Page 42 of Kingdom of Feathers

“No offense,” he added evenly. “I can see that you’re very fond of them. And they’re certainly graceful creatures.”

One of the swans seemed to take great offense at what Basil had intended as a compliment, waddling forward with an aggressive honk. Bizarrely, the bird slowed at a mere glance from Princess Wren. Basil grinned at the sternly unyielding look on her face. There was the commanding presence of a future queen. Even if it was a little wasted on waterfowl.

Looking up, the princess caught him watching, and Basil dropped the smile. Not quickly enough, it seemed. Her suspicion was back, and her movements were clipped as she wrote again on the slate.

Why do you think I can help you?

Basil took a moment to consider his answer. He knew what he wanted to say, that wasn’t the issue. But even he recognized that the topic might be sensitive. He glanced at Wren’s guards. They’d fallen back when the swans attacked him, and were hovering just out of earshot, in the accepted manner of most royal guards he’d come across. It was as much privacy as he was likely to get with the princess. Which meant that now was as good a moment as any to speak his piece.

“Well,” he said at last, trying to speak more diplomatically than normal. “I’ve never really thought this war was about iron ore. As both your father and I demonstrated a little painfully in this morning’s meeting, the conflict is personal. Which makes it hard to find a way forward, or even to reach an agreement regarding the ore itself. I’ve suspected for years that we won’t actually end the war until we address its true origins.”

The princess tilted her head slightly down, drawing her brows together in an exasperated look. At the same time, the swan nearest Basil flapped its wings rapidly, for all the world like it was also expressing impatience at Basil’s meandering speech.

Basil smiled. “You’re telling me to get to the point?”

Princess Wren nodded, showing a hint of pleasure at his understanding. Again, it softened her delicate features, increasing Basil’s impression of her underlying reasonableness.

“Thank goodness for that,” Basil laughed. “I hate trying to speak carefully, and the worst of it is, kings have to do it all the time.” He drew a breath, taking encouragement from the fact that Princess Wren seemed to be holding back a laugh of her own.

“I want to know what happened the day your brothers died,” he blurted out.

His abrupt speech froze the laughter on the princess’s lips. Her dark eyes were once again unreadable as she stared at him—even the swans had all become unnaturally still, although Basil had to assume they were reacting to her body language, rather than his words.

“I know it’s an insensitive question,” Basil went on. “And I can understand if you don’t want to talk about it. But to be frank,” he held her gaze, “I think you should talk about it even if it’s uncomfortable. Because that’s when it all started, and from what I understand, you’re the only one who can tell me what really happened.”

The silence following this pronouncement was broken by an angry honk from one of the swans. Basil didn’t look at the bird, instead keeping his eyes on Princess Wren. She did shift her gaze to the swan, her face marred by a thoughtful frown as she shook her head once. The rest of them were ruffling their feathers, clearly still not sure whether Basil was an enemy against whom they needed to defend their territory, but they remained otherwise silent.

Princess Wren turned, and Basil’s heart plummeted when he realized she was walking away from him. But a moment later she seated herself on a stone bench not far from the water’s edge, and shot him an expectant look. Her guards mirrored the movement, once again choosing positions just out of earshot.

Hurrying forward, Basil sat beside her, watching her face with rapt attention. Her manner had given little away when he first arrived in Myst, but it hadn’t taken much observation to realize she was capable of being very expressive with her features when she chose to be. It made sense—six years of silent communication must have made her an expert.

The princess had placed her slate beside her, but she made no immediate move to write on it. Basil waited patiently, content to try to read her expression as she decided what to write.

The swans had all gathered around her once again, and without any change to her distantly thoughtful expression, she pulled some grapes from her pocket and held them out. The birds snapped them up eagerly, and Basil’s stomach gave an audible grumble. He wasn’t in the habit of skipping breakfast, but it was well worth it for this bizarre but hopefully telling private interview with the princess.

Princess Wren leaned forward slightly, laying a hand on the flank of the injured swan. Her expression was oddly intense as she locked eyes with the creature, and Basil watched, fascinated by her strange behavior. He could see why rumor called her eccentric, but even while communing silently with a swan, she gave no hint of having lost her reason. And he’d still seen no sign of the awkward child he’d expected—she was as graceful as her avian companions.

Basil couldn’t deny to himself that he was fascinated by her. A sudden desire to unravel her mysteries for her own sake momentarily consumed his mind. But he pushed it away, surprised at his distraction. He was here to end a war, and nothing was more important than that.

Picking up her slate at last, Princess Wren scribbled a short message.

You answer my questions first.

“Try me,” said Basil promptly. He wasn’t going to promise anything, but he could see her request was reasonable.

She thought for a minute before once again scratching out a message.

What do you know about that day?

Basil raised an eyebrow. “Only what rumor says. That all of your brothers were killed by a mad enchantress with a spell so vicious no bodies even remained, and only you survived. Somehow unharmed.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Or so the story goes.”

Princess Wren didn’t immediately respond, but he noticed that her hand strayed to the red and gold signet ring around her neck. Realizing he was looking, she dropped it quickly. She wiped her slate clean and wrote two words.

Your father?

Basil frowned at the message, trying to make sense of it. What about his father? He looked up to see her watching him expectantly, and understanding hit.

“My father didn’t tell me anything about it,” he said calmly. “He didn’t know anything beyond the rumors we all heard.”

---