that you spent the night with him.’

  I stiffen, gripping the edge of the book. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, it is already common knowledge that you were with Siegfried last night, and that you were not at court. As I said before, it’s none of my business what –’

  ‘Then why do you question me?’

  ‘Because I don’t trust him. And … And I care about you.’

  I almost laugh. ‘Now who’s lying? You’d sacrifice me without a qualm if you believed I was a danger to our dominion.’ I glance sideways to see what effect my words have.

  ‘I am your loyal servant, Your Grace, as I hope you are aware.’ His tone is dry, but he can’t conceal the doubt in his eyes.

  The servant approaches. ‘His Majesty will see you now, Your Grace.’

  I leave Lucien to his uncertainty and follow the servant through to the audience chamber. The king is lying on a daybed, wearing a loose robe. There is a servant – a physician? – applying some sort of poultice to a lesion on my uncle’s leg. The air in the room is close, heavy with the scent of juniper wood burning in the hearth.

  ‘You wished to see me, uncle.’

  ‘Indeed.’ The king holds out his ring for me to kiss. ‘I would like to discuss – ouch!’ He grimaces, seizes a bowl of candied plums from the table next to the bed and hurls it at the servant. ‘Begone! No more treatment today.’

  ‘But, Your Majesty –’

  ‘Get out!’ He picks up another makeshift missile – a silver-backed mirror – but the servant hurries away. The king slumps back against the couch, a sheen of sweat on his face.

  The lesion on his leg is not isolated; there are more, on his arms and neck. The word at court is that this illness of the king’s is an infection, born of his dissolute style of living. He certainly doesn’t seem to have benefitted from the water cure he took yesterday. But I find I cannot pity him.

  ‘Well, niece,’ my uncle says, having recovered his breath, ‘be seated.’

  I obey, taking a chair nearby.

  ‘Protector Patrus has been to see me. I think you can guess why.’

  My stomach twists, but I keep my expression impassive.

  ‘No, indeed, uncle. I cannot.’

  ‘He has formally requested your hand in marriage.’

  Just my hand? I have an urge to giggle, and glance down at the limb in question. I’d rather chop it off and gift it to Patrus than marry him.

  ‘And,’ the king continues, ‘I strongly advise you to accept him. He is anxious to celebrate your union as soon as possible, and since we are already arranging one wedding, I see no reason why he should wait. Yours can take place the following day.’

  ‘I thank you for your concern, uncle, but –’

  He pushes himself upright. ‘Let me be clear, Aderyn. Your behaviour at court has left much to be desired.’

  I freeze, gripping the arms of my chair tightly.

  ‘First you seem to be unable or unwilling to fly. Then you show that you can fly, but you also begin this … this liaison with Lord Siegfried.’

  ‘I have not –’

  ‘Do not attempt to deny it. I had it from one of his lordship’s own servants that you were with him last night.’

  My blood burns beneath my skin, as if even my own body wishes to accuse me.

  ‘Now –’ the king picks up a glass of wine from the table and takes a sip – ‘much may be excused by your youth and inexperience. But that is exactly why you should marry Patrus. He will provide Atratys with a steady hand. And you will provide him with heirs to both Atratys and Brithys. He has been singularly unfortunate in his choice of wives so far.’

  Wives? I knew Patrus was a widower, but not that he’d been married multiple times. I swallow down the bile rising in my throat.

  ‘But you are young,’ my uncle continues, ‘and attractive, and there is no reason to doubt your ability to bear children.’ Another sip of wine. ‘You may not be aware of this, Aderyn, but there is a Decree that allows Convocation, together with the monarch, to remove a Protector in case of mental or physical incompetence. It has not been invoked since before the War of the Raptors. It would be a great pity if a need was found for it to be used again.’

  He’s smiling at me, watching me like a cat with a trapped mouse. Fury loosens my tongue.

  ‘May I ask a question, uncle?’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘Which parts of Atratys has Patrus promised you in return for me? How many ports? Which mines? As you say, I’m young and attractive. I know Patrus wants to add me to his list of possessions. I do hope you drove a hard bargain.’

  The smile fades into a sneer. ‘Impudent girl. I’ll give you twenty-four hours –’ He breaks off, coughing and hacking, clutching at his chest. ‘Twenty-four hours to come to your senses, or face the consequences. Your father underestimated me once; don’t make the same mistake he did. Now leave me, and send the servant back in.’

  Lucien is waiting for me as I return to the waiting room, but I don’t stop for him.

  ‘Your Grace? What happened?’

  ‘Wish me joy, Lucien,’ I snap. ‘I’m to be married.’ The air inside is stifling. I hurry down some stairs that I hope will take me to the gardens.

  ‘Married? To whom?’

  ‘Patrus.’

  ‘But why? When?’

  ‘Because Patrus has
bought me from the king. And soon: the day after Odette’s wedding. Unless I refuse. But then –’

  ‘My lady, will you slow down –’ he makes a grab for my arm – ‘and talk to me.’ I stop and glance around; we’re outside now, nearly at the little garden near my rooms.

  ‘Come with me.’ I lead him into the green-hedged space. The pink flowers of the sweetbriar roses are fading, scarlet hips swelling in their place; the summer is coming to an end. ‘The king says my behaviour is unsatisfactory. He thinks I’m sleeping with Siegfried, or he says he does. And he claims there’s a Decree that allows Convocation to remove Protectors who are unfit for office. I’ve never heard of a Decree like that. Have you heard of it?’

  ‘Yes – it’s in one of the Charter Rolls dating from the Audax period. Though it hasn’t been used for over three hundred years.’ Lucien sees me rolling my eyes – I can’t help it – and hunches one shoulder, looking defensive. ‘What? I’m your clerk. I’m supposed to know these things. But the point is, he’s bluffing. Even if you are sleeping with Siegfried –’

  ‘For the love of the Creator, I’m not!’

  ‘But even if you were, Convocation would never apply the Decree in these circumstances.’

  ‘What if he forces them?’

  Lucien paces up and down, running his fingers through his raven hair until it’s sticking up on end. ‘The other Protectors won’t want to see Patrus gaining control over Atratys as well as Brithys. He’s already choking off the supply of timber and iron from his own territories, which is artificially inflating the price.’ He swings back to me. ‘You need to say no. Force the issue. I’m certain Convocation will support you.’

  ‘Even if they do, won’t the king just find some way of accusing me of treason?’

  ‘If he does, we’ll find a way to deal with it.’ He puts a hand on my shoulder.

  I shrug it away. I can’t help it: my feelings about Lucien are so … tangled.

  From Lucien’s expression, you would think I had slapped him a second time. He opens his mouth – shuts it – turns away. When he faces me again his expression is more composed, though there’s something like anxiety lurking in his eyes. ‘The morning we left Merl, I promised my father I would look after you. I wasn’t lying. I repeat that promise now, my lady. I’m not going to let the king hurt you. And I know you’re brave enough to stand up to him.’

  I gaze up at my clerk, trying to reconcile this Lucien, who is suddenly kind, who has actually complimented me, with the Lucien who told his servant he would kill me if I threatened the well-being of Atratys. Sighing, I reach up to touch his hair, half expecting him to step away from me. But he doesn’t. ‘You need a comb.’

  One side of his mouth quirks upward. ‘I’ll be sure to amend my appearance in time for dinner, Your Grace.’

  Lucien escorts me back to my apartment. I don’t tell Letya about my planned wedding: I don’t want to upset her, or risk having her sacrifice herself by stabbing Patrus with her knitting needles. Instead, I decide not to think about it, and we go for a ride together. I want Letya to see the sacred lake where Odette and her attendants will be spending the night before her wedding, but it turns out to be far too high up the mountain for us to reach before we have to return to the palace. There is another banquet tonight. I don’t want to dress up for dinner – I can’t stand the thought of Patrus looking at me, thinking that he’s going to own me – but Letya has planned the evening’s outfit carefully, so I go along with it.

  Lucien takes me down to the great hall as usual. On the way there, he advises me to say nothing tonight; he is going to write a response for me to send to the king in the morning. So, when Aron accompanies me up to the high table, and makes jokes about my planned marriage, wondering aloud whether I’ll last longer than Patrus’s other wives, I force myself to ignore him. I’m seated as usual between him and Patrus, who sickens me with empty compliments – completely ignoring what happened in Deaufleur – while telling me about the new suite of rooms he is having decorated for me at his castle, and how well I will look in them. As if I am a painting he’s going to hang on his wall. When I remind him that I haven’t actually accepted him, he just laughs and turns the conversation to Atratys and his plan to inventory the entire dominion. It takes all the self-control I have not to pick up my knife and stab him.

  The meal drags on. But finally, it’s over: the last dishes are removed, and the king and queen rise from the table. We all stand and are preparing to follow them into the long gallery – I’ve already decided I’m going to confront Siegfried, ask him why his servants are gossiping about me – when my uncle clutches his stomach.

  ‘Father?’ Aron leans forward, taking the king’s arm. ‘Are you unwell?’

  ‘Get off me, boy!’ The king pushes Aron away, but he’s panting with pain, and his skin has a strange, yellowish tint that seems like more than just an effect of the candlelight.

  ‘Summon His Majesty’s doctor at once.’ The queen tries to guide the king into a chair, but he pushes her away too. She tries again. ‘My lord, I beg you, you must sit down, you’re not yourself –’

  ‘Silence, woman!’ He grabs her wrist so tightly that she cries out in pain. ‘I won’t have it, d’you hear me? I am the king, I am Solanum.’ He gasps and clutches at the tablecloth, dragging dishes and glasses to the floor. ‘I won’t have it …’

  Courtiers scream, servants rush forward, the queen swoons, and my uncle –

  My uncle’s eyes bulge as he collapses.

  Ten

  The atmosphere at court has changed. Three days have passed since the king collapsed, and all formal activities (the banquets, the concert planned to celebrate the king’s birthday) have been cancelled. We exist on a diet of rumours and speculation: the king is worse – the king is recovering – the king is dying. It feels as if everyone at court is watching. Waiting. Trying to see into the future, to determine whether the power is about to shift away from the current royal house; whether some other descendent of Cygnus I will choose this moment of weakness to stake a claim to the throne. Through Lucien, I receive invitations to dinner, invitations to various country estates and letters seeking my patronage. Directly, I also receive an offer of marriage from Grayling Wren of Fenian and an offer of ‘protection’ from Arden of Dacia. I consult my clerk before replying to either.

  ‘What does he mean, protection? Protection from whom? From Patrus?’ I’m avoiding Patrus as much as possible; each time I see him, he urges me to fly to Brithys and marry him immediately.

  Lucien shakes his head. ‘You’re thinking too narrowly. We’re all playing a game here: hold on to the power you have, take it from others if you can, and whatever happens – whatever the cost – don’t be the one who loses. Arden can’t marry you himself, not at the moment. But with the king ill, he sees an opportunity to separate you from Patrus and from Siegfried, to align Atratys with the interests of Dacia.’

  ‘But even if the king is ill, he has two children. And the queen.’

  ‘She seems mainly concerned with her husband’s state of health and with making sure Odette’s wedding goes ahead; at least that way the Dominion of Olorys will stay loyal to the monarchy.’ He consults his notebook. ‘Which reminds me, you’re to attend another fitting for your bridesmaid dress.’

  ‘Don’t you think the other dominions will remain loyal to Aron and Odette?’

  ‘Aron is unfortunately irrelevant since he’s been bypassed by Convocation. Odette …’ He purses his lips and throws me a sideways glance. ‘She’s even less political than you are. She’s a pawn. I’m not sure she’ll ever really make a queen.’

  ‘I think you’re underestimating her. And her brother.’ We both fall silent. Arden’s letter is lying in my lap; I begin folding and unfolding one of the corners. ‘What about Siegfried?’

  Undeterred by the king’s illness, Siegfried stuck to his plan and returned to Olorys. Part of me misses him, despite his misguided assumptions and his disregard for Odette’s feelings. I
can’t stop my thoughts straying to where he might be and what he might be discovering about my mother’s death. Still, I’m relieved that I don’t have to see him, at least for a little while. ‘His leaving court now is a good sign, isn’t it? I mean, that he has more integrity than the others?’

  ‘It really depends why he’s left.’ Lucien’s dark eyes are questioning, but I don’t reply. ‘He already controls Olorys, for all practical purposes. He’s set to become king, which will give him control over the Crown Estates. And through your friendship –’ he puts an emphasis on the word that I don’t care for – ‘he might attempt to control Atratys.’

  I open my mouth, about to argue that Siegfried does not and will not control me. But of course Lucien is right. Unless I can find a way to transform without relying on Siegfried’s potions, he absolutely does.

  With the queen mostly sequestered in the royal apartments tending to her husband, the prince and princess are left more than ever to their own devices. I begin taking breakfast with Odette. After what Siegfried said and did, I’m worried about my cousin’s future happiness. She deserves better than to spend her time dreaming of a romance that her betrothed seems unable to give her. I try to enquire, as delicately as possible, whether her wishes are unchanged. But Odette won’t talk about her marriage, other than to agree that the queen should keep planning the wedding. She won’t be drawn into any discussion of the future of the kingdom either, or the Decrees; she just laughs and says I’m too serious, and what does any of it matter anyway as long as we have clear skies in which to fly. I realise she is protecting herself, and I pity her.

  My relationship with Aron is still unrepaired. But one morning he corners me in the entrance hall.

  ‘Cousin. I’m guessing you won’t be flying this afternoon?’

  ‘No.’ I feel as if I should offer an excuse. ‘Lucien thinks there might be thunderstorms later.’

  ‘So Rookwood is a weather expert now?’ He arches an eyebrow. ‘I had no idea he was so multi-talented. My guess was based on the absence of Lord Siegfried – I’d rather assumed that your sudden resurgence of interest in flying had more to do with his attractions, than the attractions of being airborne. But I suppose thunderstorms might deter you.’