Page 66 of A Treachery of Swans

I venture closer to her side. “What do you mean?”

“I told you. It matters not.”

“It matters tome,” I press. And it does. I don’t know why, but it does.

Another droplet of wax falls onto her fingers, making her flinch. “I have a brother,” she begins. “He’s a year older than me—we were raised together. I was taught to ride and hunt and wrestle, just as he was. We used to gallop down to the nearby villages and spend time with the fishermen like we were local children. We’d listen to the sailors tell tales, and dream of stowing away on a ship and seeing different shores. My mother abhorred it, but my father would always calm her down. ‘Let her be a child,’ he’d say.” She shakes her head, and the candle flame wavers in tandem.

“Oh, my mother tried to put restrictions on me. But I was always restless—I wanted to travel, wanted adventure. I devoured books on history, on other countries, but paid no attention to those on etiquette. Eventually, my mother grew frustrated. She decided to take me away from our home, to stay in Verroux and learn manners from the court. She had this plan that I would befriend the Dauphin and make him fall in love with me. And… well. I suppose you know how that went.” She laughs bitterly.

There’s a knot of dread growing in my chest, and I can’t bring myself to speak around it.

“After Madame de Malezieu found the necklace,” Marie continues, “she sent my family away in a fit of rage. My mother blamed me, but she also blamed my father, for allowing me to become such an unruly child. Their arguments grew, and it was a mere few months later that my father’s heart gave out.” She exhales heavily. “It was my fault. If I hadn’t caused him such stress—”

“Then he most likely still would have died,” I interrupt, pained.

“You cannot know that!” she exclaims. “Maman said that if I continued to misbehave, tragedy would surely strike again. And I was so afraid that… I was so afraid. So I surrendered myself to my mother. I let her lock me in the tower of our estate, so that… so that I couldn’t cause any more trouble. I was allowed only as far as the gardens, and visited only by tutors to teach me manners and propriety. Maman said I could atone by becoming the perfect lady, by marrying well and undoing all the damage I had done.

“At first, my brother tried to talk me out of it. But he had to turn his attention to managing the estate after my father’s death. And I forced myself to accept it. All of it. I stopped longing for my horse and my bow, for hikes with the hounds and the smell of the forest. I became… perfect, as you put it. I learned to walk like a lady, to flutter my eyelashes and make small talk. I learned to tolerate the suitors my mother sent my way, even though they… even though I… I hated it. All of it.”

For a moment, her composure wavers, her voice shaking. When she collects herself, it’s like watching an artisan fit pieces of stained glass together. “So you see, I am a coward. Ever since my father died, I’ve done nothing but my mother’s bidding. She’s the one who sent me here. She found me a suitor at home, an old and wealthy lord, who will take me if I don’t succeed in marrying Aimé. It’s acruel penance, I suppose, that I am destined to be imprisoned. If not by my mother then by… by my status, or by marriage. To think I used to dream of traveling the world.”

She stares off into the light, the sunrise turning her eyes to burnished bronze, illuminating the sorrow within. I want to comfort her. I don’t know how. Don’t know if I should, considering that I still haven’t told her the whole truth.

Marie shakes her head abruptly. “If I had been brave, I would have taken fate into my own hands. But the idea of hurting my family again… it frightened me. So I chose to endure. To do the safe thing, by becoming what my mother was, and what her mother was. Noblewomen to be sold off to the highest bidder. Raised and trained to be small and obedient and polite.” She gives me a crooked smile. “It’s why I envy you. You don’t let anything stop you. If you want change, you fight for it.”

“Fighting can be exhausting,” I tell her.

“So can standing still,” Marie says, and then chuckles softly. “You know, the day your father cursed me might have been the best day I’ve had in five years. When I woke up with wings and realized I could go where I pleased, do what I wanted. I could be wild, the way I was as a girl. I was almost disappointed when you showed up at the lake and offered me a way out. Part of me wishes I could have stayed a swan forever.”

“Ithink the swan thing was getting old,” I blurt out. “You’re prettier this way.”

I flush as soon as the words leave my mouth. I’d meant for them to sound teasing, but they come out all yearning and flustered instead. Marie stares at me, and I consider making a promptexit, stage left, out the window.

But she giggles, and it’s the sweetest and most tender sound, until suddenly the laugh fractures and turns into an abrupt sob. Shemakes a move as though to hide her face in her hands, but realizes she is holding the candle and tucks her chin against her chest instead. I stare stupidly. It feels wrong to see her without that calm, unflappable demeanor that so often irritates me. I feel as though I am intruding on something deeply private.

No, I realize, she’s letting me see this. She’s letting mein.This diamond-skinned girl, cursed with caring too much, who let herself be caged by her mother’s cruelty and blame.

My heart clenches. “Hey,” I murmur, prying the candle gently from her fingers and blowing it out. I set it aside and pull her away from the windowsill into my arms.

For a moment Marie goes rigid, and I’m worried I’ve done something horribly wrong. Then she melts against me, burying her face in my shoulder.

I hold her gingerly against myself. The sky lightens further from indigo to lavender. The candle’s smoke wraps around us. After a time, Marie tries to take a steadying breath, which only devolves into another dramatic sob, one loud enough to drag breathy laughs out of us both.

“Am I doing affection right?” I wonder into her hair.

She nods, her cheek wet against the crook of my neck. Finally she sniffs and pulls away, wiping her eyes. The dawn light paints her in downy, angelic hues, and Mothers, she truly is beautiful. In another world, a softer world, I know I could have loved her.

My heart clenches, and suddenly I can’t keep it in any longer. “Marie, there’s something I have to tell you.”

“What is it?” she says, ever genial, ever gentle.

I open my mouth, preparing to tell her everything. But before I can, a familiar voice rings through the theater house.

“Dilou, are you here?”

SCENE XXVThéâtre du Roi

My breath stutters at the sound of my brother’s voice carrying in from the entryway. Marie looks at me questioningly.

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