“How shall we hide her?” Trymman whispered and his mother had no answer.
“Her name is Rania,” she said instead. She took the chain with the ring and placed it around the child’s tiny neck, for it was her legacy from her father.”
“Rania,” Hadrian said, looking at the ring again. “My mate’s name is Rania.”
He really had met her mother.
And this ring had belonged to her father. Why hadn’t she known him, or her mother? Could the answer be in this book? He indicated that Alasdair should continue.
“The witch, too, delivered of a daughter, much to the displeasure of the brigand king. The child was dark, her features twisted in a scowl, and he feared the future when he looked upon his spawn. It could be no good portent that such a disfigured child was of his seed, but he had ensured that the witch laid with no other man. It was in his moment of doubt that he heard a second babe cry.
The sound came, against all reason, from his wife’s chamber.
The brigand king strode to the queen’s room and unlocked the door, fury upon his brow. He found the queen with a new babe at her breast and ripped the child from her, casting it aside as he bent his anger upon her. Trymman, forgotten for the moment by his father, caught his infant sister and hid in the shadows, holding her close and keeping her quiet. The brigand king shouted, calling his wife a whore and a slattern, and vowed he would ensure her chastity forevermore.
He drew his dagger and he killed her in her own bed, before the horrified gaze of their youngest son.
Trymman fled his father’s rage, knowing that his sister might share their mother’s fate. He took advantage of the open door and the brigand king’s inattention. He used the forgotten stairs that the stranger had shown him and slipped through the palace unseen. He heard his brothers mustering and feared of their intentions. They ran up the main stairs to their mother’s chamber, boots pounding on the stone, the sound of their rage filling the castle. Little did Trymman know that they, too, had come to hate their father: four of them were of age but their father surrendered nothing to them. He kept all in thrall and that created bitterness in the hearts of those who should have loved him best.
Trymman fled into the village, holding his sister close, uncertain where he might find help. From the celebration in the streets and the tavern, he learned that his father had a new daughter by the witch. He followed the revelers to the witch’s hut, in time to see her hurry into the street.
There was a hue and cry from the castle above, then the voice of Trymman’s oldest brother, Edred, rang out. “The brigand, our father and king, is dead for his crime of murdering our mother! I declare myself king in his stead!”
“Long live King Edred!” cried the other ten brothers in triumph and Trymman saw the flash of their swords at the high window.
“He will not prosper from this deed,” the witch muttered. “No son kills his own father and lives to celebrate as much.” She raced toward the castle, her own child abandoned in her dismay. She raised her hands, summoning a curse as she hastened to the queen’s chambers.
Trymman wanted only to save his sister. On impulse, he exchanged her with the wizened and dark infant sleeping in the witch’s hut. He wrapped the witch’s daughter in the robe from the queen’s chamber, tucking it over her face, and left his sister in the rough furs of the cradle in the witch’s hut, her father’s ring on that fine chain around her neck. He saw the light in the stone die and feared the portent of that.
When the witch saw her lover dead in the queen’s chamber and knew her influence was gone forever, she invoked a curse of ferocious power. She bestowed it on the eleven brothers, for they were responsible for her loss, and they were powerless to escape her wrath.
Far below, Trymman heard the trumpeting of one swan and then that of another. He watched in wonder as eleven swans flew out of the window of the highest tower of the castle, soaring high in the sky. They called as they flew and he understood that they were his brothers, enchanted forever. The witch had cursed them to become swans, to live as wild birds instead of the sons of kings, as the price of their offense against their father.
The sight was Trymman’s undoing, for as he stared in disbelief, the witch returned home and spied him. She guessed his identity and his burden, mostly from the once-rich robe wrapped around the baby, and snatched the infant from him. She cursed this twelfth son as well, and Trymman could only watch in horror as he also was transformed into a swan. He watched in despair as his arms grew into wings, as his stature shrank, as feathers appeared all over his body. He opened his mouth to shout in protest, but only a houp-houp call came from his beak. He soared into the sky, trumpeting in frustration, trying to catch up with his brothers.
The witch then killed the infant in her fury, shattering the child’s skull on the ground with brutal force. It was too late when the witch looked into the robe and realized she had killed her own daughter.
She guessed then what the boy might have done and ran toward her own hut, intending to kill the queen’s child, too.
But the cradle was empty and the babe had vanished. Maeve had come to collect her due of the witch. Left with nothing but the malice in her heart, the witch tried to cast a spell against Maeve. That was when she discovered that all the magick she had ever possessed was gone, as well, seized by Maeve along with her child.”
“Taken as a tithe by Maeve,” Balthasar mused. “That explains a lot.”
“It does,” Hadrian agreed. He would have said more but he felt the glow of the firestorm.
Rania was back!
Lynsay thought about her conversation with the dark stranger as she drove back to town and the pub. The hour was late and it was really dark on the lane that led to Hadrian’s studio. Maybe she was better off without seeing Hadrian. She’d recognized his truck and that of his cousin at the house. He’d been gone more than a month and hadn’t even sent her a text on his return. His studio had burned down, but he hadn’t contacted her for consolation or help from her.
The break was obviously permanent to him. What if she did let it go and move on? What if there was a better relationship ahead for her, and that pining after Hadrian was an obstacle to her own happiness?
The more she thought about it, the more it seemed like the right choice.
Something white suddenly flashed ahead of the car and Lynsay swerved hard to one side. She swore as the car spun and she felt her rear tire slide into the muck at the side of the road. She knew without getting out to look that she’d be walking the rest of the way home. No one would come out to give her a tow at this hour.
The car was sideways on the lane, the headlights shining into the woods on the other side of the road. To her astonishment, there was a swan there. The bird blinked in the light but didn’t fly away. Was it dazzled by the light?
Lynsay got out of the car as slowly and as quietly as she could. The swan held its ground. It was also watching her, and if a bird could have had an expression, this one’s would have been wary.
“I won’t hurt you,” she said quietly, lifting her hands. Was it wild? It had to be, since there were no more tame ones up at the big house anymore. It hopped a little, heading toward the woods and flapped its wing. Was it hurt?
Lynsay moved closer, taking her time, and the bird just watched her. It was much bigger than she’d realized swans were, and when she crouched beside it, they were almost eye to eye. Funny how it seemed to understand her intention, like it was a person and not a wild creature. She reached out slowly and lifted the wing that had flapped. She felt the swan quiver, but it didn’t pull away.