The Swan Kingdom (11 page)

My brothers would be here soon.

It was a long time before I admitted to myself that my brothers were not coming for me.

I think I had always known it, somewhere inside – known that Zella’s malevolence could not be so easily shrugged off. Although there were things about that night which I could not remember, I knew that something terrible must have happened. Why would my memories have been so blurred, otherwise? Perhaps then, in those first days following the loss of all I had known, I had needed hope more than truth. We all do, at times.

Gabriel left. The weeks passed into months, late summer became autumn and autumn slipped away into winter. Snow fell; I outgrew my clothes and the seamstress had to be called in again. And still they did not come. The cold of that winter was more bitter than any I had known at home. For much of the time I was confined to the house. I did not have the comfort of the earth under my feet. All I could do was sit on what I had come to think of as my window seat and watch the world freeze into white.

The hard, colourless days passed slowly. I grew adept at twisting and pinning up the long curls of my hair, until I no longer needed Anne’s help. I grew used to the weight of the petticoats that my aunt deemed necessary. I began to find taste in even the blandest of the foods presented to me. I worked my way through half of the library and managed a faultless backflip. Still they did not come.

And so, slowly, I sank.

It was black hopelessness, a kind of numb despair, that waited to claim me. I was swallowed up until I seemed to lose myself in it. I can only describe this feeling as something like the shock that can overtake the body in the wake of a serious injury and which can be fatal in its own right. Too much loss had injured my mind and heart. Without a friend to talk to, and with weeks passing without my exchanging more conversation than “please” and “thank you” with the servants – everything turned inwards. I succumbed.

Day after day, I sat on the window seat overlooking the frozen garden, alone. In my mind I dwelled on each separate pain until those memories seemed to engulf me. My mother’s death. My father’s betrayal. My failure to protect my family. My brothers’ disappearance. Though I was still convinced that David, Robin and Hugh were alive, I could no longer fool myself that they would arrive at any moment to rescue me. What would they rescue me from? For all I knew they were worse off than I. With my face pressed against the icy cold of the window, I cried my last tears for my family, and the life I had left behind.

I grew used to stillness and solitude that winter. Eventually, as the new shoots braved the frost, something descended on me – if not contentment, then at least acceptance. The very helplessness that bound me also brought me something like peace. At length, despair relinquished its hold. I tucked away memories of home and my brothers; instead I thought of Gabriel, and looked forward to the thaw and the first new moon. My feelings were echoed by the slow change I had felt in the land as the end of winter approached. With the rising of sap came a surge of new life – the lethargic currents of natural energy gathered strength from some unknown source until they seemed to swirl and well around the house. Perhaps the country was at last recovering from the devastation of war.

As the strength of the enaid grew, so did my own.

One day I wrapped up warmly against the chill of the wind and went out to walk in the garden. I had wandered about alone for some minutes, when I heard a noise behind me and turned to see, most unexpectedly, Aunt Eirian leaving the house. I stared at her as she stumped awkwardly across the grass towards me.

“Good day,” she said stiffly.

“Good day, Aunt,” I replied with equal graciousness, wishing she would go back in and leave me alone.

“I … I am glad to see you looking better.” She looked away from me, uncomfortable.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I said coldly.

“Don’t take that tone with me,” she snapped, abandoning her attempt at manners. “I’m not such a fool that I don’t recognize despair when I see it.”

I stared at her again, wordless. She tapped her fingernails against the silver top of her walking stick.

“Let me tell you a story, Alexandra. Once there were two sisters. The eldest was a skilled cunning woman, and thought very lovely. At an early age she was betrothed to a young man who was the heir to the throne. This older sister thought herself very lucky, because she truly loved the man she was to marry, and believed he cared for her too. Unbeknown to her, the man she was betrothed to was actually falling in love with her younger sister, who was more beautiful still, and acknowledged as a great wise woman. And the younger sister encouraged this, because she believed that with her greater powers she would do more good as the queen. Eventually the young king broke his engagement and married the younger sister instead. The discarded girl thought that her heart was broken. She couldn’t stand to see her sister any more, or the man she had loved; but she had nowhere else to go. She thought it would drive her mad to see them both day after day, to pretend that she did not care when really she wanted to die. Eventually she eloped with a lord of Midland, hoping to escape the pain and humiliation. But her bitterness over the betrayal turned all her strengths – her patience, and her intelligence – inward, twisted and broke them, so that she could never be happy. Her healing gifts went so wrong that she was unable even to heal herself when she was badly hurt in the carriage accident that killed her poor husband. And her new home became barren and cold, and the roses never bloomed there.” She sighed. “So you see, I know much of despair.”

“I…” I stopped and swallowed, unable to go on. I felt sick and cold – and yet … I never doubted that what she had said was true. In my heart, I knew that my parents were both capable of what she had said. Hadn’t Mother always talked to me of the good of the land? Hadn’t she always put that duty before her husband – and even her children? And hadn’t my father displayed his faithless, fickle nature in his behaviour after Mother’s death?

No, I knew every word was true. I felt a sharp stab of pity and sorrow that I did not know how to express. I began again, and said the only thing I could. “I’m sorry.” I looked down at her twisted leg, and then back up into her beautiful, bitter face. “I wish—”

Her face hardened and she shook her head fiercely, cutting me off. “If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.”

Then she reached out – for the first time since the day I arrived at her house – and touched me. Her thin fingers felt like twigs; they gripped my shoulder briefly. Then she withdrew them and turned away, stumping back to the house without another word.

As I gazed thoughtfully at the garden, I saw something which had not been there moments ago. It was a fresh, pale green bud on the thorny bush to my left.

A rose would bloom in my aunt’s garden this spring.

A week later – only two days before the first full moon of the thaw, when I would meet Gabriel again and also celebrate my sixteenth birthday – I sat in the library, staring out over the dunes to the sea.

It seemed like only a few days since I had spoken to him, but at the same time, an age. I wondered what he had done while he was gone. Read books, and experimented with new workings, perhaps. Trained his dogs and his horses. Ridden out to hunt in the daytime, and gone to parties at night. I tried to imagine his home, but he had hardly ever spoken of details, and I could not make the image clear.

What was he doing right now? I closed my eyes and pictured him in my mind. His eyes that bright, deep silver, and his hair untidily ruffled. I recalled the echo of his laughter, and saw him … dancing perhaps, with a tall red-haired girl who pressed her face into his neck, and smiled…

I was jolted from these thoughts by the sound of the door opening. I looked up to see Anne enter.

“Lady, your aunt sent me to fetch you. You’re to go to the yellow salon. There’s people come, from your home.”

“People … yellow salon?” I repeated blankly.

I did not hear another word that Anne said. My heart thundered too loudly. All the hopes and dreams I thought I had banished came rushing back. People from home? My brothers – it must be them! I lifted my heavy skirts and ran past Anne, my kid slippers pattering softly as I flew down the stairs and along the corridors until I reached the yellow salon and pushed open the door.

My aunt turned to look at me as I entered. Her face was as blank as ever, but something in it stopped me dead. For a second my vision seemed to cloud over with darting silver swirls, like the times when I’d stood up too quickly and the blood had rushed to my head. I felt dizzy. Then my spine stiffened until I stood as straight and still as she had taught me. My skirts dropped from my fingers to hang in their proper folds around my feet. I could feel my face going as blank as hers. And deep inside me the hopes that had burst into bloom so briefly withered and died. My brothers were not here. I knew it. She would not look at me so if they were.

She gave a tiny nod, perhaps of approval, and then turned back to look at the two people sat opposite her. “Is it not the custom to rise when a lady enters the room?” she asked frigidly.

The two people – a man and a woman – hurriedly got to their feet. The man bowed deeply, the woman executed a curtsy, but their eyes stayed on me as if they could barely believe what they saw.

I inclined my head slightly, and they stood politely until I had walked, ever so slowly, across the room to take the seat which had been placed next to my aunt’s. Then they sat again, still staring at me. Neither of their faces seemed familiar at first; then I realized that the man was not a complete stranger to me. He had been an occasional hunting companion of my fathers. I had probably spoken no more than a word to him in my life. The woman I was sure I did not know. Why on earth had these two travelled all the way from the Kingdom to see me? What news could they possibly bring?

There was a lengthty silence, during which I allowed myself to examine them as they were doing me. They were both dressed finely, with a great deal of winking gold and silver embroidery that looked rather gaudy beside the restrained elegance of my own and my aunt’s clothing. Since when did the household people wear such ostentatious clothing? I had certainly never worn gold thread on my gowns.

“We beg leave to address the Lady Alexandra,” the woman said.

I blinked at being addressed with such reverence – why did she stare at me so? – but nodded as regally as I was able.

“I am Isolde of the Hall, one of Lady Zella’s women. This is Rother of Westfield, with whom you are already acquainted—”

The man interrupted pompously. “We are come from your esteemed stepmother, Lady Zella, and your father. They have missed you sorely in your absence, Lady.”

I gave him a hard look – I was not oblivious to the precedence he had given my stepmother. He fidgeted and avoided my gaze.

The woman’s eyes had shifted from my face and were now fixed firmly on my feet. “Your parents require your presence, Lady Alexandra. We have been sent to escort you home.”

I stiffened. Beside me, my aunt seemed to straighten too. “I wonder,” she said, with quiet ice, “that no one had the courtesy to give us some leave of this sudden change. But then, considering the circumstances of my niece’s arrival, perhaps we should be grateful that at least this time she is not to be escorted by a stable hand in a rattletrap wagon.”

There was a moment of silence. The pair shifted in their seats and exchanged glances, but made no answer.

“And when is my niece expected to depart?” Eirian continued.

“Immediately,” said Rother flatly.

“As soon as may be possible,” Isolde said quickly, giving him a warning look. “Of course, we will assist with any necessary preparations. But we were hoping to leave tomorrow. Early tomorrow.”

Tomorrow! I bit my lip. What about Gabriel? Curse these people! Why
now
, after all these months, must they come back and drag me away? It was ludicrous! I looked hopefully at my aunt. She seemed to have taken an instant dislike to Isolde and Rother. Perhaps – oh, please! – she would stop them.

“Very well,” she said, crushing my hopes. “But this is a great inconvenience, and I am seriously displeased. Anne!” Her sudden bellow made the pair jump.

Anne instantly appeared in the doorway; she must have followed my hasty flight earlier. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Since we have less than a full day in which to complete preparations for my niece’s journey – preparations which would normally be expected to take a week – I will require you to begin immediately. Fetch Hodge, as you will need him to bring down the large red trunk and the hope chest from the attic.”

My temper boiled up at the way I was being ignored. I wanted to leap up and shout: “No one asked me!” But why would they? Nobody ever did. Now I was going back … and I would miss Gabriel. It was all too much.

Abruptly I stood and, without looking at any of them, stalked out of the room. Behind me I heard the hurried rustle as Rother and Isolde quickly got up and my aunt’s perfectly composed voice: “Naturally Lady Alexandra will need to supervise her packing.”

Don’t be polite on my account, I fumed silently, my stomach churning with helpless rage. I stormed away from the room, heading upwards – unconsciously making for my favourite room, the library.

My life was being torn apart once more, just as I had started to find some measure of peace. I had resigned myself to never seeing home again; allowed myself to grow comfortable here, to make a true friend – and now I would never see him again. He hadn’t believed that I would be gone when he came back. He had said he would be happy for me, but I knew that was only because in his heart he thought I would still be here. I could see him so clearly – picture him arriving on the shore as night fell. He would be patient at first, but after a while he would get up, fidget, pace up and down beside the waves. He would be worried, then angry, thinking I had forgotten him.

How would I feel if I thought he had forgotten me? I stopped on the stairs, squeezing my eyes shut against the pain that seemed to hollow out my chest. My breath shuddered out, half sob, half sigh. I couldn’t bear it.