The Swan Kingdom (5 page)

I never ventured into Mother’s gardens. I could not bear the sight of them. The plants were dying, withering away into crumbled mould, succumbing to insects, parasites and fungi. They couldn’t live without her.

Neither could we. We barely saw Father. He seemed to have forgotten he had children. Gone was the dedicated ruler I knew, the hearty and sometimes affectionate father my brothers loved. Perhaps it was only after Mama had gone that he realized how much he had loved her; or perhaps regret for all the harsh words between them haunted him. I do not know. The morning after we burned Mama, Father took his bow and his spears and went out into the forest alone. He returned long after dark, weary and sore, his arms covered in thin scratches as if he had been crawling through the undergrowth. He went out the next day, and the next. No one offered to go with him, nor did anyone question why he returned exhausted night after night without so much as a rabbit to show for it.

We all knew why he went.

He spoke to me only once in that first week, to ask me more details about the creature I had seen so fleetingly. His eyes stayed fixed on the mantel behind me the entire time, and when I was finished he walked away without another word. His face was like granite and I dared not try to stop him; but I shivered with dread at the thought of my father coming face to face with the beast. I knew far better than he how strong it must have been to best Mother, and that such strength could not be natural. No creature formed from the earth had such noxious venom or such terrifying speed. He could not hope to defeat it.

But that first week turned into another, and another, and Father still returned each night after dark empty-handed – and unhurt. I let myself hope that the creature, whatever it had been, had disappeared as silently and malevolently as it had come. Eventually I began to feel safe again.

Then came a day when Father returned long before dark – and he was not empty-handed.

Robin and I were sat in the long room, I on the rug by his feet with my head against his knee. He stroked my hair idly, but neither of us spoke, instead listening to David as he consulted the steward. In Father’s absence David had been forced to take on many of his daily duties to keep everything in order. Hugh had gone out a few minutes earlier, and I could sense his presence somewhere near the stables. Whenever he was not with us, he was usually with his falcons and horses, as if he couldn’t bear to be in the Hall alone.

Suddenly there was a commotion outside. We heard running footsteps in the courtyard and our father’s raised voice. As Robin and I stiffened and David rose from his chair, Hugh burst through the doors.

“It’s Father,” he said, out of breath. “And there’s a woman; I think she’s hurt. Quickly, Alexa.”

I scrambled up and followed him, the other two on my heels as I ran out into the sunlight, blinking. I saw my father at the centre of a crowd of people, mostly men of the household, and stopped dead in the doorway.

Father’s face was more animated than I had ever seen it, filled with an excitement that lit his eyes and smoothed away the lines of age and care. He looked like a man who had seen the sun for the first time in years. The expression so changed him that I felt a whisper of alarm brush along my spine, and it was only when David bumped into me that I moved forward. The crowd parted before me and I saw for the first time the woman my father cradled in his arms.

She was sleeping, or unconscious, and slumped against Father’s chest like a child, tiny in comparison with his bulk. The filmy fabric of her dress stretched taut over full curves at breast and hip, and her face was a lovely oval with plump lips and long dark lashes. Her skin was golden and her hair cascaded down her back in a shining fall of perfectly straight honey brown. As I stood there, a breeze ruffled the fine strands of hair and sent them blowing over Father’s shoulder into a ray of sunlight. As the light caught in it, I saw the deep chestnut glint in the depths of her glorious locks.

My breath stopped. I knew where I had seen that colour before.

Father noticed me. “Good. Run into the Hall, child, and have a room made ready. And fetch your healing plants and such.” His tone was urgent but I was rooted to the spot, still staring at the flare of bloody colour in her hair.

“Go on, girl!” he roared.

I shook myself and went mechanically back into the Hall to find servants and give them Father’s instructions. Then I ventured into my mother’s workroom and reluctantly chose healing and reviving draughts from among the mixtures on the shelves. But even as my eyes pricked with tears at the familiar sight and smells of the room, my mind was running back over the scene in the courtyard – remembering the look in my father’s eyes and the chestnut in the woman’s hair.

Moments later, Father carried the woman into the newly prepared chamber and laid her down on the bed with a gentleness I had thought entirely foreign to his nature. My brothers followed him in, their faces showing a confusion that echoed mine.

“Look after her,” Father ordered me. “Make her well. Give her whatever she needs.”

“But who is she, Father?” asked Hugh. He shifted uneasily; I could tell he was as disturbed as I was by the possessive note in Father’s normally controlled voice.

“Yes, and where did you find her?” David said seriously, his fingers tapping restively on the bedpost. I went to the table beside the bed and, with Robin’s help, unpacked my basket of herbs as I listened to Father’s reply.

Father began with a great booming laugh that sounded almost giddy. “I was hunting, and I caught sight of something; I thought it was the creature that Alexandra said she had seen. I threw a spear and missed; but instead of running, the thing circled, and I followed. It led me a pretty dance, and I chased it for two hours, all to no avail. It finally disappeared, too clever for me in the end. I suppose that’s the last we’ll see of it.” He laughed again, carelessly. “I found myself in a part of the forest I had never seen before, and there I wandered, thoroughly lost. Then I heard a sound. A voice. It was so beautiful that it seemed to stop my heart. It called my name, sang to me inside my head, led me to the edge of a clearing. And there she lay, sleeping. Waiting for me.”

“You mean … you haven’t even spoken to her?” David said, aghast.

Father laughed exuberantly, clasping David’s shoulder. “Son, don’t you see? There’s no need. She’s mine. Made for me.”

I looked down at the woman. Her head was turned away from me and she was perfectly still – her eyelids did not flicker, nor did her deep, even breaths falter – but suddenly I was sure that she was awake, listening to everything that was being said. I glanced at Robin and saw suspicion on his face.

“I do not think this sleep is natural,” I said aloud. “Perhaps I should try black root.”

Anyone with the faintest knowledge of herbs knows black root has such a foul stench that it will usually induce vomiting. I met Robin’s eyes and waited.

The woman’s breathing hitched; then she began to stir. Her soft hands slid along the sheet, the long delicate fingers fluttering. I noted with dislike that neither a freckle nor a callus marred them.

My father was beside her in an instant, clasping one of those beautiful hands. “Do you wake, my love?” he asked. “There is nothing to fear; I am with you.” His cooing tone filled me with revulsion.

The woman opened her eyes.

Robin’s head jerked, but he stood fast at my side. Both Hugh and David involuntarily backed away, David making a muffled sound of shock. I gasped, almost choking as the woman’s presence expanded into the room like the rich, sickly stench of carrion released from a bloated, rotting body. Her power flooded my senses until it seemed to drum against the walls, deafening, maddening.

Somehow the foul power had the opposite effect on Father. Spellbound, he leaned closer still. She gazed wordlessly up into his face, and slowly he reached out one of his great clumsy hands and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. She smiled. Father sucked in an awed breath at the sight.

Then her eyes turned on me. No speck of light reflected from their surface; they were as flat and black as shadows. Her gaze met mine with a force like a hammer blow. I nearly staggered as her will bore down on me. I had never before met such strength, such a relentless, ravenous will – such hunger to crush and destroy. It terrified me.

No.
Defiance surged, giving me the strength to stare back. I would
not
bend. I would
not
look away.

Slowly, painfully, I took a step closer to the bed, pushing back with all my might; but her will seemed implacable. I gritted my teeth, pushed harder. I felt something give.

An expression of boredom crossed her face, and her gaze flicked away.

I swayed at the sudden release of pressure. Robin steadied me, and I sagged gratefully against his arm. My eyelids felt stiff; I blinked furiously. Who was this woman?
What
was she?

She returned her attention to my father, smiling up into his besotted face.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“I am Zella.” Her voice was deep for a woman’s, melodious and rich.

“Shadow…” I muttered limply.

“What?” Robin whispered in my ear.

“Zella is an old word for shadow.”

“How did you come to be in the forest, Zella?” Father asked gently.

She sighed, looking up at him through her luxuriant lashes. “I know not. I have slumbered for long and long. But even as I slept, my heart searched for the one I was awaiting … the one who could awaken me. I remember nothing more.”

I turned to meet the incredulous looks of David and Hugh. Robin shook his head. Would Father really believe this sickening rubbish?

“Zella…” he murmured. “I feel I have slumbered also, waiting for you.”

The long room filled with people half an hour before my father had summoned them to arrive. News travelled fast in the Hall – and all the household people wanted a look at this woman who, it was rumoured, had bewitched him. My brothers and I had taken the chairs by the mantel, and avoided the anxious stares of the people arriving. We had no reassurance to give.

Father had sent us from the room within minutes of Zella’s awakening, and remained closeted with her there for the best part of the afternoon. As early evening fell he had called a handful of the household men in, and there had been a flurry of activity, with this gathering called.

As we waited for him to arrive, servants and cooks began to filter in from the kitchens, laying out the long tables and bringing with them a stunning assortment of food. There were delicacies which I had only seen once or twice in my life: spiced rice from the far south of the continent, saffron-coloured sweets, a roasted peacock (the sight of which made me turn away with a shudder). Still Father and the woman did not arrive. The noise in the long room gradually changed from worried whispering to resentful mutters. There was fear in the low-pitched voices, in the emphatic, broken-off gestures and in the sharp looks of the gathered people. Through it all, my brothers and I could only wait, keeping our unhappy concern to ourselves. We knew that something was very wrong, but not what it was, or what could be done about it.

There was a ripple of sound – surprise? wonder? – from outside the hall where those not invited to the gathering had crammed themselves, waiting. The babble of sighs and excited voices spread, swelling into the long room and stirring the crowd to a swirl of movement. I stood, hearing my brothers follow suit behind me, but the shifting mass in front of us kept the hub of the excitement from our sight.

Then the rank of people before us parted – and we saw what they had seen.

It was Zella. She stood arm in arm with Father, attired in a flowing gown of garnet-coloured velvet. With a jolt of stunned revulsion, I recognized it as one of Mother’s, hastily altered. Mother’s rubies glittered at her ears; Mother’s coral comb fastened the honey-coloured hair in an elegant sweep. She looked unspeakably lovely, young and glowing in the evening light. For the merest instant her gaze brushed mine – and her lips curved in a smile that was not young at all. She lifted one of her hands, glittering with my mother’s rings, and stroked her fingers lovingly along the deep neckline of the gown. Then her face was turned back up to my father’s, a delicate flush staining her round cheeks.

I did not realize I had stepped forward until Robin’s hands closed over my shoulders and held me still.

“Don’t be stupid,” he hissed.

Before I could argue, David and Hugh were flanking me, their grave faces bidding me to silence. I stopped straining against Robin’s hands, and saw something that doused my anger like sand poured over a candle.

Wherever Zella looked, a change was occurring. The set, resentful faces of the household people were transformed, softening into expressions of smiling happiness. I saw every eye go blank, every furrowed brow unwrinkle. There was a burst of spontaneous laughter that spread and turned suddenly into applause.

At that moment I believe I was more frightened than I had ever been in my life – more frightened even than the night Mama had been attacked. For we were under attack again now, and this time there was nowhere to run. I did not know what Zella was doing, or how it was possible, but she was taking them. Our people. She was taking them all.

Father strode past us without a backward glance, drawing Zella to the head table, where the roasted peacock’s tail feathers had been set in my mother’s favourite vase.

“My people!” he roared. “My loyal people. I have called you here to share in my joy. The Ancestors have sent me an unparalleled gift – one I only hope I may prove to be worthy of, in time. Let me present to you all the Lady Zella.” He paused dramatically. “She has consented to be my wife!”

There was a roar of approval and more applause from the gathered people. I leaned against Robin, my knees shaking too much to hold me upright. His arm around me was like a band of iron.

“Ancestors…” I heard Hugh’s shaken whisper, and saw, as I turned my head, the tears filming his eyes. David stood like a pillar of rock, his face so hard that he looked more like Father than I had ever seen him.