He crouched before me so his head was level with mine. “One last night, Lady Wyn, when you’ve spent so many on this tunic. Will you draw me a story?”
There was such kindness in his eyes that he seemed the safest place in this wild, cold world.
Shake your head—a clean cut by a sharp blade.
I couldn’t tell him no, but I didn’t dare agree.
So I shrugged.
“Tell me no, but don’t shrug! Don’t look away. It is an insult to my hospitality, a fear that I’d harm you if you deny me.” He softened a bit, his voice dropping to a whisper. “And it is an insult to your courage, Lady Wyn. Do what you have in your heart to do, and don’t fear the consequences. I’ve seen too much of you to believe you would cringe from the path you’ve chosen.”
I sat perfectly still, caught by the truth he’d spoken. And the honor of it.
And I saw that he waited for me to tell him to leave.
I slowly folded the tunic. The last tunic. The last night before the Ri left for months. The last moon of the enchantment might come before he returned.
Very well. I would do what was in my heart.
I walked to the hearth and knelt beside it. When the Ri joined me, I swept a fingertip through the soot and drew one last picture.
I drew the swans from the Cynwrig crest.
I drew the necks stretched for freedom. I drew the wings spread against the blue background. I drew it with all the hope of a daughter who believed she could reclaim her father. I drew with the innocence of a girl who has not yet learned grief. I let the Ri into the heart of my family’s wretched story, even though he’d never know what he saw.
When I finished, he sat back on his heels. “Ah, here’s speech enough, if only I knew how to hear it. Thank you, Lady Wyn.”
I waited for him to ask about the three swans, but he didn’t. He simply looked down as if memorizing the lines, while silence surged between the two of us like a river.
“Will you ever speak again?” The question flew through the dim like an arrow.
I stared at him. No one had asked before.
“It was wrong of me to ask.” He stood abruptly. “Sometimes you look as if you’re saving words, like a bard gathering a story. So I wondered, and I h—”
Hoped?
I stood too, but I couldn’t leave, couldn’t move toward him. It was like the moment the Hunters had found me so long ago while I knelt by the hut, every fiber of me stretched to hear them coming.
Here I was, years later, listening again. Perhaps this time, I wanted to be caught.
The Ri looked wretched. “I’m sorry, Lady Wyn. I won’t ask again.”
I nodded.
He half-smiled. “You won’t hold it against me, then? The question doesn’t cheapen my hospitality?”
How like him to laugh at himself to blunt the moment’s edge.
I put a hand on his arm and waited till he looked me in the eye. Then I nodded again, willing him to understand the question I was answering.
“You mean it? You’ll speak again?”
He’d grown still beneath my touch, every bit of him poured into the way he looked at me. I released his arm and stepped back.
But the Ri closed the distance between us.
“Soon?” he asked, his voice so low that I felt it more than heard it.
I nodded, wondering how I managed even that.
“Truly? You’ll be able to speak soon?” His gaze danced over me. “What will you say, my lady Wyn, when you have fulfilled your vow? Will you shout a ballad? Will you gossip with the old wives until even they chide you for talking too much?”
I grinned. I’d thought of it a thousand times: speaking to Carrick for the first time, telling him how Tanwen had loved him. I’d call each of my brothers by name.
The Ri leaned closer. “I wonder what you will do that day.”
The laughter left his brown eyes, but not the warmth, not the fire.
I didn’t think of the Queen. I hardly thought of my brothers. I just looked up at the Ri.
He’d seen me when few else had. He’d sheltered Carrick and me.
What would I do? I’d tell him my name, and I’d hear him say it back to me: Andaryn. I’d tell him about Father and home, and I’d introduce him to my brothers, but not before telling Cadan to mind his manners. I’d—
I reached up and framed his face with my hands. His eyes widened, but he didn’t move. He didn’t have time to. I stood on my toes and kissed him, right on the mouth, soft as a sigh because my courage failed me at the end.
Then it failed me entirely. I turned on my heel, ready to run as if the Hunters themselves chased me.
The Ri caught my wrist and tugged me gently back to face him, the hint of a smile pulling at his mouth.
He released me carefully, watching me as if he feared I’d run again. “That’s not fair, my lady Wyn,” he said, so low, so soft. “Not fair at all to kiss a man and then leave him to wonder at his good fortune.”
He stepped closer, a question in his eyes, asking if I minded.
I didn’t mind at all, but I looked down anyway, thoughts of my brothers rushing back over me. Now wasn’t the time. Why had I let myself become so distracted?
Think of Aiden, of Mael and—
He brushed a finger against my jaw.
All thought fled as he bent close.
“In Eyre,” he whispered, “a man is taught respect for a woman. If she doesn’t wish his company, she has only to say so. If he presses his attention, he forfeits his honor. So hear me, Lady Wyn: much as I want to kiss you, I won’t.” His voice dropped to a breath against my cheek. “You can’t tell me to leave while bound to silence. And I won’t kiss you if there’s a chance that you don’t want me to. Perhaps that will be something you do after you fulfill your vow.”
I opened my eyes then, and leaned back to look at him. He watched me, his expression asking if he should step away.
He was such a good man.
I lifted my hand to his face. He raised his eyebrows, still questioning. “Wyn, you don’t have to . . .”
I wanted to—how I wanted to! But I couldn’t move.
Slowly, he brushed his lips against mine, his own way of asking. It was fire and moonlight poured inside me, and if his arm hadn’t tightened around me I might have flown away.
He pulled back to see if I had minded, looking like a boy uncertain of himself.
But his mouth was too far away, so I stood on my toes again, just to be nearer. He smiled down at me, all boyishness gone from his eyes.
His next kiss wasn’t a question.
But mine was an answer—my chance to speak without words, to tell him everything I’d held inside me. Even when we stopped and I stood breathless in his arms, I did not feel mute.
“Ah, Wyn,” he said, his voice a rumble in his chest, “I wasn’t sure.”
I lifted my head and raised an eyebrow. Sure of what?
His arm tightened around my waist. “What was I supposed to do after you ran from me? I couldn’t let you go, but I couldn’t catch you up in my arms like I wanted.”
I silently laughed into his tunic to hear him talk so. Foolish, foolish man.
His hand rubbed my shoulder in wide sweeps, and he whispered, “It wasn’t fair of you, my lady Wyn, my heart.” He pressed a kiss against my hair, and I heard the smile in his voice. “It wasn’t fair. I might have lost my honor.”
Chapter 51
The Ri left the next day to begin the circuit of the chiefs who ruled beneath him. He wouldn’t return for perhaps four moons. Four moons without him urging me for pictures from my life. Four moons without the awareness of him in the room.
Four moons before I could kiss him again.
In five moons, my brothers and I would be free, and they would be ready to return to Lacharra.
For the first time, my heart ached at the thought of traveling back with them.
* * *
I couldn’t just set the tunics aside those months.
So I took the remaining nettle yarn and dyed it black with the ground shells of green nuts so I could embroider the tunics. Perhaps it was my way of drawing for the Ri while he was away. I embroidered each of my brothers’ tunics with my dearest memories of them—or my dreams for them:
I embroidered Aiden on a throne, with Lacharra established once again and Carrick nearby, waving his stick.
I embroidered Mael on horseback, his sword held high.
I embroidered Gavyn surrounded by the earth below him and the heavens above—all within reach of his curious hands.
I embroidered Declan with a harp in his lap and songs that poured from him like a river.
I embroidered Cadan on the lake’s edge, calling for me. And I embroidered the three swans from the Cynwrig crest flying away. Perhaps I put them there because Cadan was the most contentious of my brothers, and I hoped this prayer for my father would travel farther if it rested on Cadan’s tunic.
I embroidered Owain as tall as his brothers and with a beard. My twin was different; the change in his body was no smaller than the change toward me.
Every full moon, my brothers asked to see the newly embroidered tunics, exclaiming over each new addition. Once I was sure that my vigil with my brothers was respected by the people in Fianna, I brought Carrick too. Together, we kept watch as the last moons waxed and waned through spring and summer.
All the while, I embroidered the tunics. For years, I’d drawn with dirt and soot. Now, the yarn made each story permanent—hope that could not be erased with a sweep of the hand. Each tunic became a prayer sent into the heavens: This is what was. Let it be once more. Let me see my brothers again in the sunlight, with my own eyes.
Chapter 52
Seventy-fourth full moon
On the second to last full moon of the enchantment, I held the lantern close to Gavyn, inspecting his tunic inch by inch.
In a month, my brothers would wear their tunics and never become swans again. I’d brought all the tunics, insisting that they try them on. I wanted to be sure that no tunic was too small or possessed a hidden hole.
It was time-consuming work, and I’d been half-tempted to leave Carrick behind with Ionwyn. But I couldn’t bring myself to abandon him when the time came. We expected the tunics would work. We knew they would.
But if they didn’t, I wanted to make sure Aiden had every last minute with his son. So Aiden sat with Carrick sleeping in his lap while I completed my work.
Gavyn turned, trying to look behind him.
I smacked his shoulder and pushed him till he stood straight again.
“Keep twisting like that, Gavyn, and you’ll be here all night,” said Cadan. “Let her finish.”
Gavyn remained still, but I could feel the impatience vibrating through him. “As still as you were? Mael practically had to sit on you.”
“My job is to keep you all from growing bored. And I succeeded.”
“I inspected my tunic while she was busy with the five of you!” protested Gavyn.
He had, but I needed to see it with my own eyes. Finally, I stepped back and motioned that Gavyn could remove the tunic.
I folded it carefully and set it on the other tunics in the satchel. Cadan rooted through the bag I’d brought their food in.
“Are you sure that’s it, Ryn? There’s normally more.”
I’d left one of the bags at the castle by mistake, but Mael changed the subject before I could sign an answer.
“You’re sure the old woman didn’t tell you anything else for breaking the curse?” asked Mael.
Any other time, I’d have rolled my eyes, for Mael had repeated this question the last six moons. But I understood his worry. So I shook my head and signed, Tunics.
“This is the last night we’ll turn back to swans,” said Declan.
“We hope this is the last night we change,” corrected Cadan.
Aiden rested a hand on Carrick’s back as he shifted in his sleep. “We’ll do as we’ve planned: Ryn will be waiting for us with the tunics. We’ll wear them and wait till the sun rises. We’ll know then if the old woman was right. And then, Ryn will take us to this king who’s sheltered her.”
“If that’s what they call it,” muttered Mael. He hadn’t been able to forget—or forgive—the cuts on my back.
“And then back to Lacharra,” said Aiden.
Traveling back to Lacharra should have felt like a sunrise, the first ray of light in six years, but I shrank from it. The Ri would return soon, and I ached to see him again, to finally speak every word I’d wanted to say to him.
And then there was the Queen.
I’d challenged her three times: in the library, in the Great Hall, and in Roden.
And three times, I’d lost.
My brothers might be ready to face her, but I worried I was not. Hadn’t the past already proved as much?
Declan misunderstood my sober expression. “Don’t torture yourself, Ryn. The nettles will work. They stopped the Hun—”
Cadan nudged him. None of us could mention the Hunters without thinking of Tanwen.
Gavyn was anxious to change the subject. “I hope you won’t find trouble for stealing so much food from these people.”
Cadan snorted. “Oh, this is a cheerful gathering, indeed! Perhaps you should ask Ryn if she’s been beaten again recently, or—”
“You didn’t take the food then?” interrupted Gavyn. “Someone gave it to you?”
I nodded slowly.
“They don’t mind giving you enough food for six men?” asked Mael.
No. I wished I could tell them that I was safe, truly safe, that I was given food because the Ri’s household believed it was how I kept vigil for my dead brothers.
I wished I could tell them how good the Ri was. If they could only meet him!
“Who gave it to you?” pressed Gavyn.
I put a hand to my cheek, felt the warmth of my blush.
“Why would you be embarrassed, Ryn?” asked Gavyn. “There’s no shame in—”
“Oh-ho!” chortled Cadan. “You can be so stupid for a scholar, Gavyn! It’s not that she’s taking the food. It’s who’s letting her have it.”
Suddenly, I was the center of my brothers’ attention.
“Is that so, Ryn?” asked Mael.
Cadan grinned. “He’s the cook, I bet.”
I slapped his shoulder.
“Not the cook, then. A knight? Do these barbarians even have knights?”
I folded my arms.
“Ryn!” said Aiden. He’d have leaped up if Carrick wasn’t in his lap. “Is Cadan right?”
“A month isn’t soon enough for us to change back, if you ask me,” muttered Mael.
I smacked him too.
“So there is someone?” asked Owain.
I almost shrugged, then remembered the king’s rebuke. He was right. I’d faced the Hunters. I could face my brothers.
So I smiled. Just a little.
“Has he been respectful?” demanded Aiden.
I would have laughed if I hadn’t been the center of their questioning. I knelt beside Aiden, waited till I had his full attention, and nodded. He raised an eyebrow, still doubtful.
“I still say we kill him. On principle,” said Mael.
“Oh, that’s rich, coming from you,” said Cadan. “Though you may have a point. We’ll have to see this man for ourselves before we decide.” Then he turned to me, eyes full of fun. “So, Ryn. Who is he? This man-who-is-not-a-cook-and-not-a-knight?”
“I don’t think the people of Eyre have knights,” said Gavyn. “Chiefs, maybe.”
“Oh, keep up, Gavyn!” chided Owain.
I scooched to the middle of my brothers and settled there.
Very well, then. We would play. I was grateful for the distraction, anyway.
I held up six fingers.
Cadan rubbed his hands. “You’ll let us guess?”
I nodded.
“One for each of us,” said Owain.
Yes.
We spent nearly an hour in the game, almost as if we were children again. It was our own way of setting the uncertainty of the future aside for a while. By the time dawn approached, each of my brothers had enjoyed his fill of laughter, and I’d smiled until my cheeks hurt.
Given all that lay ahead, we needed it.
Chapter 53
The wind caught me from behind, tugging my skirt as it swept over my brothers. They shrank into shadows that swept out over the water.
If all went well, they’d never change to swans again.
I collected their abandoned clothes, imagining the moment, while Carrick slept nearby.
Next time, they’d wear the nettle tunics as the sun rose, Aiden with his face set. Declan would smile to keep me from worrying. Owain wouldn’t try, because he’d know I was worried anyway.
I scooped up another pair of leggings, folding as I went.
Gavyn would finger the sleeve of his tunic, trying to figure out how nettle yarn would stop his bones from hollowing. Mael would whistle. Cadan would joke about cutting the sleeve off someone’s tunic, just to make us smile.
I plucked up the last shirt.
The sun would rise, and there’d be no wind to catch them up, just silence. But we wouldn’t trust it at first. Not even they would dare to speak. Then the sun would shine full on their faces for the first time in six years. Owain would laugh. Cadan would shout.
And I would—
“What did I just see?”
I spun on my heel, almost dropping the clothes.
I saw that Ionwyn knew my secret, and all my befuddled mind could think was that I mustn’t drop my brothers’ clothes.
Ionwyn walked closer, a bag from the kitchen in her hand. “You left this behind and I thought you might need it. So I—” She shook her head. “What happened, Andaryn? Andaryn. It’s what they called you. Wyn was just all that Carrick could say.”
I set the clothes down slowly.
Her breath shuddered in and out, and I saw she pressed her lips together to keep the fear from showing.
“Tell me! Don’t you dare stare at me like nothing has happened! Six men just turned into swans!” She walked to the shore and looked out at the swans. One of them—Cadan, perhaps?—turned his head to the side and studied her, with a soft three-note honk. Then he flipped his bottom up into the air to hunt breakfast.
The Flight of Swans Page 26
