Page 54 of A Treachery of Swans

“Yes. You’ll find it’s rather…maddening.” He laughs quietly at his own joke, one I don’t understand. I frown and open the tome. The first pages are written in neat, precise script, sums and charts detailing imports and exports, debts and budgets. Looking at the numbers, my head immediately starts to throb, and I continue flicking through the pages. Halfway through the journal, however…

“See the writing here? See how orderly it is?” Aimé turns a few more pages and stops. “Now look at the date.” He points to the top of the yellowed paper, and I suck in a breath. October 25.

“The day of Bartrand de Roux’s betrayal,” I say.

“Exactly.” Aimé flips the page again. “Now watch.”

As he gets further into the journal, the Spider King’s writing begins to grow more and more lopsided, going from perfectly shaped letters and numbers to a maddened, frenzied scrawl. Eventually, the writing breaks off entirely, devolving into three words, ink-spotted and panicked and never ending.

HE IS COMING HE IS COMING

HE IS COMING HE

IS COMING

The longer I look at the words, the more my skin crawls. Aimé glances at me, sheepish. “This is what it does, you see? The Couronne. This is the big secret. It’s not just a magical artifact—whatever is inside it drove my grandfather to the brink of insanity. The more he used it, the worse it got. According to my father, he would simply stare for hours at the thing, like it had him in some sort of thrall. Sometimes he would talk to things that weren’t there. Toward the end, he didn’t even recognize his own son.”

My pulse rises—dread slips through me, cold and biting. Regnault always told me that the Couronne was impossibly powerful, full of enough magic to summon back Morgane. Could it be that very magic which drove the Spider King mad?

“This is why my father was always so reluctant to use it,” Aimé says, closing the book, brushing his sleeve over the leather cover. “Do you remember the drought three years ago? It would have decimated southern Auréal had my father not traveled there with the Couronne to encourage crops to grow.” He toys idly with the edge of the page, his eyes distant. “He was never the same after that. Sometimes he would mumble under his breath or stare at nothing with his eyes glazed. His anger got worse. Much worse. So he swore never to use the crown again, no matter what befell us. I think he believed that… that Auréal could survive without it. But with every year, the crops bear smaller yields, the trees less fruit. The courtiers go hunting and complain that they find no quarry, only old carcasses. This kingdom isdecaying, Marie. I’m certain even Auvigny has felt it. The only way to keep it from rotting entirely is to use the Couronne’s magic. Once I am crowned, that duty will fall to me.” He sighs, then laughs. “Thankfully, I’m already going mad. No one will be able to tell the difference.”

“Aimé,” I say tightly, and that’s all I can manage. For a brief,baffling moment, I consider telling him everything. About the Couronne, about my father’s plan. About how I could save him from madness, how I plan to bring magic back.

But at the end of all this, I want the power Regnault promised me. I don’t want to bow like the Golden-Blooded Girl before a king. And though a foolish part of me—the part that let Marie place diamonds around my neck, the part that thought my brother would stay by my side—wants to trust Aimé, I still bear the scars from old burns.

So I tell him nothing. I sit beside him and let him rest his head on my shoulder, while somewhere in the distance a mourning dove cries out. But while my body is still, my mind can’t seem to quiet. I am already deciding on my next move.

The Step-Queen’s secrets prove difficult to unravel.

That day and the next, I attempt to locate her study, to no avail. Many of the Château servants are new, it seems, and unaware of its existence—she spends most of the day surrounded by her court ladies, they say, moving between sitting rooms and tea rooms, seemingly no different than the rest of the noblesse. It is only the evenings that she spends alone. I bide my time, hiding in the shadows near the north wing. Near sunset she arrives, walking with purpose, a whirl of mourning black and blazing sapphire. I try to follow, but I am too slow—she’s already been swallowed up by the crooked maze of hallways.

By the next day, the first wedding guests arrive. The Dauphin rises early to arrange a welcoming feast for them, the Step-Queen hovering by his side. “Your medicine,” I overhear her whispering to him. “I’ve brought it for you.”

Perfect. I ensure I sit beside the Step-Queen, and when she is distracted, I slip the vial from her skirt pocket. Midway through themeal, she realizes it’s missing and excuses herself promptly, whispering something to Aimé before she leaves. I wait a moment before following. I see the hem of her skirts disappearing around the corner and rush after her, only to be blocked by two of the newly arrived guests. One of them—a young man who seems to haveantlersprotruding from his skull—mutters something in irritated Orlican.

I ignore him and shove past, picking up my skirts and following my quarry. The Step-Queen passes the chapel. She turns down one dark hallway, then another. Past a group of murmuring servants, an empty drawing room full of glass-eyed hunting trophies. Finally her footsteps slow. I hear the click of an opening door, and then silence. I peer carefully around the corner to see a black door of unassuming ebony, and—

A shadow seizes me. I’m shoved against the wall. Cold fingers close around my throat, the metal press of rings jutting into my windpipe.

“I always knew there was something strange about you,” the Step-Queen snarls. Her flat teeth gleam yellow in the muted light, the sharpness of her perfume needling my sinuses. “And finally I catch you red-handed. Now tell me what you’re plotting.”

“Plotting?” I school my expression into one of angelic innocence despite the panicked thundering of my pulse. “Madame, I’m not plotting anything. I swear it.”

Her fingers tighten, making me wheeze. “Do you take me for a fool? I know you’ve been following me.”

“I was, but—” I press my back farther into the wall, trying to loosen her hold. I’m acutely aware that if she manages to draw blood, she will uncover my ruse. “I only wanted to—to return this to you.” I shift enough to slide my hand into my pocket and palm the vial of potion. “Here.”

Upon seeing the vial, she pulls back somewhat, her eyes narrowing. I know what she’s thinking: If I’m truly plotting something, why admit to having the potion in my possession?

“I found it on the ground,” I say, holding it out to her. “I know it’s the Dauphin’s medicine, but I thought it best to give it back to you, since you’re the one who gives it to him.”

The Step-Queen scowls. For a moment I fear she will not take the bait. But after a furious pause she releases me, snatching the vial from my outstretched palm. Immediately I scramble away from her, but she steps in front of me, blocking my escape.

“Once a thief, always a thief,” she says, pointing a bony finger at me. “Know this—I see through this façade of yours. You’re still trying to sink your claws into something that does not belong to you.”

Her words might as well be a confession. She’s after the crown, just as I thought, and she sees me as a rival.

“I truly don’t know of what you speak,” I say with as much honesty as I can muster. “I was merely trying to help.”

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