Page 7 of Kingdom of Feathers

He shook out his good wing, his long swan’s neck snaking from side to side.

Of course I should,he trumpeted.You’re my little sister. I’m supposed to protect you.

Wren’s eyes filled with tears as his words reminded her of how she’d failed to protect him.Are you all right?she thought at him.It’s my fault you’re injured, Caleb. I’m not allowed to speak, or the curse will kill you. And I don’t think I’m allowed to write about what happened either. I’m so sorry.

I know,Caleb bugled, obviously catching on more quickly than Averett had.I heard what the enchantress said.His words became stern in her mind, although his birdlike noises communicated nothing in particular.And don’t apologize. This isn’t your fault. I won’t let you carry our burden.

Wren didn’t answer. She had a horrible feeling that she had no choice but to carry the burden, but she wasn’t ready to face that reality yet.

One by one, she laid a tentative hand against each of the swans, identifying them in turn. She could hear them in her mind, but only when she was physically touching them. She took momentary comfort from confirming that they were all there, and all in possession of their senses.

The blind panic had subsided slightly since discovering she could communicate with her brothers, but when she reached twelve-year-old Ari, the relief melted away. The smallest of the swans filled her mind with a barrage of terrified questions, none of which she could answer, and she once again felt panic rising within her.

Apparently sensing her distress, the Caleb-swan waddled forward. He gave a sharp honk, and Ari subsided. Since she wasn’t touching him at the time, Wren couldn’t understand Caleb’s words. But it seemed as though her other brothers could. Certainly these weren’t ordinary swans, and she could only be grateful for it.

The Caleb-swan lifted his good wing and placed it reassuringly on Wren’s arm. Instead of being comforted, Wren felt unnerved at seeing such a human gesture from a bird.

It’s going to be all right, Wren. We’ll fix it.

Wren looked at her brother out of wide, terrified eyes, and she knew, for the first time in her life, that he was wrong. Yesterday, she would have accepted Caleb’s certainty without question, trusting him to fix everything. This was Caleb. Strong, unshakable, always in control.

But her world had dramatically changed since yesterday. In the long hours in her room, as she searched her mind for a way around the curse’s restrictions, she’d slowly given in to the horrible reality. Caleb had no more control over their situation than she did. Her big brother was no longer invincible—he’d been beaten by a madwoman, and now he couldn’t protect anyone anymore, least of all Wren. On the contrary, his very life was in her hands, his safety dependent on her ability to curb her chattering tongue.

For six years.

Royal or not, with six older brothers, Wren had never really had responsibility for anything. And now, she carried the future of the kingdom. Already she’d maimed the heir to the throne, and in his current form, they had no way of knowing how serious the damage was, or whether it would heal. And if she spoke another word, it might be enough to kill him.

The horror of that thought washed over her, and for a moment all she wanted to do was curl up on amid the bushes and cry. The crazed enchantress was right—there was no way she could do it. She’d slip up, and her brothers would pay the price.

But as the six swans gathered around her, trumpeting softly and brushing their wings against her nightdress, Wren felt determination spreading through her. She ran her fingers over the soft feathers of their wings, giving them a silent promise. She wouldn’t let either them or Mistra pay the price for that evil woman’s madness. She would just have to be stronger than she thought she was. There was nothing else to it. At least she wouldn’t be totally alone, not if she could speak to her brothers through the strange connection the curse had forged.

She couldn’t find a way around the curse, so she would have to achieve the impossible challenge set her by the one who’d cast it. It wasn’t as if she had to be clever, or perform some complex task. She just had to swallow her words for six years, and at the end of them, her brothers would be restored to her, and the kingdom would once again have its heir.

She could do it.

She had to do it.

It was only six years. She’d lived almost twice that already. How hard could it be?

Five years, nine months, and twelve days later…

Chapter One

“Enough of this posturing!”

Basil sighed at the familiar anger in his father’s voice. Life in Entolia’s royal castle held two certainties. The sun would rise over the eastern cliffs, and the king would lose his temper within the first five minutes of any council regarding the war with Mistra.

Basil made little attempt to hide his impatience as his eyes scanned the assembled advisors. If they shared his sentiments, they didn’t show it. Too well-trained, perhaps. But Basil had never been reluctant to let his father know his opinions.

“Almost six years they’ve been violating our borders!” King Thorn raged. “And still we let them walk all over us?! Someone explain to me why we haven’t finished this!”

Basil’s eyes fell on his mother, who happened to be present for this particular council. She gave him a small frown, silently reproving him for his open displeasure. Heroically resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he gave her a long-suffering look. He knew what she would say if they were alone. She would remind him that his father’s injury, and the ongoing pain he experienced from it, made him short-tempered.

Basil wasn’t convinced.

It wasn’t as though he had no sympathy for his father. There was no doubt the king was often in considerable pain, including right now, if Basil was any judge of his father’s body language. But Basil had been twelve when the Mistrans had launched the attack that turned their little border skirmish into full scale hostilities. He was plenty old enough to remember a time before the war. And to remember that King Thorn had always been short-tempered.

The queen’s frown made it seem as though she could read his thoughts. Basil allowed himself a small smile. She just about could, most likely. He’d said it all before, and he knew neither of his parents had much appreciation for his bluntness. But he didn’t believe in swallowing his words, or dancing around unpleasant truths. A king was more in need of plain speaking than anyone, the way Basil saw it.

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