Page 22 of A Treachery of Swans

I break off as Regnault chuckles bemusedly. “Odile, what are you saying?”

“I—”

He holds up his hand. “I’ve heard enough. The answer is no. You are not to jeopardize the plan.”

“This is for the good of the plan,” I argue. “Because if the Dauphin is killed…”

“Then protect the Dauphin. But do not lose sight of your goal, and do notriskit by getting involved in something that could cast suspicion onto you.”

Something inside me wilts. “But Damien…”

“Odile,” my father says with slow exasperation, as though I am a particularly foolish child. “You’re not being sentimental, are you? Aftereverything?”

I stare at my feet. I can’t stand to face his disappointment. “It’s not like that.”

Regnault hums under his breath. His cool fingers brush along my cheek, and I wince when the sharp points of his nails dig into my skin. “You know better than this.”

“Yes, Papa,” I say quietly, but it’s more in surrender than agreement. Regnault nods, giving me a pitying smile, and lets go of my face.

I stare at him as he walks back to his desk, frustration sizzling inside me. I should have never mentioned Damien. Regnault has never liked my brother—he’d only tolerated his presence because he could see how much Damien meant to me. Because we’d been inseparable.

I’m reminded again of the time I disappointed Regnault, of when Damien had run in to try to defend me. After, I’d been furious with my brother, humiliated by his interference. I’d fled from the room and climbed all the way up to my favorite hiding spot: a round chamber tucked under the cupola of the Théâtre’s auditorium, where the chandelier was sometimes hauled up to be dusted.

Damien had found me promptly—he somehow always knew where I would go. As a peace offering, he’d brought me my favorite blanket and a slightly stale brioche bun he’d bought that morning at the Verroux market. Once I was no longer hungry and somewhat less furious, he pulled me close. “I’m sorry, Dilou. I only wanted to protect you.”

I nodded. At the time, I had thought I would always forgive him.

“Will you stay?” I’d whispered.

He was quiet for a too-long, frightening moment. Then he had sighed. “For you. I’ll stay for you.”

And that, perhaps, is why I can’t simply forget about Damien as Regnault demands. Why my conscience will not let me rest. Yes, Regnault is right.ThisDamien abandoned me, and I could easily let him rot, but I cannot forget the past. Because my brother had once been all I had. Because our reunion reminded me how much I missedthatDamien, the one before the betrayals and mistakes. The one who knew my favorite snacks and hiding places and made me promises I had thought he would keep.

The one I was convinced would never hurt me.

“Odile.” Regnault’s voice jerks me from my thoughts. He pulls open a drawer, beckoning me forward. “Come here. I have something for you.”

I venture forward cautiously, my cheek still smarting where his nails had pressed in. But whatever disappointment my father seems to have felt has thankfully abated, because he smiles at me and lifts something from the drawer. It’s a golden button, shiny and unassuming. He presses it into my fingers as I stare at him in confusion.

“Turn it over three times,” he says. “Keep your fingers loose.”

I flip the button in my palm tensely. One, two, three. On the final turn, itmelts—transforming briefly into liquid magic before lengthening into a flintlock pistol of pure, gleaming gold.

“A pistol?”

“Indeed. And every time it transforms, it becomes loaded, so you have no need to carry ammunition. You simply need to turn it back into a coin, then back again.”

“It’s beautiful,” I whisper.

He smiles. “There was a little magic left from the goddess-gold, justenough for me to enchant this for you.” He taps the pistol three times, and it shrinks back into a button. “I would like you to have something in case… well, I hope that this can be done without spilling blood. But if anything goes awry, you can do what needs to be done.”

“Thank you,” I say hoarsely. My father has never given me a gift before. It’s a small thing, but it warms me, especially after his reprimand. Looking at the button gives me a sudden idea, and I focus my sorcery on it until the threads weaving the enchantment on it become visible. “Does each one of these do something else?” I ask, eyeing the tangle of magic. This one is far simpler than the one on the pendant—each individual thread is perfectly visible. My hand itches to touch them.

Regnault crosses his arms. “Now is not the time for this.”

It’s the same answer he always gives when I ask about magic. Before gifting me the pendant, Regnault had never allowed me to touch his enchanted items, much less understand how they were created. His office door was always firmly closed to me when he worked. The bare minimum I know, he taught me so that I could identify goddess-gold. I used to become frustrated by his refusals to teach me, my desperation driving me to tears. That has never worked before, so now I try a different strategy.

I pout playfully, sticking out my bottom lip. “But you promised that if I succeeded, you would teach me all you knew.”

---