Page 91 of A Treachery of Swans

“I know,” I say regretfully. “Regnault must have sensed that. He must have known I was planning to involve all of you, and that he was losing control of me. So he—” My voice breaks. Marie shifts closer, and the comforting weight of one of her wings drapes along my shoulder. “I believed him. I’ve always believed him, always done as he told me. I’m such afool.”

“Dilou…” The hoarseness of my brother’s voice draws me up short. I glance up sharply, and I’m startled to see moisture pooling in the brown depths of his eyes. My chest lurches. I’ve never, in all my eighteen years, seen Damien cry.

“Hey,” I say in annoyance, feeling my own eyes begin to sting. “Stop that right now. Because if you cry, I might cry, and Aimé is already about to cry, and then we’ll be a whole pathetic circle of tears and Marie will have to try to save the world on her own.”

Behind me, Marie tries to muffle a sniff, and I groan.

“Never mind, we’re doomed.”

Damien presses his arm to his eyes and turns away, his throat bobbing. In my ear, Marie whispers, “Affection.”

“He’s my brother.” I pretend to gag. “That’s disgusting.” But I’m already getting to my feet, reluctantly trudging over to him. I open my arms, feeling ridiculous.

Damien pulls me against him.

And I realize I don’t remember the last time I hugged my brother. Not since we were very young, certainly. Not since I began going on Regnault’s missions. He’s sturdy and warm, and he smells dreadfully unwashed, but he’s my brother. He’s always been my brother. How could I have forgotten that?

“I know you tried to protect me,” I say into his shoulder as he rests one large, comforting hand on the back of my head. “You were right. When you told me you wanted to leave, Iwasselfish—I was only thinking about what I wanted. I didn’t consider your happiness, and I should have. Because let me tell you,” I add wickedly, “the noblesse arefantastickissers.”

He shoves me away, groaning. “Agh—Odile!I didn’t need to know that!”

I look over at Marie, whose eyes are glittering fondly, and at Aimé, who seems to have livened up at last, a tentative smile on his face. And I realize that this is what Regnault took from me with his lies and his promises. And now I’m taking it back.

“Very well,” I say, turning to my friends. “My proposition is this: We get the Couronne du Roi back, and we free Morgane. Once she is free, we ask her to undo Aimé’s curse.”

“Can it be done?” Aimé asks shakily. He sounds like he’s afraid to hope.

“Possibly,” I say. “Morgane said this when I asked her how to destroy the Couronne: ‘That which gives the most strength can also be the greatest weakness.’?”

“It’s the blood,” Marie says immediately. “You said the Couronne was strengthened using the blood of both the Spider King and Bartrand de Roux. That’s why Regnault wants to kill Aimé, isn’t it? So you need Regnault’s blood, and Aimé’s, to destroy it. And…” She trails off, and I’m mesmerized by the way her lower lip juts out as she contemplates Morgane’s riddle. “The temple. That’s where itmust be done. In the place of Morgane’s trapping. That’s why she showed it to you in the dream. That’s where the Couronne can be destroyed.”

Damien looks puzzled. “To the temple… that drowned in thelake.”

“Regnault must know how to get to it. He wants to kill Aimé there: at the place the Couronne was forged.” The glimmerings of a scheme begin to take shape in my mind. “We’ll need his blood. And yours, Aimé. And we need to trick him into showing us the way to the temple.”

Damien crosses his arms. “This is sounding more impossible by the minute.”

“Only if you lack in imagination,” I tell him sweetly. Then I give a grand flourish, puff out my chest, and announce, “Mesdames et messieurs, I do believe I have a plan. It requires some acting, a considerable amount of acrobatics, and on my part a brazen betrayal. Are you with me?”

I grin as I’m greeted by a chorus of agreement. I sketch a grand bow.

Then I begin to explain.

We wind through lower Verroux, the streets a blur of yellow windows and narrow, slouching buildings, foul-smelling and filthy and sleepless. Damien leads the way, his broad shoulders barely concealed by a cloak, eyes peering out watchfully from beneath his hood. Marie and Aimé are between us, both members of the noblesse wide-eyed and cautious as we leave the protective airiness of the wealthy upper sector and plunge deeper into the city’s gullet.

“So this is where you grew up,” Marie says. Her wings are gone—it seems to take her much effort and time, but she is able to make them vanish on command.

“More or less,” I say, putting a hand on the small of her back.

“I wished to tell you earlier,” she says, “but I’ve always admired this about you. How you came from the shadows, yet you burn so bright. You always seemed so brave to me, sobold.You hold on to things so tightly, while I seem to always let them slip through my fingers.”

“It’s called being selfish, princess,” I tell her. “You simply break off a piece of the world and keep it all to yourself.”

She hums. “What if that piece of the world is a person?”

I tilt my head. “Oh?”

“What if…” She looks away, her cheeks flushing in the lamplight. “What if it’s… you?”

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