Dearest (17 page)

Friday welcomed Tristan’s embrace, kissing him back with equal fervor. Her arms came up around either side of his neck and she wound her fingers into his hair. He forced himself to remember that touch as the quills shot up through his skin, as his beak hardened and left her lips, as he fell to the ground in an ungraceful puddle of black material.

Tristan threw back his long neck and honked a curse to the gods.

11

F
RIDAY HAD NEVER FELT
so fulfilled as when Tristan kissed her.

She had never felt so empty as when he disappeared beneath her fingertips.

There was a prickling under his skin and merely a brush of feathers before the pressure of his embrace vanished. She opened her eyes to the harsh reality of the dim, dank dungeon and freed the swan from his black-cloth prison. Elisa sat before her, back in the scrawny body of mousy Rampion, her head in her hands as she silently wept. Laid out on the ground before her was the last shirt, the seventh, incomplete. They had managed one sleeve, but not the other.

Tears fell from Friday’s own eyes to join Elisa’s on the muddy ground. Friday cradled the swan in her lap, smoothing its feathers with one hand and holding Elisa with the other. The Infidel reappeared out of the darkness, as if summoned from thin air, and opened the cell door. Friday stuffed the shirts into the sack while he bound Elisa’s wrists again and marched her out of the dungeon. Friday followed close behind, clutching the swan to her breast.

When they reached the outer doors, Friday released Tristan to join his brothers in the tower. The struggling bird erupted from her arms and lifted himself into the sky without so much as a backward glance.

There was only a small crowd gathered on the shore off which Mordant’s ship had weighed anchor, and Friday thanked the gods for their favors. She dreaded what was to come; if tragedy were to strike, she was glad there would be few to witness it. Gentle waves crashed over the murmur of the crowd, and a flock of noisy gulls landed on the grassy shore to meet the dawn with them. There was a sharp bark, and the gulls burst into the air again.

Friday scanned the shoreline and found Ben the Boisterous’s companion. “Michael! What are you doing here?”

“Ben needed to go outside.”

Friday stared unyieldingly at the boy until he amended the white lie.

“I had to see. I wanted to know.”

Beyond Michael, the Infidel had escorted Elisa to a pair of beached skiffs surrounded by Mordant’s guards. Friday didn’t have time to be much more than brutally honest with her charge. “Michael, things might not go well here this morning. I would rather you not have to carry disturbing memories with you.”

“You can’t protect us from everything, Friday.”

“I cannot. But one day, when you have children of your own, you will know why I can’t ever stop trying.” Friday put a hand on his cheek. “Stay safe, little darling. Be strong.”

“I will.” It wasn’t much of a promise, but Friday didn’t have time for more. She crossed the field to the gathering of her family.

“I cannot allow Mordant to do this on Arilland soil,” said Rumbold.

“I will not allow anyone to do this at all,” cried Sunday.

“That’s our girl,” said Papa and Peter.

“We are taking her to the ship,” said the red-uniformed commander. “No king has dominion over the sea.”

The king and the Woodcutters argued, but Mordant’s soldiers stood their ground. The Infidel crossed his arms and remained an imposing shadow. Elisa, shoulders slumped, looked beaten.

One skiff was filled with kindling and one was empty, save for a set of oars. Friday’s heart skipped a beat. The soldiers might have been taking her to Mordant’s ship, but they had no intention of delivering her. They were going to put Elisa into the skiff filled with wood, tow her out into the water, and then burn her!

As the rest of the crowd realized the same thing, sadness threatened to overwhelm Friday. She wrinkled her nose to stave off the emotion. She only had one chance to get this right, and she must not waste it.

“NO!” She waved her arms like a madwoman. “YOU CAN’T DO THIS!” She flung herself at Elisa, embracing the unprepared girl with such vigor that she almost toppled them both. Friday let the momentum swing the sack in her hands forward; it disappeared amongst the wood in the boat. Friday needed to keep up her histrionics in order to cover what she’d just done, so she channeled the one person she knew who could stun everyone to silence: her mother.

“YOU CAN’T DO THIS!” She pointed to the guards, and then to Sunday and Rumbold. “YOU CAN’T
LET
THEM DO THIS!”

Oh, if only her words held the same weight as Mama’s, this nonsense would never need to happen!

Rumbold, bless him, allowed her to beat on his chest a moment before trapping her hands in his. “I must, sister. I gave my word to Mordant as King, and I cannot go back on that.”

“BUT THEY’RE GOING TO KILL HER!” Friday’s dramatic show of emotion was so at odds with her normal behavior that the rest of the crowd looked at her curiously. “YOU HAVE TO DO SOMETHING!”

Sunday screwed up her mouth and furrowed her brow. Friday was familiar with that particular expression: Queen Sunday knew exactly what her sister was up to, and she was trying her hardest not to laugh.

Rumbold, whom Friday could tell had some idea of what was going on but remained unsure of the goal, continued to play along. “I know, Friday, but my hands are tied. Blame me if you must, if it makes it easier for you.”

He tried to embrace her but she pulled away, wrenching herself from his grasp with fire in her eyes. “You are a fool,” she said to him, and then collapsed in a patchwork heap of sobbing at his feet. Her tears were genuine—she called upon all that fear and sadness she had pushed away earlier and let them take over. She soon felt Sunday’s hand on her back as her queen-sister cradled her in a show of comfort.

“Are you all right?” It was a valid question.

“I’m in love with a swan whose sister will die if I mess this up,” Friday whispered in reply. “I’m a mess. And don’t you dare laugh.”

“You’re making it incredibly difficult,” Sunday said into Friday’s sobs. “I believe you’ve addled my poor husband. I just hope this works.”

Friday hiccupped. “Me too.”

Sunday pulled Friday back to her feet. Monday swooped in and took over soothing the slightly-less-dramatic-but-still-overly-emotional sister. Friday leaned into her eldest sister’s skirts. She breathed in Monday’s honey jasmine scent, called upon Monday’s peaceful restraint, and calmed herself. She needed her wits about her now.

“Enough of this,” said Mordant’s commander.

“It is well past dawn, sir,” said another soldier.

Mordant’s commander clicked his heels at Rumbold. “Then we will be on our way.”

Rumbold could do nothing but nod. The Infidel lifted Elisa into the kindling skiff and tied the long end of her bonds to the rowlock. He took hold of the tow-rope and boarded the empty skiff. The soldiers shoved both boats out into the waves before jumping in with the Infidel and rowing out to sea.

Friday did not know how close they would get to Mordant’s ship before they set Elisa’s boat aflame. Friday squinted into the rising sun—she could see two red-clad figures on the deck of the large ship, waiting. What she didn’t see were archers with flaming arrows, or any other evidence of fire. Then how were they going to do it?

Mordant’s sorceress stepped forward against the rail of the ship and raised her arms to the sky. She threw her head back and yelled to the gods in a language that sounded like the sea itself. The wind picked up, ripping the red scarf from her head; her long black hair swirled around her like dark fire. Her cockatrice, awake now, flew in a circle above her. As the pet’s scales and her fingertips caught the light of the sun, both the fiery bird
and
Gana’s hands burst into flame.

The crowd on the shore gasped. Friday gasped with them. Ben barked his disapproval.

Slowly, Gana lowered one burning hand and pointed to the skiff before her. Elisa stood tall, feet planted in the center of the boat, facing the sorceress. There was a flicker and a puff of smoke as the prow of the skiff caught fire.

Friday died a little when she saw the boat burning. She willed Elisa to scoop up some seawater and extinguish the fire, but the girl made no move to do so. The flames grew higher. Gana’s triumphant cackle echoed across the water.

Friday stepped away from Monday and ran to the water’s edge, heedless of her skirt. Ben was loud and quick on her heels. She pushed through the crowd that had already braved the water; she would have leapt into the waves, but her inexperience with oceans held her back. They were not out that far. Perhaps if she started walking . . .

From the corner of her eye, Friday noticed that another figure had waded into the shallows. In the dawn light, Mr. Humbug’s hat cast a long shadow and his yellow eyes almost glowed. He turned to Friday and raised both his eyebrows and one index finger.

Wait.

Friday drew in one slow, deep breath and let it out just as slowly. Another screeching flock of seagulls drowned out Gana’s laughter, until Ben’s bark scattered them again. Barking, and then more barking . . . and then more
not
barking. Honking.

The swans had come.

Friday watched them soar over the hill in a majestic “V,” large and white and determined as vengeful angels. The sunlight gleamed off their bright wings, blinding everyone below in their glory. Friday cheered them on as they passed above her. The crowd on the shore cheered with her.

The swans broke formation as they approached the skiffs; five headed for Elisa and two veered right, straight for the red-clad figures on the large ship. They batted Gana’s cockatrice out of the air with their enormous wings; the sorceress’s laughter turned to a scream. She tried to catch the smoldering body of her unconscious pet before it slipped overboard. Mordant crouched, as if to use the rail as a shield. At the cry of his mistress, the Infidel dropped Elisa’s tow-rope, and the second skiff rowed quickly to the large boat. The soldiers on the deck rallied, but did not know where to attack. The birds continued to swoop and fly and dive again and again.

While her enemies were distracted, Elisa snatched up the bag Friday had dropped in the boat. Hands still bound, she awkwardly dumped the contents onto the smoldering sticks at her feet. One by one, she tossed the shirts into the air. One by one, the swans surrounding her dove into them and fell into the ocean until there were only two left.

Though the birds had not yet transformed back into men, Friday knew which brother-swans had attacked the ship: Tristan and Sebastien. Tristan would have led the charge and Sebastien, the brother who did not want to return to the world of men, would have been right at his side. Friday did not know which of them would be forced to wear the shirt with one sleeve, or what the consequences of that might be—she only hoped they had done enough to break the spell.

Satisfied that the other five were safe, the Tristan and Sebastien swans left Mordant and his sorceress and spun back toward their sister’s burning skiff. Elisa valiantly tossed the last two shirts high into the air over her head.

Before the swans could reach them, the shirts burst into flame.

The birds attempted to dive inside the shirts anyway, but the material fell to ashes around them. Elisa covered her mouth with her hands; Friday could feel Elisa’s scream in her throat and so Friday yelled it for her.

Gana, who had regained her footing, clapped her flaming hands together in triumph.

Elisa bent down to the bag again, but Friday knew that no more shirts would magically appear inside. They had only managed seven—and barely that. They had failed. She had failed. And Michael, her family, the
kingdom
was present to watch her defeat.

Elisa straightened again with one more thing in her hand: the crude stinging-nettle mat she’d first made. With nothing left to lose, she threw that up into the air as well.

The brothers fought—not to catch the mat, but to force the other to do so. Sebastien-swan and Tristan-swan honked and swooped. They beat at each other with their wings and feet, nipping with their beaks when they could. Feathers flew into the air around them and fluttered down to the sea. They fought as human brothers would, ultimately tangling their limbs together and plummeting into the waves. One swan shifted, pushing the other into the mat that floated there upon the tide—and then the two of them sank out of sight.

Friday held her breath, straining to see above the waves. Had it worked?

“I am Elisa, Princess of Kassora and the Green Isles!” The mousy girl’s unused voice croaked at the large ship. “I accuse the sorceress Gana of witchcraft and the murder of innocent children, and I seek asylum in Arilland!”

Elisa grew taller as she spoke, her thin limbs filling out beneath her tattered dress into the form of a healthy young woman. Her hair became longer and lighter, shining like hammered gold in the waxing sunlight. In the water around her, lumps of feathers and fiber changed to thrashing human limbs. A strong wind from the east swirled around Elisa’s skiff and extinguished the flames.

The curse was broken.

With a wave of Rumbold’s hand, his guards rushed forth into the sea, followed by most of the crowd. Mordant’s ship, now with the Infidel safely aboard, lifted anchor, raised sails, and fled into the open waters. The masses cheered again, hurling increasingly inventive threats and insults at the retreating vessel.

Amidst the excitement that threatened to overwhelm her at any moment, Friday saw Mr. Humbug walking toward her through the surf. He took her by the hand. “It’s over,” he said. “You did well, princess.”

“Thank you,” said Friday. She let him lead her out of the water and back to where her family stood on the shore. But it was not finished. She would not be satisfied until she had seen Tristan emerge from the waves.

“We did it!” Sunday said as she put her arms around Friday.

“Did we?” asked Friday, but no one answered. She refused to feel anything until she saw the siblings back on dry ground. All of them.