Page 43 of Kingdom of Feathers

One of the swans chose that moment to let out an angry trumpet, but the princess’s eyes never wavered from Basil’s face.

He smiled ruefully. “Perhaps you’re thinking he just didn’t confide in me. But that’s not the case, I assure you. I didn’t always agree with my father’s decisions, but he wasn’t cunning or underhanded. He held the basic belief that as king, whatever he did or said was right, and he would never have thought he needed to hide his actions from me.”

Princess Wren was frowning at him, clearly unsure what to make of his words. Basil shifted on the bench, so that he was facing her. If he’d dared, he would have taken her hands, but he was afraid of being savaged by the swans as much as of rousing her displeasure or that of her guards. Instead, he put all the sincerity he had into his voice as he spoke.

“I’m glad to get to the heart of why I came so quickly. Most of my advisors think the claim of Entolian involvement in your brothers’ deaths is a ruse by your people to justify the Mistran attack that started the war. I don’t know whether I believe that. But the one thing I know with certainty—the one thing I’m so determined to convince you of that I’ve traveled across two kingdoms to do it—is that the Entolian crown had no hand in the attack that killed your brothers.”

Chapter Ten

Wren sat frozen, her eyes fixed on King Basil’s face. She felt almost hypnotized by his unblinking gaze, and for a long moment her thoughts just swirled meaninglessly.

“If my predecessor had murdered six Mistran princes,” King Basil went on steadily, “do you really think I’d come here, putting my life in the hands of the ones we had so grievously wronged?”

Even if Wren had been given her voice back, she would have remained silent. She simply had no words to express the turmoil happening within her.

Could it be true?

Could they all have been wrong? Could the war be based on nothing more than a misunderstanding? But the mad enchantress had definitely spoken of provoking war.

He’s clearly lying.

The dismissive words came from Conan, who had waddled forward and was leaning his bulk against Wren’s legs to enable communication. Soft honks sounded from the other swans, which Wren took to betoken agreement.

Do you think so?she asked doubtfully. She looked down at Caleb, who was standing very close to her knee. In a mute invitation, she reached out her arms, and he leaned into them. Lifting him with a grunt, she deposited him on the bench beside her, like he’d been when she spoke with Lady Anneliese.

What do you think?she asked anxiously.

He took a moment to answer.Honestly, I don’t know what to think, he admitted at last.Which means you’d do best to trust your own instincts.

Wren stared at him, alarm coursing through her. Caleb was putting the responsibility on her to decide whether King Basil was trustworthy? The well-being of the whole kingdom might ride on the decision. She wasn’t knowledgeable enough—or confident enough—to shoulder that kind of responsibility.

But as she searched King Basil’s face, she could see no sign of duplicity. In her silent observation of two years’ worth of council meetings, she’d had plenty of experience in watching people hide things. And of course, no one was hiding as much as she was. But the Entolian king’s gaze was open and clear, his eyes met hers unhesitatingly, and he showed no signs of tension.

For a moment, she allowed herself to entertain the idea that Entolia really wasn’t behind the attack on her and her brothers. She supposed it should be good news, but the truth was it filled her with horror.

What have I done?

As always, Caleb responded reassuringly to the whisper in her mind.You haven’t done anything wrong, Wren.

But she took no comfort from his encouragement. He was always going to look out for her, but this situation was bigger than her feelings.

Almost without thinking, Wren found herself writing on her slate, the terrible thoughts in her head too potent to keep inside.

If you’re telling the truth, this war is my fault.

Of course it’s not your fault, Wren!Caleb protested from beside her, having read the words as she scratched them out.None of this is your fault. You were a child!

Wren didn’t respond, her eyes fixed on King Basil. Being, of course, oblivious to Caleb’s comment, he was frowning down at her words, confusion etched across his face. He looked up to meet Wren’s eyes, his expression serious.

“Do you believe that I’m telling the truth?” he asked simply.

Wren considered him, feeling strangely pleased that he hadn’t tried to reassure her about her culpability. Instead he’d asked her a serious question, and she intended to give a serious answer. Her eyes raked over his face, noting irrelevantly that a rebellious tuft of hair had curled down over his forehead, and that one of his hazel eyes had a larger patch of bronze in it than the other.

But more importantly, she saw that he once again sat straight and expectant, his expression somber, but his posture relaxed. Maybe Caleb was right. Maybe it wasn’t a matter of training or prowess. If all she needed to do was listen to her instincts, there could be only one answer. She’d never met someone as direct and free of dissimulation as King Basil.

Slowly, heavily, she nodded.

King Basil’s face lightened at once. Wren’s brothers weren’t so pleased with her response. Caleb remained silent, but a few of the others bugled indignantly. Averett pushed Conan out of the way, flapping his wings in an agitated manner, so that Wren caught only the odd word, as the feathers brushed against her.

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