Page 37 of A Treachery of Swans

“Will you now? Magic seemed to goswimminglyfor you last night, if I recall.”

Her eyes are twinkling, and it sends a hot spike of anger through me.

“What are you doing?”

“Taunting you,” she says innocently. “It’s easier than I expected.”

Oh, I couldstrangleher. I open my mouth, close it again, and then hiss in frustration. Half of me wants to stomp my feet like a child throwing a tantrum.

Smiling faintly, Marie tilts her head back, her silken hair falling around her shoulders. The fog presses affectionately against the curve of her spine, and I grit my teeth, hating the way the movement fascinates me. She looks like a fairy tale in this strange light, a mystery given flesh, spun from tall tales told by moonlight.

“It is a good thing I stayed by the lake,” she remarks. “If I had been flying when the change happened, especially somewhere populated like Verroux, I fear I would have caused quite the stir. A maiden unexpectedly falling from the sky.”

“You’ve been here all day?”

“I’d rather assumed I was forever condemned to be a swan.”

“You don’t seem terribly distressed by the idea.”

A flicker of conflict passes over Marie’s face. “I like having wings,” she says at last, softly.

She doesn’t say anything more, but the silence stretches out before me like an open hand, inviting. For reasons I can’t explain, I find myself walking toward her, plopping down beside her on the dock. “The Dauphin and I went to see the King’s body today.”

“Oh?”

And suddenly I’m telling her everything. From the visit to the chapel to the search in the library and my discovery of the locked journal. She makes small sounds of affirmation, makes the occasional offhanded comment. Finally I realize what she is doing—leaving spaces for me to fill, drawing information out of me. Her mere presence is a siren song, and I’ve let myself get caught in its thrall.

I cut off abruptly. “You’re clever, aren’t you?”

She looks at me with confusion that I almost believe is genuine. “What do you mean?”

“Listening like this. Waiting until I give you information you can use against me.”

She blinks. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“Well, it’s not like you’re actually going to help me,” I say acidly.

She considers me, her bottom lip jutting in the smallest pout. I wonder what it would feel like to catch it between my teeth. Or…No.I stop myself quickly, unsure where the thought has come from, annoyed by its potency. In the same moment, Marie flutters a dainty, long-fingered hand toward me.

“Let me see the journal.”

I draw away from her, barking out a laugh. “Please, do you think I’m an idiot?”

“Odile.” She says it like a scolding parent. “You said it’s a puzzle.”

“It is,” I confirm testily.

“Exactly.” She stretches her arm out further. “That’s my specialty.”

Desperation wins me over. I withdraw the journal from under my cloak and hand it to her tensely, watching for any first sign of betrayal to leap forward and snatch it back.

To my relief, Marie places the journal gingerly on her lap, drawing her feet up out of the water and curling them under her, fog eddying gently around her form. She frowns at the journal, tracing her index finger over the strange filigree casing. She tests one side, then the other, observing the rotations of the pieces.

Then she gets to work.

It is like watching a master artist conjure a perfect portrait. She sets her brows low and pokes her tongue out from between her teeth, abandoning her perfect posture to hunch over the journal like a crone. There’s genuine delight in her movements, and her face opens up in a way I haven’t seen since we were girls. When I try to interrupt, she waves me off like I’m a pesky gnat. I can’t help the surprised chuckle it draws out of me, the bloom of warmth at our old familiarity. There was a time when I had liked her. When I had nearly,nearlytrusted her.

Then she’d ruined it all.

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