Page 63 of A Treachery of Swans

Then I slam my palm against the glittering glass.

The spell bursts out around my hand, a single spiderwebbing flare of light. The window shatters in a diamond display, thousands of twinkling shards raining down around me. The sudden sound alerts the beast to my location—I hear the bellow of its fury, the screech of its claws, as it barrels toward me.

I leap through the opening without hesitation, curling my hands over my face. A line of agony sears down my side as the beast reaches after me, its claws snagging on my doublet in one final, failed attempt to seize me in its grasp.

Then I am falling, falling,falling,the night opening up to swallow me in jaws of starless obscurity.

I do not remember hitting the ground. The next time awareness returns to me, I am lying gasping on the cold earth, scrambling to hold on to consciousness even as it slips from me. My skin feels tacky, lathered in stale blood. I can only pray my father finds me before the guards do.

The last thing I hear is my name, sobbed desperately through familiar tearstained lips.

Soft fingers brush my cheeks, and I swear I see glorious white wings unfurl above me.

Then I slip into darkness.

SCENE XXIIIThéâtre du Roi

The Loges

Reality slinks back to me like a kicked dog, trembling and blearily hesitant. Everything aches—I feel ancient, as though my joints are wrought of iron and being chewed on by rust. When I shift, I half expect to hear arthritic creaking. An undignified moan escapes me, and distantly I think I hear a gentle “shhh,” as though I’m a child waking from a nightmare. I realize there are fingers carding through my hair, light as feather down, and the feeling acts as a momentary distraction from the dull pain in my body.

“You’re all right.” Marie’s voice wraps around me like a cloak, and Mothers, I have never been so happy to hear a voice in my life. I realize it is her touch brushing against my scalp, and despite my disorientation, my stomach curls pleasantly.Safe,a small, primal part of me hums—the part of me that is normally dedicated to keeping up my walls in desperate self-preservation. I contemplate feigningunconsciousness a little longer, if only to enjoy the unfamiliar attention.

Then Marie whispers, “You’re all right,” again, and I realize her voice is shaking. As though she doesn’t quite believe her own words.

Reluctantly, I force my eyes to open. I’m greeted by an unexpectedly familiar sight: the cradle of gold and crimson of the Théâtre’s loges wraps around me, the dark of the auditorium visible over the balustrade to my right. Judging by the opulent furnishings, this is the box reserved for the Augiers. I’m lying on a velveteen chaise longue, and beside me, Marie d’Odette d’Auvigny sits in a puddle of silver skirts.

I want to say something dignified, ideally witty. Instead, all I manage through my dry throat is a crackling “Marie.”

Her eyes meet mine, their silver depths brightening in relief.

“Oh, thank the Mothers,” she breathes out.

Everything feels unreal somehow, impossible, a flicker of candle flame and a blur of crimson velvet. There’s a bruise blooming across Marie’s cheekbone, and I can’t peel my eyes away from it.

I reach up hazily to brush my thumb along the mark, half expecting her to be a mirage, for my fingers to pass through her. But my touch finds warm, smooth skin, and Marie stiffens in confusion.

“You’re hurt,” I say.

Her lips uncurl from their worried frown into something almost sheepish. “I fought a guard. Well, tried to.”

“I see.” I knit my brow in a frown as I try to force my memories free of the hazy void of my mind. They come swaying back drunkenly: the Step-Queen’s chambers, the potions and notes and books. Golden blood seeping between my fingers, crimson blood pooling beneath a stone-skinned monster’s claws. A scrap of sapphire fabric caught on its tusks. A shattering stained-glass window.

And… “Marie,” I whisper. “I did it. I used magic. Real magic.Like my father does.” I clench my hand, remembering the feeling of magic leaking between my knuckles, the way it had transformed into long, thin spell-threads as I traced my fingers through the air. “The pendant is gone,” I realize. “But you’re still alive. I didn’t know if you would be after the Step-Queen stabbed me; I thought… the spell…” I try to sit up, and pain lances down my side, hard enough to make me gasp.

“Odile, slow down,” Marie pleads. “You need rest.”

I fall back onto the chaise obediently. “And you saved me.”

She gnaws on her bottom lip. “I’m not certain I would call itsaving.The injury in your side was shallow enough, thankfully; it had already stopped bleeding when I found you. Did… were youstabbed?”

I nod through clenched teeth. “Regrettably. The Step-Queen caught me in her rooms.” I glance at her. “You were supposed to keep her distracted.”

I don’t mean for the words to sound accusatory, but as soon as I utter them, guilt roils across Marie’s face. “I tried, Odile, I swear it. But when I tried to intervene, she only shoved me aside. ‘Do you take me for a fool?’ she said. ‘I can sense your plot unfurling. Who did you send?’ I said I didn’t know, feigned obliviousness. She took off. I tried to follow, but she commanded one of the guards to grab me, saying I was drunk and needed to be escorted to my rooms. He began to lead me away, but I fought him. That’s when he elbowed me.” She points to the mark on her cheek. “I think he was frightened to realize he had injured his future queen, because he released me right after, apologizing profusely. I ran after Anne, but by the time I arrived, it was too—” She stammers somewhat over the word, her voice growing hoarse and haunted. “Too late.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “What did you… what did you see?”

“B-blood.” Marie shudders, an action I feel more than see. “Everywhere. Anne de Malezieu’s body. And I could h-hear… I could hear the beast, hear it running down the hallways, chasing… chasing something. Chasingyou.I thought it had gone outside to the gardens, so I ran out into the night, and—” She cuts off, her breath hitching strangely, as though she has caught herself just before telling a lie.

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