Page 26 of A Treachery of Swans

“And you!” The Step-Queen turns on me, pointing. “Those doe eyes might be fooling the rest of the palace, but they will not fool me. I warned the King you were nothing but trouble! He always said I was exaggerating, but here you are, and dragging mysoninto this, no less.”

“Stepmother, please!” The Dauphin takes her hand. “I wanted to do this.IdraggedMarieinto this.”

“I don’t believe that. You’re not capable of such scheming.”

“Maman,” Aimé says again, pleading.

She looks at him at last, and some of the tension leaves her body. “Oh, my foolish son,” she says quietly, lifting her hand to touch his cheek. “I only want to protect you. Especially now that your father is gone.”

“I know,” he says, his throat bobbing.

“Then do no more of this.”

“But…” The Dauphin stares at his feet like a chastened child. “No one is telling me anything.”

The Step-Queen sighs softly. “I will tell you what you need to know. I promise. But you must stay within my sight, understood? Only I can keep you safe. No one else. Not your uncle, not the guards, and certainly not thisgirl.”

At her last words, the Dauphin looks up sharply, a defensive stubbornness to his jaw. “Marie and I are betrothed now. Please, I beg you, let this grudge go.”

The Step-Queen’s only response to the Dauphin’s plea is a rueful laugh. “For you, Aimé, for now, I will,” the Step-Queen says. “But in time, I know you will come to admit I was right.” She pulls the prince into her arms, stroking his hair, but she is looking at me, red-painted lips curling into something cunningly cruel.

A chill creeps down my spine. I look away, reaching for Buttons, seeking reassurance in the enchanted weapon’s weight against my palm. I can feel that strange web of intrigue tightening around me, as though I am a fly caught in some great spider’s creation. Regent, Step-Queen, Dauphin, Damien, a dead king and his crown—too many threads, too many variables, every one a danger to my mission. Speaking to my brother has only left me feeling hopelessly tangled, questions and questions andquestionswrapping mercilessly around me.

And there is only one person I can think of who would be able to answer them.

But to speak to her, I must defy my father.

SCENE XIThe Dauphine’s Apartments

Midnight

I wait until the Château is well and truly asleep before sneaking out of the palace.

It’s surprisingly easy—the Dauphine’s apartments have a balcony overlooking the lake, close enough to the grounds that with a bit of maneuvering and a considerable amount of luck, I’m able to lower myself from it and fall soundlessly to the earth. My landing is cushioned by damp leaves, the ivy clinging along the Château walls brushing against my back. I’ve taken off the owl-face pendant—right now I need my own body, my own muscle memory.

Once again, I find myself grateful for my childhood at the Théâtre. Being nimble—and eagerly reckless—meant I had little to constrain me from performing dangerous leaps and tricks onstage, and when I was not performing, I was clambering the backstage scaffolding with Damien. Now, that surefootedness is serving me well as I move quietly through the clutches of night.

Adrenaline hums through me, a pleasant prickling in my veins. The gravel walkway splashes mutedly beneath my feet, the air still stained with the scents of the earlier thunderstorm—brisk rain and sodden leaves, rotting things soaked to the bone. The Château looms over me, water resting on its stone walls like sweat on a soldier’s skin, and around me the gardens have filled with fog.

I’m cautious as I make my way through the maze of iron thorns, ducking down when I spot the silhouettes of patrolling guards. Once they are out of sight, I make my slow way around the lake.

I find the swans slumbering near an old dock. Well, “dock” is a generous word—it’s more a slab of moldering wood jutting crookedly over the water, pierced by bulrushes and strangled by duckweed. I cross it carefully, the wood bobbing beneath my feet and sending hypnotic ripples slipping across the water. A few of the swans raise their heads at my approach, eyeing me in confusion before moving slowly away.

“Good evening, swans,” I say, putting my hands on my hips. “Which one of you is Marie d’Odette?”

For a moment, there is no response, only the murmur of cold wind over colder waters. Then, one of the farthest swans raises its head, tilting it toward me. The expression in its eyes is somewhere between haughty, suspicious, and vaguely murderous.

“There you are,” I greet. “I’ve come to keep my side of the bargain.”

Swan-Marie approaches me with hesitance, gliding smoothly through the water. I sit at the end of the dock and cross my legs, pulling the owl-face pendant from my pocket.

“All right,” I say to it. “Here goes nothing.”

As I stare at the glinting pendant in my hand, my stomach begins to churn nervously. Not only am I breaking my promise to my father, but I’m going against his teachings, ignoring his warnings about theconsequences of undoing spells. This could go very,very wrong.

And yet… hasn’t Regnault also told me magic is my birthright? Hasn’t he taught me to be clever and resourceful? Surely I can figure this out.

All I need to do is find the right thread.

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