‘It’s late. We should return to the castle.’ Lucien’s tone sharpens. ‘And I don’t want to hear another word on this subject, Turik. You presume too much on my tolerance.’
‘Yes, my lord. My apologies.’
The voices are moving closer. I pick up my skirt and sprint back along the paths, into the castle and back to my own room, where I lock and bar the door. And then I sit on the edge of one of the sofas, staring at the locked door, too shocked to move.
I don’t understand.
I’ve come to rely on Lucien. To trust him, despite his warnings. And only two days ago, he told me he wouldn’t let the king hurt me.
For what? So that he can hurt me himself, if he decides I’ve somehow failed?
I know he’s not my friend.
But I didn’t know he’d cast himself in the role of my judge. Or my executioner.
There’s a headache building behind my eyes. The chilling effect of the antidote is getting steadily worse. Cold bites deep into my bones. Begins to cloud my thoughts.
Perhaps – perhaps Lucien was just saying what he needed to say to calm Turik’s fears. Turik, who only just escaped from somewhere – Brithys? – with his life …
My teeth are chattering. The embers of the fire are still glowing on the hearth, so I blow on them and add some more wood, crouching as near as I can to the flames, trying to rub some feeling back into my almost-numb hands. It doesn’t help much. I can’t stop shaking. My body is freezing and my chest aches and, despite everything, I wish that Lucien was here, so I could beg him to wrap me in his arms.
But he isn’t here. I’m completely alone. And all the terror that the potion allowed me to avoid earlier – it’s just been waiting for me, hiding in the shadowy corners of my room. I try to think about how it felt when I was flying with Siegfried. To recall my experience of flying as a child.
All I can remember, though, is that last flight with my mother. But now I can hear her voice in my head once more, and I can’t shut it out. I’m compelled to listen, over and over, as she tells me to flee, screams defiance at the hawks who pursue us, screams in pain as they strike her down …
‘Aderyn?’
‘Hmm?’
‘Aderyn, are you unwell?’
I open my eyes. Letya is peering down at me, her expression anxious. My arms and shoulders ache horribly. The skin on my back is sore, my nails sting, even the roots of my hair hurt. And for some reason I’m lying on the floor of my sitting room. I push myself up, groaning.
Letya gasps. ‘I’ll fetch the doctor –’
‘No – I don’t need a doctor.’
‘But, your back …’ She points to my shoulders.
I struggle upright and walk to the huge gilt mirror hanging on one wall. Above the neckline of my nightgown there are purple bruises fanning out across my collarbone and my shoulders. Another thing I had forgotten: how hard it is on the body when you first begin to shift your shape.
‘It’s just bruising, Letya, it’ll fade. I transformed last night. It …’ I prod the bruises and wince. ‘I found it tiring. I must have fallen asleep in front of the fire.’
‘You transformed? The Creator be praised.’
‘I’ll tell Lord Rookwood, but as far as the rest of the court is concerned, I never lost the ability. Be sure you keep it a secret.’
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret them.
Letya flushes. ‘As if I would ever say anything that might put you at risk, Your Grace.’ When we’re alone, she only uses titles at me when she’s angry. I open my mouth to apologise, but a ripple of pain sends me snatching at my shoulder. My friend sighs and shakes her head. ‘Get into bed. I’ll have a housemaid bring some hot water for the bath. And a high-necked gown today, I think …’
With Letya’s help, I feel a little less ruffled by the time I have to face Lucien. He’s waiting in the sitting room with his notebook at the ready. When I walk in, he looks me up and down.
‘You look as if you’ve been in a fight.’
‘You don’t look much better.’ He can’t deny it. There are dark shadows beneath his eyes, he’s unshaven, and from the state of his clothing it’s quite possible that he got dressed in the dark.
‘I was working late on … on a proposal that we’re presenting to the Clerk of Markets regarding reduction of tariffs on tin exports.’
‘Is that so?’
For a moment I think about challenging him. I could tell him that I heard him in the garden with Turik. I could accuse – condemn – dispatch him. Protect myself by sending him back to Atratys in disgrace. I stare, hoping to read in his face some sign that what I heard last night was a mistake. That I can still trust him. But his expression is as carefully composed as always.
I stare for too long.
‘Is there something the matter, Your Grace?’
‘No.’ Better, perhaps, to keep him where I can see him. ‘I look forward to reading your report.’
He frowns ever so slightly. ‘May I enquire what you were doing last night, Your Grace?’
‘I was transforming into a swan.’
My statement has as much impact as I could hope for. My clerk’s jaw drops and he gazes at me, silent, for a full half-minute.
‘But – but, how?’
I hesitate. On the one hand, I am not about to tell Lucien, of all people, about the potion. On the other, if I am to keep flying, it’s impossible that Lucien won’t eventually realise that Siegfried is, somehow, involved. I shrug. ‘Lord Siegfried was able to help me. With his … encouragement, I found that I could overcome the difficulties that I’ve been experiencing. We even managed a short flight.’
The excitement has faded from Lucien’s face, leaving it cold.
‘How fortunate. I wasn’t aware that his lordship has such a gift for teaching. Perhaps the two of you should take a flight in public; it might silence the rumour-mongers.’
I resist the temptation to tell him how little his tone of disdain suits him. ‘Not yet. Not until my flying is stronger.’
‘As you wish.’ Lucien bows and opens his notebook. ‘I believe, as soon as the wedding is over, that we should return to Atratys. If you’re in agreement, I’ll seek permission from His Majesty’s secretary. We could leave the very next day.’
So soon? Despite the danger I’m in, despite the fact that the king disgusts me and terrifies me, I can’t leave yet. I haven’t found the place mentioned in Frant’s book. I haven’t discovered what happened to Flayfeather. But I can’t explain any of this to Lucien. I wave him away.
‘I’ll consider your suggestion.’
‘Thank you, Your Grace. At least our return journey will be easier, now you can fly.’
He leaves, and I close my eyes and massage my temples. The headache I had last night is threatening to return. I suppose Siegfried could give me the potion and start me on my journey back to Merl. But someone – Lucien? – would have to know to give me the antidote. And how am I going to keep flying after that?
These questions are still weighing on my mind when I retire to dress for dinner eight hours or so later. Before Letya arrives, I try to transform again. I do my best to recapture the sensation of change that the potion gave me last night, to bypass that part of me that keeps reliving the attack, but it doesn’t work. The fear – and the pain – are as unbearable as they have always been. For now, at least, I am wholly dependent on Siegfried’s goodwill.