The Wild Swans

by Shea, K. M.

  Almost half of the shirt was destroyed, but once it cooled off Elise gathered it up as if it was knitted gold.

  She left the palace, barefoot and her face smeared with tears, with the presence of a queen. The soldiers escorted her and her half shirt to the cottage.

  “My Lady,” they said, bowing deeply to her—the highest compliment they could pay and the only consolation they could offer—before they left.

  Elise sat on her smooth rock and arranged her skirts around her. The shirt sat on her lap like a beloved pet. Elise placed a hand on it and looked up when one of the swans left the lake water to approach her.

  Unable to hold back her tears any longer, Elise shook her head when the swan tilted his head at her. She unrolled the shirt, her fingers lingering on the burned spots as hot, painful tears crawled down on her cheeks.

  The swan understood, or at least understood that she was upset, and craned his neck to place his head on her shoulder.

  Elise sucked in air, strangling the sob that wanted to pour out of her throat. She buried her face in the swan’s soft, slick feathers and threw her arms around its body.

  They were still like that an hour later when Brida found them.

  “Fürstin? What happened—oh,” Brida said, catching sight of the mangled shirt. “Oh, Fürstin,” Brida said, her voice echoing Elise’s silent heartbreak.

  The captain placed a hand on Elise’s shoulder, but when Elise didn’t remove herself from her bird consoler, the captain disappeared.

  By sunset, Elise had some control over herself. She hadn’t cried in several hours, but her resolve crumbled as she watched her foster brothers splash their way out of the lake.

  “Elise? What is wrong? What happened?” Rune asked, the first to climb free of the cold water.

  “They’re gone, Rune.”

  “What are gone?” Erick said, just behind his younger brother.

  “The shirts. They’re gone. King Torgen burned all of them,” Elise said, nudging the rescued shirt to show the burned nettles.

  “Elise, I’m so sorry,” Rune said, wrapping his arms around her.

  Elise cried into his chest, letting the sobs she had held back all afternoon go.

  Rune scooped her up and rocked her like a child as she vented her heartbreak, anger, and misery.

  When Elise was done crying, her eyes were so puffy she could barely see. Rune carried her into cottage, and one of her foster-brothers brought the shirt with and hung it over a chair.

  Gerhart sat in the loft, his legs dangling over the side. Steffen and Erick stood together in one corner of the small cottage. Mikk and Nick were in the other, and Falk stalked back and forth in the open space like a snarling bear.

  Everyone looked up when Brida entered the cottage, carrying a small sack. “So you know?” she asked, observing their grim looks.

  “More or less,” Steffen said.

  “From what we can tell, King Torgen spoke to Elise and burned the shirts. We’re guessing she managed to fish that one out of the fire based on the singed patches,” Erick said, pointing to the remaining cape.

  “Yes, that’s roughly how it happened,” Elise said, her voice rough like gravel as she slipped from Rune’s grasp and sat in a free chair.

  Steffen crouched down in front of her and put his hands on his knees. “We only have a few minutes left before we change back, but we need to make something clear. Elise, you don’t need to do this again. In fact, you shouldn’t. It’s enough that you tried. We will wait for Angelique. We don’t want to cause you more pain over this. Do you understand?” Steffen asked.

  Elise nodded.

  “Thank you for trying, sister. Your devotion warms my heart, but now it is our turn to take care of you,” Steffen said, hugging Elise.

  Nick paced. “Maybe we should leave this place. I thought King Torgen was mad. I didn’t think he was evil.”

  “As bad as Clotilde,” Mikk said.

  “Since Elise won’t need time to knit, we could travel during the day,” Gerhart said.

  “As swans? It’s dangerous here, but it’s more dangerous in the wild,” Rune said.

  “And we can’t leave Verglas. Angelique told us to stay here,” Steffen added, his voice tired and weary.

  “It’s time,” Erick said.

  Steffen nodded and led the way out of the cottage. Mikk and Gerhart were hot on his heels.

  Erick paused to place a hand on Elise’s head. “Be well, and please talk during the day,” he said.

  “Yeah, I agree with Erick,” Nick said, affectionately ruffling Elise’s hair.

  “As you should. I am the chancellor of a college,” Erick said.

  “Hoo, someone’s got an attitude considering he spends his day eating minnows and cracked corn,” Nick said as they left the cottage.

  Rune slid his fingertips under Elise’s chin. “Rest well,” he said. “I am sorry for your heartbreak,” he added, kissing the top of her head.

  Elise would have blushed if her face wasn’t so swollen from all the crying. She looked around. Falk and Brida were the only ones in the cottage. Falk was staring at Elise’s feet, mashing his lips together. “Falk?” Elise cautiously asked.

  Falk threw his arms around Elise. It wasn’t the secure, familiar hug Rune gave her. In fact, it was quite awkward and a little uncomfortable, but as he held her to his chest, Elise could hear the quick thud of Falk’s heartbeat and the unsteady heave of his lungs.

  Elise smiled, touched that Falk was so upset on her behalf.

  He let her go as abruptly as he embraced her before he hurried out of the cottage, without speaking.

  Elise joined Brida at the door and watched the princes grumble as they waded into the cold water.

  “Are those knitting needles?” Elise asked Brida.

  “Yes,” Brida said, turning the sack around in her hands.

  “Thank you,” Elise said, holding out a hand.

  “You still intend to make the shirts? Even after your brothers said not to?” Brida asked, passing the small bag to Elise.

  Elise snorted as her hand closed around the bag. “My brothers are not always right. Besides, do I seem like a quitter to you?” she said before she went back into the cottage.

  Brida had a small smile on her lips. “No, you do not, Fürstin.”

  When Elise’s swan companion realized the following day that Elise was knitting, he complained all day long. There was hardly a moment when he was not peering over her shoulder, grunting in displeasure or climbing into her lap and getting in the way.

  When all of her foster-brothers transformed that evening, they tried to talk her out of it. They begged Elise to give up, pleaded with her, and Mikk even threatened her that when they returned to Arcainia, she would never be without a full security detail.

  Elise ignored it all. After a week, the brothers gave up trying to convince the hard-headed princess that she didn’t need to break their curse, and instead spent most of their time assigning blame.

  “This is Steffen’s fault. She learned how to be a stubborn mule from him,” Nick said.

  “I blame that wretched Prince Toril. Elise can’t leave this place as long as we’re swans, but if she breaks the curse, we are home free. I know I wouldn’t want to spend one day longer with him than I would have to,” Gerhart said.

  “I am more inclined to say we share the blame equally. She will not give up not because of her temperament, but because of her affection for us,” Erick said. A mischievous glint lit up his eyes. “That is not to say that perhaps she loves some of us differently. Falk, Rune, do either of you care to take the lion’s share of blame?”

  “I will find out,” Mikk promised.

  Nick clapped. “With Mikk on the case, we’ll soon learn who our darling sister favors.”

  “I’ve already told you I don’t favor anyone,” Elise said, setting aside the first few loops of her new shirt. (She spent all week repairing the badly burned shirt, and judging by the fact that it was green and holding togeth
er, Elise was confident it worked.) “Where is Steffen?”

  “Outside,” Rune said, glancing out the window. “Perhaps it is your fault, Erick. You always press her about duties.”

  “Yes, but I was also the one who taught her about the uselessness in doing a task that is too taxing for the payoff,” Erick said.

  Elise nodded to Brida—who was chopping roots with Falk on the rickety table—before she slipped out of the cottage.

  Steffen was standing in the lake, up to his knees in water. Elise could only see his back, but his head was tilted up to stare at the moon.

  Elise joined him, wincing when she stepped into the cold water. When she stood next to Steffen, she smothered a surprised gasp.

  Steffen had a hand over his heart. His fingers were clenched, digging into the fabric of his shirt and his skin like claws. The wind ruffled his hair and made him look picturesque, but his blue eyes were soft with heartbreak, like an injured animal or a dying man.

  Never before had Elise seen Steffen wear an expression of such pain—and she had seen him wounded and bleeding everywhere after a skirmish with a goblin.

  Elise ducked back to give him privacy, but Steffen spoke. “I miss her, Elise,” he said before he took a shuddering breath. “I miss her so badly it hurts. My heart, my whole being aches. I never thought I would be one of those whipped men who whimper whenever they’re separated from their loved one,” he said after a bark of laughter.

  “You love her, Steffen. There is no shame in that,” Elise said.

  Steffen nodded. “In my pain, I have become nothing but a hopeless romantic. I want to see her so badly that I stare at the moon, hoping she will glance at it, and for a moment we will look at the same thing.”

  He shook his head, and tears slipped down his cheeks. “I feel so wretched. I cannot even count on the curse to take my memories. As a swan, I feel like I am missing a part of myself, and lately I have begun to remember her as I float on the lake. I cannot even remember that I am cursed when I am a swan, but her I recall,” Steffen cut himself off and dug his fingers deeper into his chest.

  Elise placed a hand on her brother’s back. “You will see her again, Steffen. And I’m sure in the meantime she is doing her best to help our subjects in your place.”

  “I don’t care about our subjects. I care about her,” Steffen said. “Gabrielle,” the crown prince breathed as he stared up at the moon.

  Gabrielle glanced at the moon as she slid a second dagger up her right sleeve. “Almost ready,” she said as she tied her hair back with a leather cord.

  The cat watched her, his eyes glowing in the dim light. “It is remarkable to me how easily you cast aside grandeur and silken clothes and return to looking and acting like a street urchin,” he complained. “It only goes to show that a pig dressed as a princess is still a pig.”

  Gabrielle grinned and grabbed a paintbrush and a capped inkwell. “Disappointed?”

  The cat shoved his pink nose in the air and made a “Humph,” noise before he leaped off the windowsill and padded across the room. At the last moment, he turned around and said, “Of course not. You wouldn’t be half as fun if you were a stuffed doll like that. Come on. The Queen won’t be out of her chambers for long.”

  Gabrielle grabbed the sword—Steffen’s smallest sword—and tied it to her belt. She rubbed the pommel as pain stabbed her heart. “Steffen would laugh himself silly if he knew how badly I missed him, and then he would lecture me about duty and sacrifice, and how the country comes before me, blah, blah, blah,” she said.

  “Stop mooning over your bumpkin-headed prince and get moving,” the cat called from the hallway.

  Gabrielle looked up at the moon again. For a moment the heartbreak she was holding back threatened to overtake her. Gabrielle grimly shook her head and pushed the feeling back before she placed a hand on her hip and smirked at the moon. “I’m taking such fabulous care of Arcainia. You will have nothing to complain and bemoan when you get back. Just you wait,” she promised before she was out of the room and moving down the hallway.

  The cat was just ahead of her, peering around a corner. “The hallway appears to be empty,” he said, leaping onto Gabrielle’s shoulder when she hunched over for him to do so. “I will cast invisibility on us, even though it isn’t necessary,” he said as Gabrielle felt the gelatinous sensation of invisibility cover her from head to toe. “If you paraded in front of a squad of soldiers with a four-piece band they would still tell Queen Clothead, with eyes as innocent as babes, that they haven’t seen the Crown Princess in months.”

  “That’s not something to complain about,” Gabrielle said as she padded down the hallway. “Besides, the invisibility allows them to stay truthful.”

  “As you wish, Mistress,” the cat said, crouching low on Gabrielle’s shoulders.

  Gabrielle grinned at him before she pushed open the unguarded doors to Queen Clotilde’s private quarters.

  The cat jumped from Gabrielle’s shoulders, breaking the invisibility spell. “Prince Mikkael’s sneaks haven’t reported anything of interest besides the besotted squad of soldiers, correct?”

  “Yes,” Gabrielle said as she snagged the Queen’s newest jewelry purchases and tucked them in a belt pouch. “No wonder the Treasury Department said the daily vault is draining—she’s spending a fortune on herself.”

  “It would be worse if Fürstin Elise did not have the key to the treasury. Such a smart girl,” the cat said in a rare bit of praise as he rolled on the queen’s pillows.

  “What are you doing?” Gabrielle asked.

  “The queen is allergic to cats,” the cat said.

  “So?”

  “So, I’m being petty. It happens. Carry on! You will hawk the jewels to cover the deficit in the military budget?”

  “Yes. Has she left any nasty bits of her magic out?” Gabrielle asked.

  “Not quite. She’s grown at least a little smarter and locked them up in this armoire. Although I must say it’s about time. We’ve been destroying her charms and potions since the princes were turned into swans in spring,” the cat scoffed.

  Gabrielle joined him, standing in front of the armoire. “So, we can’t foil her?”

  “I didn’t say that. I merely said she’s locked them up,” the cat said before he set about cleaning his face with a white paw. The armoire clicked, and Gabrielle was able to swing the doors open. “An amateur’s work,” the cat scoffed before leaping into the armoire.

  Gabrielle smiled at the feline before she continued searching the room for jewelry and other valuables.

  “She’s getting stronger, you know,” the cat said, his voice muffled inside the armoire. “The dark artifacts she keeps on her grow more powerful, feeding off her hate and greed.”

  There was a crack of glass and a flash of light inside the armoire.

  The cat cursed.

  “Puss?” Gabrielle called.

  “I’m fine; a charm was stronger than I thought it would be.”

  “Do you need help?” Gabrielle asked.

  “NO. I have told you before these petty things are nothing to a cat as magical and wonderful as I, but I do not want you anywhere near them,” the cat said, poking his black and white head out of the armoire to fix Gabrielle with a warning look before he disappeared back inside.

  “Her charms and potions are getting stronger, as well. Not because of any increased skill but because of the dark artifacts. The longer she goes unchallenged, the more dangerous she will be,” the cat said.

  “Angelique will help as soon as she can,” Gabrielle said, pocketing a gold bracelet.

  “That may not be soon enough.”

  “What can we do? The princes are still cursed; King Henrik won’t be waking from the stupor Clotilde has him in, and you and I make a fine pair of resistance fighters, but we cannot take her on ourselves,” Gabrielle said. “We don’t even know what the artifacts are.”

  The cat leapt from the armoire. “All finished. That should set her back anothe
r month.”

  “Puss…what are we to do?” Gabrielle said.

  The handsome cat trotted across the room and jumped on to Gabrielle’s shoulder. “We do our best and wait for your bumpkin-head to return. Have faith, Gabi. I did not make you the Marquise of Carabas and snag you a prince for you to die young and beautiful at the hands of an incompetent hag,” the cat said before he rubbed his head against Gabrielle’s and purred.

  The sound soothed Gabrielle, and some of the tension left her. “You are right.”

  “I am always right. Now we had better make our exit.”

  “Not yet,” Gabrielle said, popping the stopper off the inkwell she carried before dipping her brush in it.

  “Again? And you were surprised that I was being petty?”

  “I can’t help it. It’s the only spot of fun I get. Besides, don’t you see how thick the paint is caked on? It obviously irritates her,” Gabrielle smiled as she stood before a huge portrait of Queen Clotilde.

  “Carry on, then. I am all for irritating the hag. But if you spill a drop of ink on my fur, I shall be forced to claw your hide.”

  Gabrielle laughed and reached up to make the first brushstroke. “Have faith in my skills, Puss.”

  An hour later, Queen Clotilde returned to her room. She glanced at her portrait and shrieked. “NOOOOOO!”

  Two guards reluctantly entered her chambers. “What is wrong, Queen?”

  Queen Clotilde raised a hand and pointed to her ruined portrait. “That brat!” she shouted. “Everyone tells me Princess Gabrielle is gone, but she’s struck again, and she’s ruined my portrait!”

  The painting of Queen Clotilde was defaced. The queen’s painted face was once serene and beautiful. Now it sported a mustache, ear hair, and several warts, all drawn on with black writing ink.

  The soldiers maintained blank expressions. “How unfortunate,” they parroted.

  “It’s not unfortunate—it’s a crime! I want her head on a platter. Muster the guards and call for the royal painter this instant!”

  “Of course, Queen.”

  Chapter 11