The Wild Swans

by Shea, K. M.

  “I thought you could take refuge at Lake Sno,” Prince Toril said as he led the way to the back of the royal palace. Behind the oddly beautiful castle was a huge lake. It was a gorgeous aqua color Elise had never seen in water before.

  “It’s pretty cold since it’s snow-fed from the mountains, but your swans should be able to brave it,” Prince Toril said, glancing overhead where the flock flew.

  “There’s a small cottage where a hermit used to live, before my father threw him out,” Prince Toril said, speaking the second part quickly. “It should house you two quite comfortably. There it is.”

  Elise was relieved to see that the cottage Price Toril pointed to was out of the way of the palace. Between the palace and the cottage were the royal gardens, the stables, servants’ quarters, and a good-sized hill. The cottage was nestled into a group of pine trees that backed up into a large forest. It stretched up one of the mountainsides Ostfold leaned against. It was a stone’s throw from a small inlet the lake stretched into, formed complements of the hill and the forest.

  It would be close enough to civilization that they would be safe, but far enough away that no one would take note of seven transforming swans at sundown.

  “Do you like it?” Prince Toril asked.

  Elise nodded.

  “It will do. You have our thanks, Prince Toril,” Brida said, regaining some of her manners due to the proximity of a palace.

  “No thanks are necessary. It is my duty as a royal prince to see to the happiness of peasants,” Prince Toril said, an idiotic grin on his face.

  Behind his back Brida rolled her eyes.

  “I will take the ladies to their new residence. I’ll see you tonight at the Rabbit and the Reindeer?” Prince Toril asked his companions.

  “Aye,” they chorused out.

  “Take care, ladies,” one of the more talkative soldiers said to Brida and Elise.

  Elise waved in farewell as Toril directed his horse down the dirt path that led to the cottage. Brida hurried after them, clicking to her mare and Falk’s mount to keep them going when they longingly eyed the beautiful stables.

  “Almost there,” Brida murmured.

  The cottage was unsurprisingly made of wood. It had just one carving in the exterior—an extravagant snowflake posted just above the doorframe. What was most astonishing about the cottage, though, was its roof. It was covered with green grass.

  Both Elise and Brida stared at the green roof.

  “What? What’s wrong?” Prince Toril asked after he dismounted his horse, being careful not to kick Elise in her open mouth.

  Brida pointed to the cottage. “The roof. It is growing grass,” she said respectfully, just in case the somewhat clueless prince hadn’t noticed.

  “So?” he asked.

  “It’s grass,” Brida repeated.

  “Sod roofs are common practice in Verglas,” Prince Toril said, helping Elise down.

  “Why?” Brida asked as she too dismounted.

  “They provide wonderful insulation in the winter, and they’re heavy, so it supports the structure,” Prince Toril said. “They’re actually covered in birch bark underneath the greenery. The birch bark is what makes the roof waterproof. The grass just keeps it in place.”

  Brida accepted this explanation and set about unpacking the horses.

  Elise, however, stared at the roof in morbid fascination.

  Prince Toril caught her extreme interest and chuckled. “Some folk occasionally toss their goats on their roof.”

  Elise swung to face him with disbelieving eyes.

  “It’s true. It keeps the goat from wandering off, and their roof gets trimmed so it does not become a bushy eyesore,” Prince Toril said.

  Elise was not entirely convinced Toril was telling the truth, but the loud flapping of wings told her she had no time to further enquire. She left Prince Toril and Brida and walked to the lake shore, plunging in until she was up to her knees.

  Prince Toril was right—the water was cold!

  Elise waved to her flock of swans, who circled the inlet before they landed in the water—managing to do so with a small amount of grace so they did not crash into each other or spatter the lake surface as they were prone to doing.

  “Once you are settled in, I shall return. Otherwise, you can expect a kitchen girl to deliver food for you every morning and evening. If you have a need for anything, just ask her—or if it is urgent, you may ask any guard around the palace,” Prince Toril said.

  Elise hurried out of the water when the swans began splashing each other in their exuberance to be back in water.

  “Again, you have our thanks, Prince Toril,” Brida said before she bowed.

  Elise hastily curtsied, purposely using the plainest curtsy she could.

  Prince Toril beamed, happy with Brida, Elise, and in all likeliness, himself. “It is no trouble at all. Good day to both of you, and welcome to Ostfold,” he said before hefting himself back in the saddle and disappearing over the crest of the hill.

  “That is one odd prince,” Brida said before she pulled the horses over to a makeshift shelter. Judging by the short fence, it had been constructed for goats, but the lean-to and water trough would be good enough for horses as well-trained as Brida’s and Falk’s.

  Elise nodded, even though Brida couldn’t see her, and gathered up the saddle bag that held her three finished shirts.

  “This will suit us fine, don’t you think Fürst—Elsa?” Brida asked as she emerged from the lean-to and headed for the cottage. The captain had to lean heavily against the door to open it, and almost fell inside when the door finally gave.

  The inside of the cottage was cramped and dusty, but there was a fireplace, a crude counter, and two rickety chairs. A ladder led to a loft filled with sweet-smelling straw that would serve as a bed.

  Elise heaved her knitting projects inside before she offered Brida a smile.

  “I agree. I like it, too,” Brida said, even though Elise hadn’t spoken. “We will be quite comfortable here. Your brothers made the right decision.”

  Elise hoped she was right, but she couldn’t help but feel a nagging shard of doubt wiggling in the back of her mind. She left the cottage to watch her foster brothers splash in the lake, but her gaze was drawn to the bits of the royal palace she could see over the hill.

  Although everyone appeared happy, and all of Ostfold was beautiful, Elise felt somehow the tidy exterior was used to cover a dark secret.

  Chapter 10

  “Everything seems well enough,” Steffen said.

  “It will be harder for us to find food. Snow fed bodies of water typically don’t have fish in them—the waters are too cold,” Erick said.

  “Perhaps Prince Toril will realize that and give Elise food for us?” Nick said.

  “So we will have to choose between bugs and bird food. Funny, I never thought I would have to make that decision in my life,” Gerhart said from the cottage loft.

  Brida, Elise, and the seven princes were crowded inside the cottage—more to keep anyone from seeing them than for shelter purposes.

  “The thing to concentrate on is that we are all here, and we all made it safely. Elise only has three and a half shirts left. We’re halfway to freedom,” Erick said.

  “Yes, so everyone take this moment to give thanks to Elise,” Steffen said.

  “Thank you, sister,” Nick grinned, affectionately ruffling Elise’s hair.

  “Thank you, Elise,” Rune said, reaching out to touch her before Falk smacked him. “Ouch.”

  “If we stay on our guard, we should be able to pass the remainder of our cursed days idly,” Steffen said. “No questionable behavior. Everyone, act like swans.”

  “Yes, brother.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Bossy brute.”

  Elise couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up from her stomach, which drew grins from her brothers. They spent the remainder of the hour in high spirits and lighthearted chatter.

  Elise’s tim
e at Ostfold fell into a predictable pattern. She rose with the sun and sat outside on a smooth rock and knitted until the kitchen girl arrived with oatmeal for Elise and Brida and cracked corn for the swan princes.

  After breakfast, Elise went back to knitting, and Brida stole away into the woods to practice her stances and weaponry out of sight of the palace. At noon, they usually snacked on berries Brida found and bread left behind by the kitchen girl. After more hours of knitting, the kitchen girl returned with dinner—usually mutton or creamed fish soup.

  Soldiers on horseback rode past twice a day, patrolling a circuit around the lake.

  Prince Toril visited several times a week to plead with Elise to speak to him.

  “I know you must be able talk. Your bear-maid speaks for both of you, and she doesn’t seem the type to be extraordinarily good at reading body language,” he said during the second week since their arrival at Ostfold.

  Elise only smiled and shook her head as she kept knitting.

  “Why do you do this? Why do you put yourself through this? It must be for a purpose,” Prince Toril persisted.

  Elise paused her work long enough to lay a hand on the back of her companion swan. Would it be harmful to give Prince Toril the main reason, the heart of why she worked so laboriously in spite of the pain? She didn’t think so.

  Elise winced when she realized she left behind a set of bloody fingerprints on the snow white feathers of her companion swan, but she turned to Prince Toril and attempted to make several different signs and motions.

  “For love?” Prince Toril said, surprisingly able to interpret her gestures. “You do all of this for love?”

  Elise nodded and went back to knitting.

  Prince Toril thoughtfully stared at the swans that floated on the surface of the lake. “You must really love them,” he finally said.

  Elise smiled, the lines of her face softening with the gesture.

  Prince Toril nodded a few times. “I will leave you to your knitting. I’m leaving for another hunting trip in a few days, but do not fear—the kitchen girl will still bring food,” he said as he stood. “I wish you luck with your task,” he said, walking off before Elise could even try to sign or gesture anything to him.

  Elise turned to her swan companion and shrugged.

  One of the many things Elise was learning during this trial was that royal princes were moody creatures.

  Several days later, Elise was sitting alone and knitting with her pile of finished shirts when four soldiers marched down the hill and up to her.

  “King Torgen has asked for your presence in the palace,” a soft spoken soldier said, exchanging an uneasy glance with his fellow warriors.

  Getting a terrible sense of déjà vu, Elise moved to toss her knitting in the cottage.

  “King Torgen wishes that you would bring your work with you,” the soldier said.

  Elise gathered the shirts in her arms, her desire to keep them safe overriding the pain of the nettles scratching her arms. She glanced over her shoulder, wondering if she should whistle for Brida, but one of the soldiers gently steered her forward before she had the chance.

  The soldiers brought Elise past the servants’ quarters, through the royal gardens, and into the splendid, wooden palace.

  The servants and people they ran into and saw seemed nice enough, although everyone moved with quick, nervous energy.

  Elise’s stomach was rolling by the time they reached the dining room, where King Torgen sat near a fireplace with two wolfhounds.

  “So you brought the street rat that captured Toril’s attention? Good work,” King Torgen said.

  Unlike his easy-going son, King Torgen looked mean-spirited. He reminded Elise of an inbred dog. His features should have been handsome, but they were too strong, and his eyes were lit with a strange, feverish light.

  “She’s not much to look at. What is your name, girl?” the king demanded.

  “My Lord, the girl is mute. Her traveling companion calls her Elsa,” the quiet soldier said.

  Elise hunched her shoulders to and tried to look intimidated. It wasn’t very hard—King Torgen seemed to burn with deep hatred and anger.

  “Trying to get Toril’s attention so you can be queen, hmm?” he said.

  Elise shook her head.

  “Hah, like one could believe you. Toril will not be charmed by you for long. He moves from one love to the next with great indiscretion. Soon you will be another face he wooed and forgot,” King Torgen said.

  Elise could tell the four soldiers surrounding her were uncomfortable with the topic. Although they did not shift, the wooden shafts of the spears they held cracked as they clenched their weapons.

  “You have the look of a mongrel. You aren’t from Verglas, are you?” King Torgen said. “Is she?” he said, fixing his gaze on the soldier who spoke for her earlier.

  The soldier cleared his throat. “I was told she comes from Loire.”

  “Loire? That foreign filth? Pah! I cannot believe Toril has defiled Ostfold with her presence,” the King Torgen said, leaning back in his chair. “I’m told that in addition to your traveling companion, you brought seven swans with you. Gifts for my table, perhaps?”

  Elise violently shook her head.

  “I believe they are pets, My Lord,” the soldier said, taking pity on Elise.

  Elise eagerly nodded.

  King Torgen fell silent, which made Elise even more uncomfortable than when he spoke. He stared at her with feverish intensity, and Elise could see unreadable thoughts churning in his mind.

  He reminded her of Clotilde, but more twisted. Clotilde was a bigger threat because of her dark magic, but her motivation was her selfishness and greed. King Torgen was like an abandoned well. No one knew how deep the hole went, or what monstrosities the darkness hid.

  King Torgen stood and walked a slow circle around Elise, making the hair on the back of her neck prickle.

  After making a full circuit, King Torgen leaned in and whispered to Elise, “I don’t know who you are, but I recognize the signs of a task taken up for the sake of breaking a curse.” King Torgen’s breath was foul. It smelled like stale wine and decayed, mushy onions.

  Elise’s eyes watered, but she fixed a meek look on her face as King Torgen continued. “I don’t have much sympathy for simpletons who are cursed. They deserve it,” he hissed before he ripped the nettle shirts out of Elise’s hands. “What do we have here? This is obvious the work of black magic,” King Torgen said, inspecting the four shirts.

  “With all due respect, My Lord, wouldn’t the Snow Queen’s magic kept her out of our borders if her work is evil?” the soldier asked.

  King Torgen narrowed his eyes at the kind soldier. “Perhaps. But one can never be too careful,” he said, walking towards the fireplace.

  Elise saw what he meant to do and lunged for him. The soldiers grabbed her and held her back, but they couldn’t bear to look at their monarch.

  When King Torgen reached the crackling fire he turned around and draped three of the shirts over his arm. He held the last shirt—the unfinished one—up as if to inspect it.

  Elise shook her head and reached out, pleading for mercy.

  King Torgen smiled—a sick, twisted smile—and dropped the shirt in the fire. “Black magic is not tolerated in Verglas.”

  Elise opened and closed her mouth, unable to beg as her weeks of hard work burned up and turned into ash. The green nettles and endless loops turned ash gray as they caught fire and shrank, curling in the heat of the fire. Soon not a stitch of the first shirt remained. Elise hooked her eyes on the second shirt King Torgen held and struggled against the soldiers.

  King Torgen dropped the second shirt in the fire. He stared at Elise, smiling in delight as he observed her despair.

  The fire hissed and crackled as it consumed the second shirt, ripping apart what took Elise weeks of pain, dedication, and love to accomplish.

  Elise was crying by the time King Torgen took the third shirt from where it
was draped over his arm. Tears poured down her face. Please, she mouthed.

  “No,” King Torgen said before he dropped the shirt. He clapped his hands as Elise sank to her knees, her tears falling like raindrops. There was a roaring in her ears as she stared at the greedy fire that burned the third shirt.

  Her foster-brothers were doomed to remain swans. All of Elise’s work was for naught.

  Her ears rang, and Elise knew she was losing control of herself as the last loops of the third shirt were devoured by orange flames.

  King Torgen laughed, and Elise clenched her bruised, oozing, and welt covered hands into fists. All of her pain, every moment she had spent knitting was wasted.

  Elise caught the thought and shook her head. The capes were gone, yes. But Elise would never call an attempt, even a failed attempt, to free her foster brothers, to free Rune, Steffen, Falk, Erick, Nick, Mikk, and Gerhart a waste.

  Elise squeezed her eye shut, cutting off her tears. When she snapped her eyes open she arranged her legs beneath her and forced herself to stand. She faced King Torgen with every ounce of training she had, standing with perfect posture and her chin raised. She looked down at King Torgen as if he were her lesser, because he was her lesser.

  The soldiers were crowded around Elise, but the let go of her and were unable to keep themselves from bowing and murmuring apologies for manhandling her so.

  King Torgen met her gaze. “Look at the chit pretending to be—,” he cut himself when Elise smirked at him. It was the barest curling of her lips, but it was enough to make King Torgen shut his mouth with an audible click.

  The Verglas King glared daggers at Elise. He threw the last shirt on the fire and stalked off. “Witch,” he hissed as he passed Elise.

  Elise lunged for the fireplace. She tried to snatch the burning shirt from the flames, but the fire was too hot and blistering.

  “Allow me,” one of the soldiers said, putting a hand in front of Elise and scooping her aside before he used the end of his spear to fish the shirt out of the fire.

  The soldier set it on the ground and stamped on the edges to put out the flames, squashing it.