I drag some more air into my lungs and place my hand into Aron’s. ‘Yes.’ I can’t say another word.
Aron grips my fingers tightly and smiles. It’s the closest to joyful I’ve ever seen him. He kisses my hand, gets to his feet and pulls the bell rope to summon a servant.
‘I’ll send for the Venerable Mother. She knows my fears for Odette, and my suspicions of Siegfried. She’ll marry us quickly.’
A servant arrives shortly and is duly dispatched. While we wait, Aron walks about the room, tapping his fingers on the side of his leg. But I … I can’t move. There seems to be a great weight on my chest, pinning me to the chair. The Venerable Mother arrives, out of breath, with a cloak covering her nightgown and her long grey hair loosely plaited. While Aron talks to her in a low voice I stare into the fire, watching the logs burn into ash.
‘Cousin?’ Aron is waiting next to me. ‘It’s time.’ I look around and realise there is another person in the room, a young nobleman I only know by sight; the pointed tips of his ears mark him out as a member of an owl family. ‘This is Lord Tarl. We need a witness, and he owes me some favours.’ The man blushes and ducks his head to me briefly. ‘Come.’
Aron helps me to my feet, entwining his fingers with mine, and I cling on to his hand, leaning against him, numb. The Venerable Mother is in front of us holding a large leather-bound book.
She peers into my face. ‘You look distressed, my child. Are you sure this is what you wish?’
I take a deep breath and force myself to straighten up.
I’m doing this for you, Lucien, and for Atratys. I hope you understand.
‘Yes. Yes, this is what I want.’
She nods and begins reading the ancient text of the wedding service. The words wash over me, but I find I am able to respond in the right places, to answer the questions put to me without stumbling. My hand shakes a little when I sign the marriage pledge, but only someone who knows my signature would notice. Surely many brides are nervous. And soon – sooner than I would have thought possible – it is done.
The Venerable Mother joins our hands and binds them lightly together with a silver chain, each link of which is fashioned to resemble a feather. ‘You are mated for life, as our nature and our customs and our holy laws demand, pledged to each other in a bond that only death may dissolve.’ Removing the chain, she holds her hand up in front of us, five fingers spread out to represent the sun. ‘I wish you joy of each other, long life and many young. Now, seal your union with a kiss.’
Aron and I turn to face each other. I close my eyes, lift my face and feel the brief pressure of his lips against mine.
The clock chimes one.
‘Lucien –’
Aron nods. ‘We have to hurry. Tarl, take my servant and a Dark Guard and get to the tower in the fjord. There’s a flightless woman imprisoned there – you’ll need to break the door down. You’d better take a doctor too.’
Tarl’s eyes widen, but he bows. ‘Yes, Your Highness. I’ll see to it.’
The Venerable Mother is refastening the strings of her cloak. ‘I must return to the sanctuary, but I will be ready if Convocation send anyone to question me about this marriage.’ She glances at the lightening sky outside the window. ‘It’s dawn.’ The bell of the Citadel starts to toll, summoning the court to watch Lucien die. ‘You’d better go straight to the place of execution.’
Aron passes me a cloth-wrapped package. ‘All the letters between Siegfried and your father.’ He lifts his brows. ‘Neither of our fathers is going to have much of a reputation left by the end of this.’
‘I think they’ll both be left with exactly the reputation they deserve.’ I clutch the package to my chest. ‘Let’s go.’
We run from Aron’s rooms down through the palace. But the corridors and stairways are full of people moving in the same direction, and our progress is slowed as we get nearer to the two doorways that lead to the balcony overhanging the arena. I look around, trying to identify members of Convocation, but the crowds make it impossible.
‘We’re going to be too late –’
‘I know another way.’ Aron takes my hand and drags me away from the balcony to another set of stairs. On we hurry, past the entrance hall, down into the gloomy rooms where the flightless mostly live and work.
The bell has stopped. ‘Where are we going?’ My voice is sharp with anxiety. ‘There’s no time –’
‘Out into the execution space itself. Not much further.’ He pulls me along another corridor. Round the next corner is a room full of Dark Guards. Off-duty, I guess – it’s the first time I’ve ever seen any of them with their helmets off. Aron has a hasty conversation with one man, a captain by his insignia; the man puts his helmet on and leads us forward. Together we run along one more corridor and down another flight of steps, and then there is daylight, and a doorway –
There, on the far side of the grassy space, are the two stone posts. Lucien has his arms wrapped around one of the pillars as if he’s embracing it, but then I see his wrists and ankles are shackled to metal loops sticking out of the stone. He’s naked, and there are bloody red welts criss-crossing his back, and as I watch, one guard lifts the whip above his shoulder and another picks up a fat, grey worm in a pair of pincers –
‘No!’ I snarl and hurl myself forward, aware of nothing but my desperate need to save Lucien, pulling off my robe and transforming into a swan while I run. The power pours out of me. It burns away my human shape and I leap, claiming the air, spreading my feathers wide. The guards buckle, driven to their knees, screaming and clutching their heads as the field generated by my body rips through them. Diving at the two men nearest Lucien, I strike them with my wings, knocking them through the air, away from him. They smack into the boulders at the edge of the grass. Neither gets up. I land next to the pillar, shift my shape back to human and crouch there. Breathless. Trembling.
Silence surrounds me.
‘Aderyn.’ Aron is next to me. He wraps my robe back around my shoulders and helps me up. We position ourselves in front of Lucien, shielding him.
‘The letters?’
‘I have them.’
Together, Aron and I face the court.
On the upper balcony, the queen is standing between Siegfried and Odette. Siegfried is staring at me, eyes and mouth wide open, stunned. Turik, behind him, looks as if he might be sick. But the queen’s face is twisted with rage. She clutches the railing in front of her. ‘Traitors! Murderers! Seize them!’
A guard starts towards us, pulling his axe from his belt.
‘Stop!’ Odette’s voice is shaky but clear. ‘As your future ruler, I order you to stop. No one is to touch them.’ The guard hesitates for a moment – steps back.
Aron points at the queen. ‘The only traitor here, stepmother, is you. You and that man next to you. Siegfried of Olorys. Who is also your half-brother. And your lover.’
There is a shocked murmur from the onlookers on the main balcony. A louder outburst from the flightless servants gathered beyond the fence of the arena.
Siegfried laughs. ‘Lies. The reckless lies of an unimportant, flightless boy who wishes to take back the throne he has rightly been denied. See –’ he turns to address the courtiers – ‘the treacherous Protector of Atratys stands at his side.’