The Flight of Swans Read online

  Advance praise for

  The Flight of Swans

  “Taking one of the loveliest of the Grimm canon, tale #49, ‘The Six Swans’ (one of my favorites), Sarah McGuire has grounded it with not just one strong young woman but three against a verago who could best Malificent at her evil games. McGuire has the right balance of heroics, poetics, and pratfalls. But it is the long center of the tale, where Ryn—sister to the swans—has to be silent for six long years else her brothers will die—that is simply a tour de force where in other, less sure hands, it would certainly have been a tour de farce. Brava performance!”

  —Jane Yolen

  “The Flight of Swans whisked me into a medieval world where magic seeps from forests and evil lurks in the most unexpected places. As a fanatic of all things Grimm, I loved how this story wove a fresh take on the classic tale of ‘The Six Swans,’ showing the power that a determined and courageous girl can have. McGuire’s spellbinding writing will embark you on a grand adventure through enchanted forests, far-away lakes, dark caves, and ruined fortresses. (Just be wary of nettles, and keep a stash of cloves close at hand.)”

  —Christina Farley, author of the Gilded series and The Princess and the Page

  Text copyright © 2018 by Sarah McGuire

  All rights reserved. International copyright secured. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of Lerner Publishing Group, Inc., except for the inclusion of brief quotations in an acknowledged review.

  Carolrhoda Books

  A division of Lerner Publishing Group, Inc.

  241 First Avenue North

  Minneapolis, MN 55401 USA

  For reading levels and more information, look up this title at www.lernerbooks.com.

  Jacket illustration by Junyi Wu.

  Moon illustration by Natalia Petukhova/Shutterstock.com.

  Main body text set in Bembo Std regular 12/16.5.

  Typeface provided by Monotype Typography.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: McGuire, Sarah, 1976– author. | Adaptation of (work): Andersen, H. C. (Hans Christian), 1805–1875. Vilde svaner. English.

  Title: The flight of swans / Sarah McGuire.

  Description: Minneapolis : Carolrhoda, [2018] | Summary: Elaborates on the tale of young princess Ryn, who must be silent for six years to save her brothers after they are turned into swans by their evil stepmother.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2017038715 (print) | LCCN 2018007837 (ebook) | ISBN 9781512498516 (eb pdf) | ISBN 9781512440270 (th : alk. paper)

  Subjects: | CYAC: Fairy tales. | Princesses—Fiction. | Brothers and sisters—Fiction. | Swans—Fiction. | Blessing and cursing—Fiction.

  Classification: LCC PZ8.M17625 (ebook) | LCC PZ8.M17625 Fl 2018 (print) | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017038715

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  1-42297-26146-5/15/2018

  9781541530881 ePub

  9781541530898 mobi

  9781541530904 ePub

  To the quiet ones

  Chapter 1

  The exile of the princes of Lacharra didn’t begin with swords or spells.

  It began inside the castle kitchen with a quest for cloves.

  It began with me.

  Cooks mistrust anyone with empty hands, so I darted to the nearest table and snatched up a bowl of chopped leeks. Then I shouldered between scullery maids and undercooks as I moved toward the spice pantry.

  Perhaps I was foolish. Maybe Father was just sick after being lost so many weeks in the forest. Maybe it was normal for a man newly married to hardly speak to the daughter he’d loved—

  Then I remembered last night: Rees, the stable master, and the stable boy being beaten while Father looked on with empty eyes.

  Something had happened to Father in the forest. He never would have allowed a beating for violating such a small edict, even if the woman he’d married had issued it.

  Whatever she banned must be important—even if it was something as simple as cloves.

  After last night, Bronwen, the cook, had probably burned them all, but she didn’t know about the little bag I’d stashed under the planking.

  Clutching the bowl of leeks, I wove past rows of tables covered with baskets of vegetables, poultry being plucked . . .

  . . . and right into the path of a white-swathed undercook and her pot of steaming broth.

  The undercook screeched and sloshed scalding broth over the floor.

  I leaped back, just in time.

  And Bronwen—where had she come from?—laid her wooden spoon across my shoulders with a sound like thunder.

  I dropped my bowl with a yelp and darted away. But I stepped in the leeks I’d just spilled and my feet flew out from under me.

  I jolted upright like a puppet whose strings have been yanked.

  Bronwen wrenched me back to face her. I scrabbled to free myself but couldn’t gain purchase in the mess I’d made.

  I saw her raise the spoon to deliver another blow, raised my arm to shield my face, and—

  “Ahhh!!! Princess Andaryn!” Bronwen hid the spoon behind her back and released me so quickly I fell at her feet.

  Two maids dashed forward. One helped me up—the other began to clean the mess I’d made.

  “Your Highness!” said Bron. “I didn’t know it was you! We’re all on edge since the Queen—” She stopped, panicked. “Not that we don’t think she’s a lovely woman and wish every blessing on her for bringing your father out of that accursed forest.”

  “I don’t wish any blessing on her.” It was out before I could catch myself.

  Bron’s ruddy cheeks paled, and she peered over her shoulder as if Father’s witch-wife herself might appear. She turned back to me with a horribly cheerful expression. “What do you want, Princess? I’ll fetch it for you myself.”

  I’d have preferred the beating with that awful spoon of hers. I hadn’t been protecting myself earlier—I didn’t want her to recognize me. Just as I feared, the kitchen fell silent as everyone stared at me. I could’ve cried, and not because my shoulders ached like fire. There’d be no sneaking to the spice pantry now.

  And then, bless him, the second of my six older brothers, the one who made every girl in the castle blush, walked into the kitchen.

  Mael scowled at me as he put a hand on Bron’s shoulder. “I’ll take her off your hands, dear woman.”

  When Bron saw Mael and his dark, curling hair and blue eyes, she dropped her spoon. She had a husband who worked in the forge and four children last count, yet she giggled like a girl when she saw Mael.

  Mael might be handsome, but he was my brother, which mostly meant that he was annoying. Except for this one shining moment when every woman’s eye was on him.

  This was my chance.

  I slipped into the spice pantry and pulled up the loose plank in the corner, sighing in relief when I found the bag of cloves. I’d hidden it only because Father and I liked to chew them when we read, and I’d wanted to be sure we never ran out.

  Cloves were a valuable spice, of course, but they were still just dried bits of brown twig and bud. Why would Father’s new wife have banned them from the castle?

  The poor stable boy who’d been discovered with cloves yesterday had been dragged to the throne room. Rees, the stable master who’d always gentled horses for the House of Cynwrig, arrived minutes later. He explained that the boy hadn’t heard the Queen’s edict, that he’d merely gathered the cloves to make a poultice for an ailing horse.

  The Queen had listened gravely
. . . then had them both thrashed with a horse whip.

  Father—my kind, brave father—hadn’t even blinked.

  I dropped the plank back into place, then slipped the bag of cloves into a pocket in my under-tunic. I smoothed my skirts as I stood, hands sliding over the dark fabric. My outer gown was loose enough that no one would notice I’d hidden anything under it.

  A moment later, I joined Mael and Bron.

  Bron was trying to arrange her headscarf, but Mael glared at me. “Where did you go?”

  Every eye was on me once again. I looked around the kitchen, searching for an excuse among the vegetables and plucked birds and bowls.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Well?”

  I didn’t speak, just sheepishly pointed at the table of pastries beside the spice pantry.

  Bron shook her head and fetched an apple tart for me, my favorite. “Just for you, Princess.”

  “You’re far too kind,” said Mael. “We need her to help us present a gift to Father’s new bride. And what does she do?”

  “Tries to steal a tart,” Bron chuckled. She shook a finger at me. “You’re growing too old for such antics, Princess.”

  I wanted to tell her that I’d spent twelve full summers on this earth and was old enough to know that many things were more important than apple tarts.

  Instead, I ducked my head.

  “Let’s go, Ryn.” Mael took me by the arm and marched me out of the kitchen and into the cobbled courtyard.

  I scurried to keep up with him but kept a hand over the cloves, even though my gown covered them. I couldn’t let him guess what I’d done . . . what I planned to do.

  I flinched when Mael reached toward me, worried he knew. Instead, he plucked the apple tart from my hand and took a bite.

  “That’s for making me scour the castle to find you,” he said around the tart.

  I sagged with relief. He wasn’t suspicious. Just annoying.

  As always.

  He took another bite and pointed out my other five brothers standing impatiently in the center of the courtyard. “I can’t believe you sneaked a tart! If I didn’t know better, I’d—”

  I let loose a well-aimed kick, raking the heel of my shoe down the length of his shin, channeling all my fear into that one movement. Just as I hoped, he forgot the kitchen completely—and dropped the tart he’d stolen from me in the process.

  While he bent to rub his shin, I darted away to join the rest of my brothers.

  Aiden, the eldest, waited for me, arms folded. “Ryn! Why did you kick him?”

  “He deserved it,” I answered.

  Aiden raised an eyebrow, but he still put an arm around me.

  I smiled. Mael wouldn’t dare retaliate now that I was under Aiden’s protection.

  Mael limped up, cursing under his breath. All my brothers stood around me, then—a wall of dark-haired princes in the afternoon sun: Aiden; Mael; the triples, Cadan, Declan, and Gavyn; and my twin, Owain. They’d stood around me all my life, often poking or teasing while they did it. But they were a wall nonetheless, solid and reliable.

  I’d just stolen forbidden cloves from the kitchen so I could free Father from a spell his new wife had cast over him. I desperately wanted to tell them everything, but—

  “Who taught you to kick like that, Ryn?” Mael demanded

  I crossed my arms. Who did he think?

  Mael turned to Cadan, the oldest of the triples, and punched his shoulder.

  Cadan grabbed his hurt arm. “What was that for?”

  “You taught her!” said Mael.

  Cadan laughed. “Are you mad she knows how to kick or that she kicked you? Did you leave a bruise, Ryn?”

  I glared at Mael. “I certainly hope so.”

  Cadan nodded approval. He was the most cynical of the triples, with a cutting wit that he rarely sharpened on me. Then there was Declan, the kindest brother in all the kingdom of Lacharra, who knew the songs and stories that told the history of our people. And Gavyn? Gavyn the scholar observed the world around him: animals and plants, sky and stars. He was happy to tell anyone who listened and even those who didn’t.

  “Enough kicking,” said Aiden.

  He never had to raise his voice. He’d been commanding the troop of us since . . . since there had been the seven of us. He had the strength and heart for the task, and he had proven it while Father was missing. He’d been the crown prince bearing the weight of Lacharra all those weeks. “We need to give the Queen the gift now, before tonight’s feast with the Danavirian ambassador.”

  The ambassador had arrived only days after Father and the woman he married returned from the forest. The weak-chinned ambassador had never been a favorite of ours. It was even worse to host him while we tried to figure out what happened to Father during the weeks he’d been lost.

  I looked up at my brothers.

  Perhaps they weren’t trying to find out anymore.

  “Why would you give her a gift after what she did to Rees last night?” I asked. “Tanwen wouldn’t agree.”

  Aiden raised an eyebrow. “You only say that when you hope she’d agree with you.”

  “I can’t help it that you married a woman more sensible than you are! If she were here she’d tell you that . . . woman . . . doesn’t deserve a gift!”

  Aiden, like all the crown princes of recent times, had been living at Fortress Roden, the original stronghold of the House of Cynwrig. Tanwen had remained at Roden when Aiden came to the castle in Father’s absence.

  “Tanwen is sick at Fortress Roden and will come greet the Queen as soon as she’s well. I am sure she would do everything in her power to make Father’s new wife feel welcome.”

  I snorted.

  “Don’t be a child, Ryn,” said Owain. He was my twin, but lately he acted like he’d outgrown me. “Rees disobeyed her.”

  “Only a child would take her side!” I shot back. “Rees could barely walk to the stable afterward—and they had to carry the boy! She had soldiers use a whip on them—and Rees doesn’t even use one on the horses!”

  I waited for Mael to shake his head, for Cadan to swear a string of oaths so sharp that even Aiden would wince.

  Nothing.

  My brothers had the same empty look I’d seen in Father’s eyes ever since he returned with the Queen from the forest a week ago.

  No. Not them too.

  “It was on his head, Ryn,” said normally gentle-hearted Declan, stepping away from me. “He should have known better.”

  “Would you say the same if I had been discovered with cloves?” I asked.

  Mael looked worried. “You don’t have any, do you? Is that why you were in the kitchen?”

  “No!” I lied. “I wanted a tart. And I’m sure Bron burned them, anyway.”

  “Good.”

  “But that’s not the question,” I pressed. “Surely you wouldn’t think I deserved a beating if I had some?”

  Aiden held out his hands in a helpless gesture. “The law applies to all of us.”

  “It wasn’t a law! It was something she said—after she appeared with Father a week ago!”

  “She’s queen of Lacharra,” said Gavyn, as if that settled the issue.

  “We don’t know where she came from.” I forced myself to speak slowly. Deliberately. “We don’t even know her name!”

  Aiden folded his arms and narrowed his eyes. “She came from the forest. She found Father there and she saved him.”

  I folded my arms, even though it didn’t look nearly as impressive as Aiden. “She found him there and she enchanted him. And she’s enchanted you too.”

  Cadan didn’t ridicule me—he just shook his head as if I’d learn wisdom soon enough. That scared me more than anything: only an enchantment would leave Cadan acting as kind as Declan.

  “Call it what you want,” said Mael. “It’s the sort of enchantment every man hopes for, Ryn-girl. It’s like falling in love just to stand beside her.”

  “More like the night sky, I’d say,” said Ga
vyn. “She’s the fire of every star.”

  “You’re too young to understand,” added Owain.

  “You’re only three minutes older than I am!”

  “But clearly more mature!” He rubbed his chin the way Aiden did when he was thinking. Except that Aiden had a beard and Owain just hoped for one.

  They thought they felt love and admiration, but I knew better. I also knew nothing I said would make a difference.

  I should have guessed how powerful the Queen was after she’d changed Father so much. I should have been afraid of someone who influenced my brothers so quickly.

  But I was too angry to fear her. How dare she do this? My family was no one’s plaything.

  In that moment, I vowed to free them all.

  I, Andaryn of the House of Cynwrig, would not lose my family to a woman who’d found my father in the darkest corner of the forest.

  I vowed it on my life.

  Chapter 2

  “She asked about you,” said Aiden.

  I pressed my palm against the hidden cloves. “What did she want?”

  Gavyn shrugged. “You haven’t visited her since the wedding. It’s been nearly a week.”

  “Don’t be a ninny,” said Mael. “Help us give her the gift. You’ll like her when you know her.”

  I didn’t want to see Father’s wife in Mama’s old chambers. I didn’t want to deliver anything, unless it was a scoop of horse dung from the stables.

  I sighed. “What are you giving her?”

  Aiden opened his hand to reveal a small silk bag. “The Cynwrig Brooch.”

  I could barely breathe. “How could you—?” The Cynwrig Brooch, shaped like the entwined necks of three swans, had belonged to the three original Cynwrig brothers and their sister, Hafwen. It was supposed to be mine when I married.

  And yet, when they gave it to the Queen, Father might be alone. He normally read in the library this time of the day. I pushed aside my hurt and changed my attack. “How could you give her the brooch without its box?”

  Gavyn shook his head. “There’s no box to hold the brooch, Ryn. It would have been mentioned in the Annals.”