Page 13 of Kingdom of Feathers

“Whatever happens, Mother, I’ll be here to help you. And so will Zinnia, and the rest of the girls.”

The queen gave a watery sniff. When Basil squeezed her shoulder, she shifted into him, laying her head against his shoulder for a moment. The rare gesture sent fear spiking through Basil’s heart. Whether she was right, he couldn’t say, but it was clear to him that she believed this time was different.

She pulled back quickly, standing upright and blinking rapidly in an attempt to cover her moment of raw emotion.

“Couldn’t you have promised him, Basil?” she reproached, meeting his eyes. “It would set him at ease to know you were going to carry on his efforts once he’s gone.”

Basil frowned, trying to make his tone gentle. “But I’m not going to carry on his efforts, Mother. Not all of them, anyway.”

“But he doesn’t need to know that,” said the queen impatiently.

Basil was silent for a moment, trying hard to exercise a restraint that didn’t come naturally to him, and to choose his words with care. “I don’t believe in placating people with the lies they want to hear, Mother.”

“Not even on their deathbed?” The queen’s voice broke slightly on the last word, and Basil gave her shoulder another squeeze.

“Especially not then. If anything, promises matter more at such times. And we don’t know it’s his deathbed, Mother. He’s pulled through worse before. He’s strong.”

His mother made no answer, and Basil deemed it best not to push the point. “Shall I stay with him? You could get some sleep now, while the servants are all still up. I know you’ll be sitting with him through the night, say what I will to dissuade you.”

She shook her head. “I couldn’t sleep if I tried. You go, get some rest. You’ll need to take on his commitments tomorrow, so it will be a big day. You can check in at first light, and I’ll tell you how the night has passed.”

Basil hesitated, reluctant to leave her. But her expression was determined, and he knew how jealously his mother guarded her place at her husband’s sickbed. He had no desire to take that comfort from her.

“Very well,” he said. “I’ll be back at dawn.”

Pausing only to give Zinnia a brief report, which he could trust her to pass on to those of their younger sisters she thought ready to hear it, Basil went to his own chamber. He knew his mother was right, and he should rest. But it was many hours before he was able to still his mind enough to approach sleep. He told himself, as he drifted uneasily, that there was every likelihood his father would pull through, as he so often had.

Basil only knew he’d fallen into a shallow slumber when he was awoken by an insistent rapping. Judging by the gray smudge he could see through his open curtains, dawn had almost arrived. But Basil had no attention for the normally impressive view. Before he’d fully pulled himself from his bed, the room seemed to be full of people, and he knew from the look on his mother’s face what was coming.

Still emerging from the fog of sleep, Basil’s eyes found the king’s steward, who was lowering himself to his knees.

“King Thorn is dead,” the man said solemnly.

Even over the ringing in his ears, Basil heard the rustle of movement as everyone in the room, including the queen, knelt before him. His mind in a daze, he returned his eyes to the steward, who spoke again.

“Long live King Basil.”

Chapter Two

Drawing her cloak around her, Wren settled her shoulders into a more comfortable position against the back of the bench. If a hard stone seat could ever be considered comfortable, which she highly doubted.

The sky was just starting to lighten. Wren glanced up and paused her work, captivated for a moment by the sight of three winged figures passing overhead, far, far above. The dragons were too high to make out their colors, but the rising sun still glinted off their scales. They were heading south west, so they must be returning to their colony from some draconic errand.

A familiar weight brought Wren’s attention back down to see a sleek white head resting on her knee, regarding her with disapproval out of beady little eyes.

You don’t have to sit out here, you know. You can’t possibly be comfortable. And it’s freezing.

Wren smiled, returning her eyes to her work.I know it is, she replied, her lips not moving.Do you think I’m doing this for fun?

The swan clicked its beak, but Bram made no further comment. Wren’s needles moved fluidly through the wool, something strangely satisfying about the clacking sound they made as they connected. It was a shame, she reflected absently, that her mother didn’t consider knitting to be as desirable an accomplishment for a princess as embroidering. It was much more practical. No embroidered material, however daintily done, would keep the boys warm like this wool would.

Of course, her mother might have been more inclined to encourage Wren’s interest in knitting if she’d been making something a little more conventional than garments for waterfowl.

She held up her current project, silently inviting Bram to admire it.

Instead, her brother lifted his head, stretching his long neck back in the direction of the pond. With their contact broken, he could no longer communicate his words directly into Wren’s mind, but she made no attempt to ask him what he was looking for. She’d acquired a level of patience in the last several years that her younger self would never have believed possible.

Bram had learned a thing or two as well, she reflected with a secret smile. Every detail of that awful day was engraved into her memory, including Bram’s criticism. The Bram who had complained about her chattering was almost unrecognizable in the brother who now hovered protectively near her, urging her to return to the warmth of her fire rather than suffer the morning’s chill out by the pond.

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