Page 3 of A Treachery of Swans

During the play, when when attention was on the stage and she thought no one was looking, she’d raised her hands, long and dexterous, to the railing of her box and begun fluttering them to the rhythm of the music. There’d been a frantic sort of longing to it, as though she might leap over the railing and spread a pair of pearly wings, alight among the dancers, and join them in a caper.

She may act like she’s a forlorn deity, but even goddesses have desires. And I intend to exploit this one.

I pause just behind her and set my feet apart, putting my hands on my hips. “Leaving already?” I call out, adding a petulant note to my voice.

Marie turns, and I suck in a breath. She was always striking in appearance, but now she looksrevoltinglygood. Her formerly cherubic face has taken on a celestial regality, her cheekbones high and her silver eyes knowing. Her full lips, once always twitching into an eager smile, are now shackled into an expression of demure politeness.

When she sees me—when sherecognizesme—they part in surprise.

“It’syou!”

Her voice is surprisingly low—soft in a way I don’t remember, lilting and polite in a way that sounds feigned. I can’t help the flash of resentment that the sound of it sends through me. For an instant I am thirteen again, humiliation heating my cheeks as a pair of handslifts prismatic diamonds from my throat.Come away. You’re going to get your dress dirty.

I shove the memory back, ignoring the taste of betrayal it leaves behind. With meticulous precision, I curl my smile into one of friendly mischief. “Is it? I hadn’t noticed.” I make a show of inspecting myself. “Ah, yes, so it is. Unfortunate.”

Marie blinks at my antics, disbelief still in her eyes.“Odile,”she says, as though I’m some sort of fairy-tale creature come to life. Then she collects herself, shaking her head minutely, scrubbing any excitement from her face. When she next speaks, it’s courteously subdued. “I—I thought I saw you onstage, but then I thought I was imagining it. When did you join the Théâtre?”

“Oh, some time ago,” I say vaguely—a lie in line with all the others I told her once upon a time. “But tell me, Mademoiselle d’Auvigny—what are you doing here all alone and forlorn?”

She frowns. “I amnotforlorn.”

I cross my arms. “It seemed to me you were making a rather swift exit. Some might even call it anescape.”

A smile tugs at her lips, but she quickly smothers it. “I protest. I was making my graceful and very distinguished retirement. Which I should probably resume.” She dips a shallow curtsy and continues toward the entrance hall.

“Wait,” I call after her. “Can’t you postpone said retirement an hour or two? I have an offer for you.”

Marie hesitates, and I hold my breath. To my relief, she glances back at me.

“I…” She pauses, eyes flicking up and down the corridor. Ensuring that no one is witnessing her continuing to interact with a lowly peasant, I’m certain. But we’re on our own for the most part—the noblesse have either gone into the main hall to gossip or hidden themselves in the more private loges.

Slowly, Marie allows a glimmer of curiosity to enter her eyes. “What is the offer?”

“Remember how you always used to wonder what the backstage of the Théâtre was like? What if I showed you around?”

Immediately, she shakes her head. “Oh, no. Thank you, but I cannot.”

“Certainly you can.”

“No, I mean… Things have changed, Odile.” She looks away, lacing her fingers together nervously. “I cannot simply run off anymore.”

I’m losing her. I can’t let that happen. “It’s really a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, you know,” I say impishly. “Usually we only give tours to our most generous of patrons.”

That makes her eyes narrow. “But I haven’t paid you at all, so why are you offering me this?”

I have to hand her this: she’s not as naïve as she used to be.

“Out of self-interest,” I say honestly—hide a lie in a truth,Papa always says, and it’s harder to find.“Everyone is whispering that you are the one most likely to be picked by the Dauphin tomorrow.”

But at the mention of the Dauphin, Marie’s expression flickers strangely. “I suppose so,” she says, looking away.

I don’t have time to contemplate her reaction. “Well, just in case, I’d like to win your favor. Every actress wants a wealthy patron, after all.”

Marie laughs, but even that is strained—as though she might be punished for anything too expressive. “When did you become so sly?”

“It’s a vicious world out there, Mademoiselle d’Auvigny. I’m clever when I have to be and run away when I can. So”—I hold my arm out to her in a gentleman’s fashion—“what do you say? Can you truly refuse a little bit of freedom?”

Thatseems to finally do the trick. Marie glances toward the exit,then to me, then toward the boisterous crowd in the distance. A light appears in her eyes, hesitant yet hungry, and I know she’s fallen into my trap at last.

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