Page 87 of A Treachery of Swans

I barrel out of the room. My body screams at me to slow down, to take a breath, but I refuse to rest, refuse to stay here, refuse to look my brother or the Dauphin in the eye. And distantly I know, distantly, that my reaction is extreme. That perhaps I should have considered that my knees are bandaged, that I was covered in a blanket when I woke, that both boys were clearly keeping vigil over me. But there is a fissure between us now that is not easily mended. And if there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that kindness can be a weapon too.

I make it down the stairs and into the hollow Théâtre entrance hall, my chin ducked and my vision blurring.Don’t cry.I try to force the tears back.Don’t cry don’t cry don’t—

“Odile?”

I have been so focused on holding myself together that I didn’t notice the familiar figure striding toward me through the grand foyer. When I do look up, it’s like a fist has closed around my heart.

Marie d’Odette approaches the stairs, as delicate as sea-foam and powerful as the pull of tides. She’s wearing peculiar clothes—apuffy-sleeved silver doublet and narrow breeches I recognize as belonging to a dancer’s costume.

Poking over her shoulders are the tips of white wings.

She’s as beautiful as ever, the Swan Princess, and seeing her is like being blessed, like the merciful touch of a deity’s hand. The relief that washes over me is so heady that it nearly sends me to my knees.

“Marie,” I whisper.

Then I run down the stairs and launch myself into her arms.

SCENE XXXIIIThéâtre du Roi

Day

Marie makes a small sound of surprise, swaying a bit as she embraces me. She wraps her arms around me tightly, one hand sliding into my hair, and I duck my face into her shoulder as I try in vain to swallow back tears.

Marie must hear the hitch of my breath. “Odile, what’s wrong?”

I shake my head against her shoulder.Not yet.

She hums softly, understanding, and I feel a swell of gratitude. Finally, when I’m no longer in danger of hysterically sobbing, I pull away, sniffing wetly. Marie looks me over without a word, then raises her hands to my face, thumbing away the lingering tears under my eyes. “What is it? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I don’t know where to begin. I can’t pinpoint where my anguish is coming from, only that there isso muchof it. Morgane’s dream, and Damien’s accusatory words, and my father… myfather.

“He tried to kill me,” I whisper miserably. “He raised me, and then he tried to kill me.”

“Oh, Odile.”

“He never cared about me. He promised me power, promised me magic, but he was going to take it all for himself and leave me with nothing. And the worst of it is, he made me think that without him I would be alone. That only he could understand me. He drove a rift between me and Damien, and between me and you, and I regret nothing more than giving him that damned crown—” I rub the tears from my eyes, frustrated at myself. “Mothers, I’m sorry that you have to see this. I don’t think I’ve cried since… since I was a girl.” Since I scraped my knees and my father told me to never let anyone see me bleed.

“There is nothing wrong with crying,” Marie says gently. “And try not to be too angry with Damien. He’s been worried sick about you. I don’t know him well, but he seems like a good man.”

“He is,” I say, making a face. Because it’s true, and I hate that I know it. For all his blustering words, Damien has only ever cared about protecting the few he loves. The bandages on my knees are testament enough.

I slump down onto the stairwell. “This is all my own fault, isn’t it?”

Marie shakes her head. “No.” She crouches in front of me, grips my fingers. “Your father did this. All of this. He manipulated you; he used you.”

“I was his tarasque,” I say bitterly. “I thought I was the Golden-Blooded Girl, but I was just his pet on a leash, doing his bidding. And I would have done it and done it and done it forever, if it weren’t for—for you.” I smile at her crookedly. “If you hadn’t believed there was more to me.”

“Odile…” She runs her thumbs over my knuckles.

“And I’m sorry,” I say quickly—might as well get everything out at once, since my defenses are already in ruins. “I’m so sorry about the necklace.” To my horror, I nearly start crying again, and Marie shakes her head, ever the pillar of calm.

“We can talk about this later,” she says. “When you’ve recovered somewhat.” She begins to stand, reaching down for me. Suddenly she winces, sucking in a breath of pain.

“Marie?” I ask shakily. “Areyouall right?”

“It’s fine,” she says. “Just a scratch.”

“Ascratch?” I repeat, worry suddenly overtaking me.

---