Page 5 of Kingdom of Feathers

She just shook her head, tears of frustration welling in her eyes. Looking over her shoulder, her father scanned her half-finished message, and she saw a shudder go over him.

“They can’t be dead,” he whispered, his voice coming out nothing like its usual commanding tones.

Wren looked back at him miserably, desperate to reassure him, terrified of killing Caleb and the others if she did so.

If she hadn’t killed Caleb already.

Tears once again filled her eyes, as she realized how paralyzed she truly was. The look on her father’s face was torture to behold, but it was better that he temporarily think his sons were dead than that they actually died as a result of her telling him the truth.

Her father again scanned her message. “It didn’t work fully,” he read quietly. His eyes returned to her. “I see that.” He was barely holding himself together. Wren gripped his arm, whether giving or seeking comfort, she didn’t know. “But how did you survive, Wren?” the king whispered.

Even as he said the words, his eyes seemed drawn to her hand, where it rested on his arm. He frowned and, following his gaze, Wren saw what was on her own finger. Caleb’s signet ring. That was what he’d slid onto her finger when she tried to throw herself between him and the curse. She remembered clutching her fist in an unconscious instinct to keep it on as she ran back to the palace, but she hadn’t actually stopped to look at it until now. The familiar Mistran crest decorated it, formed out of a dull red stone.

“So that’s how…” Her father trailed off, and his eyes flew to hers. “Caleb gave it to you? When he saw you were in danger?”

Wren nodded. She was confused by her father’s tone, and even more confused when he suddenly buried his face in his hands. Desperate frustration arose in her when he didn’t explain himself. It was infuriating not to be able to just ask him. She tugged on his sleeve insistently, and after a moment he lowered his hands.

“That ring carries a powerful protective enchantment,” he said hollowly, his voice a hoarse whisper she could barely hear. “Incredibly powerful. It is rare and valuable magic, or I would have had one made for all of my children. As it was, I could only provide one for my heir…”

His voice trailed off, and something icy seemed to drop into Wren’s stomach. Her father didn’t need to finish the thought. She understood perfectly. Caleb was the heir, the future of Mistra. If only one of the seven of them could survive, it should be him. She didn’t blame her father for what she read on his face—that he would have chosen for Caleb, not her, to be the one wearing the ring when the curse hit them all. She didn’t even disagree. She’d much rather be stuck as a swan while Caleb found a way to fix everything than be charged with the responsibility of rescuing all her brothers alone.

But still, the anguish on her father’s face as he stared at the ring stung a little. She couldn’t help it.

“But I don’t understand,” the king burst out, clearly still not ready to accept it. “Magic that powerful—to fell so many with one blow. There’s no way one enchantress could—”

Spinning around, Wren grabbed hold of the parchment again. Tentatively, trying not to be too specific, she added to her message.

She said she had help. She talked about others, and extra power. She said “they’ll still get their war”.

No further sound came from outside, and she let out a breath of relief, laying down the quill with finality. It seemed important to impart that information, but that was it. She wasn’t going to tempt fate by testing the boundaries any further.

“War? Extra power?” The king’s voice took on an ominous note. “Whose power?”

Wren shook her head helplessly. She had no more idea than he did. But as the king’s gaze slid, with growing fury, to the Entolian envoy standing horror struck by the window, Wren suddenly understood. Dimly, she remembered Caleb telling Averett about the conflict with Entolia. Averett had said that the Entolians surely wouldn’t go to war, but Caleb hadn’t seemed so sure. He must have suspected their neighbors were willing to fight. But surely they wouldn’t stoop to such depths as this?

“Get her out.”

It took Wren a moment to realize that the king was speaking of her. By the time she understood, the guards were already dragging her gently backward.

“And one of you, take two squadrons and return to the castle woods. Scour every inch of it for the princes, and bring back the body of this enchantress.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Wren didn’t even protest. She was desperate to get to the swans, to check that all six were still alive. Almost at the door, she heard her father’s quiet voice, something in its tones more terrifying than the maniacal screams of the enchantress.

“You.”

“Your Majesty, I assure you that—”

The guards slammed the door shut on the Entolian envoy’s words, but even from the other side, Wren heard her father’s scream of fury.

“SILENCE!”

Clearly now that his eleven-year-old daughter was no longer before him, he was allowing the dam of his grief and fury to burst. He continued to shout, but Wren couldn’t make out the words. Her governess appeared at her side, visibly shaken and showing unmistakable signs of tears.

“Come along, Your Highness,” she said. “Come with me, now.”

Wren clutched Caleb’s signet ring in her fist, barely able to make sense of the emotions coursing through her. In spite of her governess’s presence, she’d never felt so alone, or so terrified. How could she sustain this crippling, isolating silence? She stood frozen, with no idea what she should do next.

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