The Swan Maiden Read Free Page B

when feathers merged with your skin, when your body shifted into another shape.
    And then, to fly …
    *   *   *
    Once, it had been pure pleasure to watch them. When Doucette was small, she had thought she, too, would learn flying and sorcery one day. After all, she had inherited her sisters’ outgrown gowns, their fat old ponies, their browbeaten tutors and exhausted dancing masters.
    But on her tenth birthday, Doucette had knelt before her smiling parents to open a carved wooden chest just like the ones belonging to Azelais and Cecilia. Like theirs, Doucette’s box held beautifully embroidered linens, a warm fur robe, and a ring of keys.
    Unlike her sisters’ boxes, it contained nothing else.
    â€œBut, Mother, where’s my swan skin?” Doucette had asked, disappointment robbing her of caution.
    â€œYour what ?” The comtesse had flushed, then paled. She shot a vicious look at her husband. “Is this your doing, Pascau?”
    â€œNay, I promised her no such thing,” the comte said. Stroking his dark beard, Doucette’s father studied his youngest daughter with unusual interest. “What put that idea into your pretty head, Doucette?”
    A horrible feeling pinched Doucette’s insides as she turned from her angry mother to her intent father. “Azelais and Cecilia have them.”
    â€œYes,” Lord Pascau said. “Your sisters were born swan maidens.”
    â€œSorceresses,” Lady Sarpine hissed, twisting her elegant fingers together. “I was promised one child to raise properly, with none of that Aigleron magical nonsense.”
    â€œSoftly, Wife.”
    The smooth menace in her father’s voice had made Doucette want to curl up and hide inside the birthday chest. It had affected her mother, too; the comtesse’s agitated hands went still.
    Lord Pascau looked down his aquiline nose. “Aigleron ‘magical nonsense’ maintains your entire family in its present comfort. Surely you would not care to disturb that arrangement?”
    The skin tightened along Lady Sarpine’s jaw. “No, by your grace.”
    â€œI thought not,” the comte said pleasantly. He cupped Doucette’s chin in his hand and tilted her face to meet his gaze.
    The awkward position hurt her neck, but Doucette didn’t complain. She was trying to breathe. It felt as though something important within her was being ripped away.
    â€œYou will never wear a swan skin, never study the High Arts,” her father said. A note of regret softened the terrible words. “I’m sorry, child. But with your mother’s training, you’ll make a pious and capable chastelaine whom all may admire.” He let go of her chin and patted her head.
    Doucette’s shoulders bowed.
    â€œExactly so.” The color had returned to Lady Sarpine’s face. She eased gracefully to the floor and folded her daughter in her arms, surrounding Doucette with the scent of jasmine.
    â€œIt’s not fair! They can fly!” Doucette could not contain the passionate sobs that shook her body.
    â€œDon’t cry, my treasure,” her mother soothed. “Sorcery’s a dangerous business. Given your advantages, you’ll be a power in the realm and mistress of a splendid castle one day. Oh, sweet-ling, you’ve so much to look forward to.”
    Doucette disagreed, but no one asked her opinion.
    Over the years, she had tried to give up her dreams and accept the path mapped out for her. Each time she heard the wild note in Cecilia’s laughter or spied the glint in Azelais’s dark eyes that meant imminent flight, Doucette would occupy herself with a chastelaine’s duties. But always she found herself stealing up the stairs to the tower chamber. Sick with longing, she’d watch her sisters turn into swans and soar over the countryside with a freedom she would never know.
    *   *   *
    She might have envied