Page 96 of A Treachery of Swans

It’s enough to stay my hand. Even now, I listen to him. Even now, he has me chained.

“You know that won’t work,” Regnault says, and I can tell from the restrained way he speaks that he is trying to keep his voice from shaking with fury. “You need my blood to destroy it. It was forged with the power inmybloodline, a bloodline you do not carry. Without me, you can do nothing. You… you willbenothing. You will be alone once more, as you were before I found you.”

“Before you found me,” I say quietly, “I had my brother. And you tried to make me hate him.”

He scoffs. “The red-blooded oaf? Please, Odile, he’s not worth this. Lower the stone. You and I have far more in common than you ever had with him.”

“Is that why you isolated me?” I demand. “Why you made sure I had no one but you? You turned me into a tool, into a pet. I depended on you for everything. I never questioned you, not once.”

“I was guiding you!” The words come out in a violent growl. He presses the mask to his face, runs a hand through his hair. “I was guiding you,” he repeats again, lowering his voice. “So that you would have what it takes. So that you could do what was needed to claim the Couronne, to claim thethrone,as the Golden-Blooded Girl should have always done. I did this all for you. I made you, and you know it. So lower the stone, little owl. I will forgive you, and we will rule together. I will forgive you, because I always do, no matter how much you disappoint me.”

I swallow thickly. “Why?” I whisper, letting my grip on the stone waver. “After all I’ve done, why do you still want me back?”

“My dear little owl.” Regnault opens his arms, his smile benevolent. “I will always want you back. I am your father, after all.”

I let my hand fall to my side, tears gathering in my eyes. “If you are telling the truth,” I whisper, “then swear one thing to me. Swear that you will never replace me—that I will always be your heir.”

“Of course,” he says gently. “Of course you will be.”

Then he freezes. His smile drops as he realizes his mistake.

I grin triumphantly. “Thank you for confirming,” I say, dropping my pitiful act. “If I recall correctly, you said something about heirs carrying power?”

His eyes widen in horror. “Wait—” he cries, but I don’t hesitate.

I bring the stone down on the Couronne du Roi.

This time it’s like striking a pane of glass. The crown shatters into a thousand tiny, glittering fragments, a bloom of golden light exploding from within. A voice fills the temple, archaic and momentous and as familiar as drowning.

Well done, little owl, little champion,Morgane crows.I am free at last.

For a moment the tiny shards of gold all hover around me, suspended, before the light vanishes again and they all fall to the ground, the sound soft and high like wind chimes.

I whirl, seeking out Morgane, but the spirit is nowhere to be seen. Columns loom, solemn and imposing, overhead, the lake’s undulating waters stretching out on either side. In the distance, a school of tiny fish picks at pondweed on the lake bed. Everything is oddly peaceful.

Then Regnault shoves past me, crashing to his knees at the base of the altar. “No!” he cries, reaching down, attempting to sweep up the shards of the Couronne as though he might reassemble it. “No, no, no!”

“Papa…” I whisper, pained.

Before I can say anything more, the temple begins to shake.

The checkered floor beneath my feet bucks and fissures. I scream as one of the columns behind me topples, water gushing in around it.

“Papa, we have to go!” I scream, grabbing my father’s shoulder, but he only slaps my hand away. When he looks up at me, there is nothing in his eyes but potent, condemning hatred.

“You did this,” he seethes, spittle flying from his mouth. “Traitor.”

My heart shatters. Tears prick my eyes, but I know I can’t wait a moment longer. I race past Regnault and toward Aimé, hauling him from the ground. Ahead, Regnault’s tunnel has disappeared.

“We’re going to have to swim!” I say, and Aimé nods, then pulls me against himself as what little remains of the temple’s roof caves in, sending in another gush of water. The floor of the temple begins to flood, water racing across the checkered stone and breaking upon the altar like an ocean wave. Cold water surrounds my boots, my ankles.

“Let’s go now!” I take Aimé’s hand, ready to jump out of the temple and into the lake surrounding us when the water overhead begins to churn.

It’s like the heavens open up. The oppressive darkness of the lake is pushed apart as though by a pair of invisible hands, revealing a bright azure sky, thin sugar-spun clouds, and a white-winged girl flying toward us, haloed by glorious sunlight.

“Marie!” I shout in relief. Marie swoops toward us, and I push Aimé toward her as she reaches out. “Take him first!” I say, and Marie doesn’t argue, heaving the Dauphin up in her arms. She brings her wings down in a powerful stroke, lifting them both away from the flooding temple, and I turn, seeking out Regnault.

Conflict roils within me. I know I should leave him behind, but there is a piece of me that still feels obligated toward him for taking me in, for raising me. He’s still by the altar, and I run toward him once more.

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