Page 100 of A Treachery of Swans

“I spoke to Morgane,” I grit out into my hands. “Tried to bargain with her.”

“And is—is she the one who did this?” Aimé asks, his voice still croaky from crying.

“Didwhat?” I demand. Then I look up, and a broken sound escapes me.

Where Marie had been lying just moments before stands a beautiful, mournful statue.

It’s Marie d’Odette, lithe and elegant, her every feature molded perfectly from pearlescent stone. Her wings are outspread, her full lips parted in a hopeful smile, and one of her hands reaches upward, as though trying to seize the sun from its lofty perch. Her hair unspools around her, wild and free, her bare feet barely touching their marble pedestal, mere seconds from leaving the ground and taking to the sky.

Wordlessly I walk up to the statue, clutching my hands to my chest, wishing I could grip my heart and force it to stop aching. I can’t help but extend my hand, pressing my fingertips to the statue’s knee. Half of me still expects to find smooth, warm skin, as I’d felt last night in the Théâtre’s dressing room. But only cold stone greets my touch, sending a chill down my arm. I quickly pull away, my throat tightening.

“Odile?” Damien calls behind me. “How did this happen?”

I don’t answer him. I can’t. A troubled, numb sort of peace spreads over me as I walk around the statue, as I catch sight of the golden streak that runs along Marie’s wing, widest in the spot where the dagger had sunk into her flesh.

“Odile?” my brother asks again. I let a breath judder out from between my lips. Then I straighten my spine slowly, forcing every vertebra to click into place. Firm. Unwavering. For the first time since I broke the Couronne, I can feel the trickle of magic in my veins, testing the limits of my skin, begging to be used.

I turn back to the onlookers, meeting my brother’s uncertain gaze and then Aimé’s earnest blue one. I smile at them, strained and sharp-edged but determined.

“She’s not dead,” I say. I don’t explain further—there is no point telling them what I learned from Morgane about the missing Mothers. The kingdom has enough trouble brewing without mixing in the affairs of sorcery. “And I’m going to get her back.”

I take one final look over my shoulder. My heart is heavy, full of doubt and grief and regret—I leave all of it at the feet of Marie’s statue, along with a promise to return once I have the power to heal her.

Then I turn back to my companions.

“Let us go back to the Château,” I say. “We have a king to crown.”

SCENE XXXIXThe Château

The Stables

It’s going to snow.

I can feel it on the breeze as I step out of the Château stables, gulping my fill of rousing, frostbitten air. My ankles throb from dancing—a small pack bounces heavily against my shoulder. Curls of frost have already begun to paint the iron rose hedges, and ahead, the borders of Lac des Cygnes are limned with rime.

My fingers, clutched around reins, are already aching from the cold. I give the leather strips a gentle tug, and the good-natured gelding ambles behind me, his heavy snorts pluming in the air. He’s pure black of coat, and his tack shines with fresh polish, the buckles of his bridle glinting in the midday light. He was a gift from Aimé, one the Dauphin—well, the former Dauphin, now King—had insisted I take on my journey.He’s well trained and of good stock,Aimé had assured me.And…He’d looked away, sheepish.I don’t want you to be alone.

I pat the gelding’s neck as I lead him down the narrow path that will take us out into the Château courtyard, then around the lake toward the city. From there I don’t know where we’ll go—Orlica, perhaps, or Lore. “I could pay Princess Turnip Hair a visit,” I tell the horse, smirking to myself. For now I’m following my instincts, tailing rumors of strange apparitions in forgotten places, unusual happenings, and newly spawned myths. Anything that might lead me to the two missing Mothers.

At my back the revelry continues, music surging in cheerful swells from the Château’s open windows, eager chatter and laughter carrying across the grounds. I smile, tightening my grip on the reins, and begin to angle the horse toward a small stump with the intention to mount.

“Running away already?”

I turn to see my brother approaching from the Château, rubbing his hands together against the cold. The tips of his nose and ears have gone an endearing red, and his wide shoulders are hunched beneath his cloak. “They’re telling your story in there, you know.” He gestures to the palace. “The white swan and the black—but they keep getting the details all wrong. I heard someone say it was Aimé and Marie who jumped into the lake. Another is convinced there was a unicorn involved.”

“A unicorn?” I echo, offended.

“Apurpleunicorn,” my brother says gravely. “Perhaps you would like to go back inside and dispel these offensive rumors?”

I smile, but it’s strained, heavy with all the uncertainties of the future. “I can’t. You know I can’t. Besides, if Aimé sees me leaving, he’s going to cry.”

Damien huffs a laugh. “That he will.” Then his smile fades. His eyes have gone horribly, revoltingly soft, an unbridled look of fondness on his face. “Must you leave so soon, Dilou?”

“You and Aimé have enough work on your hands without me around causing trouble.” I pull my cloak tighter around myself. Another gift from Aimé, it’s a beautiful thing of black wool, decorated with golden cord and obsidian wolf’s fur. It looks expensive, and I know I’ll have to replace it with something plainer once I’m out of the city. But for now I wear it proudly, the Augier tarasque gleaming on the clasp at my throat.

“Besides,” I say, “tensions are still high in the court, even with the Regent now in prison. You saw how long it took the noblesse to accept Aimé back, even though his curse is broken and his blood is red. They need some time to adjust before they welcome a court sorcier.”

I roll my shoulders, turning my eyes to the sky. A strange wistfulness grips me. “Do you think it will be white?” I say.

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