Page 16 of Kingdom of Feathers

Wren sank into the indicated seat, across from her mother. She barely held in her sigh. Not because she had to—she’d learned long ago that sighs were allowable under the curse—but because it would be impolite.

“I assume you’re aware of the topic of the council meeting that will commence shortly?” King Lloyd said, and Wren nodded. “Good.” He pinned her with a look. “I trust you’ve read the materials provided to you yesterday?”

This time Wren did sigh. She nodded again, hardly noticing as her fingers drummed impatiently on the table.

“Wren.” Her mother’s reproachful voice drew the princess’s attention to the unladylike conduct, and Wren stilled her hand.

Turning her face back to her father, she waited for him to continue. Shehadread the materials, and a tedious waste of time it had been.

“Do you have any questions you wish to ask me before the council commences?” the king pressed.

Wren pulled out her slate.

Do I have to attend?

Her father scowled as he read the words upside down. “I meant, do you have any questions about the materials? Or any other questions that we haven’t already exhaustively discussed?”

Wren rubbed the slate clean and wrote again.

Not really.

A familiar look of impatience crossed her father’s features. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. To the casual eye, it looked like he had just changed his mind. But Wren knew better. She’d become very observant during her years of silence, and very much alive to all the subtle cues of body language. She hadn’t missed the speaking look her mother had shot at the king, and she understood perfectly that her father restrained his true feelings only under protest.

“Wren,” said the queen, in a soothing tone, “I know it’s not the most exciting topic, but it’s important to understand the reports from the Blacksmiths’ Guild. They have a unique insight into the conflict with Entolia, since they best understand the nature of the deposit located in the contested land.”

With the ease of long practice, Wren kept herself still, even while inside she was seething with frustration. Did her mother really think the problem was boredom? Compared to the embroidery and other such skills she’d been expected to spend her time on back before the curse, reading guild reports was downright fascinating.

“Wren, you need to apply yourself,” burst out the king, evidently unable to hold it in anymore. When all this was over, Wren reflected, she could give him lessons in keeping his thoughts inside. She was a master by now. “You need to understand matters of state, and how to communicate with such groups as the guilds. You can’t sit unresponsive through every council meeting—one day you’ll be queen, and you’ll have toleadthe council!”

Wren felt her face set into unyielding stoniness. She shook her head once, her mouth clamped in a thin line. Unconsciously, she reached up a hand to play with the signet ring suspended around her neck on a thick chain. She’d grown considerably in the years since Caleb had slipped it over her eleven-year-old finger, but it was still much too large for her to wear on her hand. Thankfully.

“Wren,” her mother cut in, in a voice much gentler than her husband’s, “we all miss them, but denying your position won’t bring your brothers back.”

A flash of pain crossed the king’s features, and Wren felt the familiar stab in her gut. There were times she wished she was less adept at reading body language. Even after six years—almostsix years, she reminded herself…she’d know when it was six years—her father still couldn’t hide his reaction to the loss of his six sons.And the unfortunate survival of his one daughter, Wren added in her mind. But she knew the thought was unjust, and she tried to banish it.

She dropped her hand from the ring quickly. Once again clearing her slate, she wrote the closest explanation she could without risking further harm to Caleb.

I will not train to be queen.

The desperate longing to tell them why, to explain everything, had long since settled to a dull ache. She didn’t even fidget as she watched frustration cross her parents’ faces.

“Wren, youmusttrain to become queen,” her mother said. Before she could say more, an insistent tapping drew all of their attention to the window.

Lyall!Disregarding her father’s grunt of disapproval, Wren hurried to the window and unlatched it. The swan soared gracefully into the room, its dark feet making a slapping sound as it landed on the council table. Wren laid her hand against the swan’s side, a question forming in her mind.

Is everyone all right, Lyall?

The swan gave a soft trumpet, but Wren was focusing with her mind rather than her ears.

Yes, we’re all fine. I just wanted to make sure Mother and Father aren’t giving you a hard time.

“Wren, you may recall that we’re in the middle of a discussion.”

Her father’s irritated voice called Wren’s attention back to her audible conversation. She turned, bracing herself for the usual recriminations. Her swans made the king even more uncomfortable than her silence.

Thanks,she told Lyall, tossing him a look.But I’m fine.

Are you sure?Lyall sounded doubtful. He shifted on his webbed feet as his small, beady eyes locked on to his oblivious parents.

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