Flight of the Five Swans
Fate Chapter 32

Ayden

As Aydenhad suspected, Svana’s arrival at the palace and continued presence as hispersonal guest had unleashed no end of rumors and conjectures among the palacestaff—not to mention the surrounding villagers. In addition to being a stranger invited to stay in the royal palace,rumors flew all around the kingdom of the foreign girl’s odd ways—her inabilityto speak, her affinity with swans, and her persistence in knitting the daysaway.

From what Ayden could tell, themajority of these rumors revolved around the existence of a romantic attachmentbetween himself and Svana, though the stories varied in regards to the exactnature of their relationship. Several ofthese rumors he had had the opportunity to quash himself when they were raisedin his presence. Others, however, heonly knew about from hearsay. There weresome, Ayden knew, who said that Svana was a mere forest girl with whom he’dfallen in love after she had saved him from a rampaging boar. This rumor was perhaps the most innocuousversion of the story—and not too faraway from the truth. It was the mostpopular version told among the palace staff, many of whom had met Svana, andrather liked the girl.

The other variations, however, werenot nearly so benign.

The worst version that had reachedAyden’s ears thus far asserted that Svana was a forest witch who had ensnaredthe Ithcarian prince—him—andenchanted him into falling in love with her. Ayden had yet to attempt refuting this strange story in person. Truth be told, he felt at a loss as to whathe would say, anyhow. Despite itsimplausibility—or rather, because ofit—this rumor was the most difficult to refute. How did one argue that a person was nota witch if there was no legitimate way to provethat Svana wasn’t a witch?

Particularly when her actions wereso strange.

Several servants had personallywitnessed Svana picking nettles from the palace gardens only a couple daysprior. The same day, she also requestedthe use of a spinning wheel in her bedchamber. Svana’s hands were red and swollen when she emerged the followingmorning, and the supply of yarn with which she knitted her shawls hadmysteriously doubled. In the followingdays, new gossip spread quickly that the foreigner knit with nettles, whichseemed to all but confirm some of the suspicions that Svana was a foreignwitch.

But in spite of the wild talesfloating around, Ayden had yet to regret inviting the girl to stay. In fact, the majority of his days were spentsitting beside her on the same bench, overlooking the swan pond in thegarden. They sometimes spent hoursconversing, he with his voice and she with her slate and chalk. On other occasions, they would simply sit ina comfortable silence, with the only sounds being that of her knitting needlesclinking together. Several times, Aydenwould play a tune on his rhaita, filling the gardens with the haunting sound ofthe instrument. At least one of Svana’sswans—the smallest one—would invariably approach and listen to Ayden play; onceor twice, he had managed to attract the entire flock by the time he hadfinished his song. Ayden honestly didnot know which of all of these pastimes he enjoyed the most. No matter how they spent their time, he foundSvana’s company charming, and her presence calming.

The tenth day following theirarrival, Ayden felt in a rather melancholy mood as he sought out Svana in herusual place in the gardens. His motherhad had another of her spasms the previous night, and her nightly tonic wasproving to be less and less effective in combatting her pain. Still, his spirits rose considerably onseeing Svana sitting on her bench as always, her hands busy with theirknitting. The girl glanced up at hisapproach, and Ayden’s heart lightened at the happiness that filled her face atthe sight of him.

Svana bolted from her place on herplace on the bench to meet Ayden halfway. She pulled at his hand eagerly and he settled down next to her, slightlysurprised by her excitement. Sherummaged in her pouch frantically, and Ayden got the distinct impression thatshe wanted to show him something important. At last, she pulled a small bottle from her pouch and triumphantlyplaced it into his hands. Ayden lookeddown at the clear glass, which housed a rosy-colored liquid. He looked up at her curiously.

“What’sthis?”

Svana wasalready writing on her slate. She heldit up so that Ayden could read the explanation.

Butterbur root. For the queen.

Ayden looked between Svana andthe small bottle in slight confusion. For his mother? What could Svanawant to give the queen?

“What doesit do?”

Again,Svana showed him her slate. For her pain. Better than valerian root.

Hope filledAyden’s chest. He rubbed the clear glasswith his thumb, but then exclaimed in surprise when Svana snatched the bottlefrom his grasp. He watched incredulouslyas she removed the cork, pouring a small drop of the pale pink liquid onto onefinger and then tasting it. She replacedthe cork and then handed the bottle back to him.

Now you can say you saw me drink some, shewrote. And that I’m not trying to poison the queen.

Ayden was about to protest the idea thatanyone would think her capable of poisoning his mother but hesitated, thinkingof the nature of some of the rumors that he had heard. Some Ithcarian citizens were sosuperstitious; he wouldn’t put it past them to accuse anyone of witchcraft, let alone someone who they already suspectedof the craft. Ayden was at a loss as towhat to say, and then he noticed the amused twinkle in Svana’s eyes. She was joking, he realized with relief. He knew in that moment that at least some of the stories had reached herears, and that she found them laughable—at least those branding her as a witch.

Aydencouldn’t help wondering how she felt about the rest of the rumors.

He grippedthe bottle tightly in his hand. If thistonic worked as well as Svana seemed to think that it would, it would free hismother from no end of pain. He lookedinto Svana’s eyes.

“Thankyou.” He told her gratefully, using his free hand to grip her own. Svana smiled and nodded at him once, then hergaze dropped to their clasped hands. Ayden’s fingers suddenly felt very hot, as though they had caught firejust from mere contact with her skin. Quickly, he let go of her hand.

Svana benther head over her knitting once more, and Ayden had the suspicion that she wastrying to avoid his gaze. He shifteduncertainly on the bench. He really should deliver the tonic to his motherimmediately. Yet, he reasoned, she wouldhave no need of it until the early evening. Surely telling both of his parents nowabout this possible new pain relief would prove more torture than kindness, asthere was still so many hours to wait until they would even have the chance totest its effectiveness. Surely, Aydentold himself, it would not hurt to linger in the gardens just a few momentsmore.

Thusdecided, he turned his gaze on Svana’s profile. Her movements were practiced, but Ayden noticed that her fingers wereperhaps a little clumsier in their actions than they had been a few daysprior. His brow furrowed, he studied herhands. They did look a little swollen, he realized in some surprise. The story about Svana’s nettles ran acrosshis mind, and for the first time, Ayden wondered if that aspect of the storywas, in fact, true.

His eyesdrifted to the shawl that she was knitting. The yarn that she used was certainly not the prettiest color; it had alight green tint to it that Ayden had never seen before. He could also see from a glance that the yarnhad been inexpertly spun. Small fibersstuck out at odd angles, as if either the spinner had been inexperienced, orher material of an unusual origin—or possibly both. The yarn looked far from soft, though Aydendid not reach out and touch the thread to test his theory. The swans and Svana were all extremelyparticular in regards to those who were allowed to handle the yarn, needles andeven the finished shawls. Namely, onlySvana herself.

Aydenleaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees, so as to watch Svana’s handsmore closely at their work.

“You know,I’ve never actually asked.” He said, keeping his voice casual. “But what are you making?”

Svana didnot look up, though Ayden noticed that her hands had paused in theirmotions. Her brows were furrowed, andshe looked as though she were considering something. Suddenly, she looked up and directly into hisface, her eyes searching. Ayden had thedistinct impression that she was trying to decide whether or not he wastrustworthy.

He held her gaze, and waited.

At last, she nodded and began towrite on her slate once more. Ayden felta twinge of excitement. Svana was goingto tell him. She trusted him enough totell him the mysterious secret of her knitting, for mysterious it certainlywas. The temptation was strong to readover her shoulder as she wrote, but Ayden refrained. He waited for her to finish and hold up themessage as had become their custom.

They’refor the swans, to turn them human.

Ayden read and reread the wordsseveral different times over in an attempt to interpret their meaning. At last, however, he understood. He felt let down. Maybe she didn’t trust him enough after all.

Svana smiled at him tentatively,and he responded with a full grin of his own that was slightly forced.

“There’s no need to feed the rumormongers even more.” He told her with a small laugh. “I assure you, they’re capable of making upstories about anything. They don’t needany help coming up with the impossible.”

Svana’s smile dimmed slightly, andshe lowered her head to stare at her knitting. Ayden immediately felt a twinge of guilt. Yes, he was disappointed that she didn’t yettrust him enough to reveal the truth to him, but all the same, he truly hadn’tmeant to ruin her fun.

“But,” he said in a desperateattempt to save the situation. “If youwant to tell me the story all the same—“

Svana shook her head. Ayden felt disheartened. Clearly, he had lost his chance. He somehow sensed that he had really steppedin it this time, and he had no idea how to go about making amends.

“Well, then.” He said a mite awkwardly. “You don’t have to worry. I’ll keep your…your secret. Unless you don’t want me to?”

Again, Svana shook her head, herexpression adamant in her refusal.

The two sat silently for a fewmoments, and for the first time, a hint of awkwardness marred the oncecomfortable silence between them. Aydenwas mentally kicking himself. Theirafternoon had started off so well, with Svana so eager to pass along the tonicfor his mother.

The tonic.

Ayden stood, the small clear bottleclutched in his fist. “Thank you againfor the tonic.” He said to the top ofSvana’s head. “I should probably bringthis to Mother. It won’t do her any goodtonight if she hasn’t drunk it.”

He tried to insert a hint of hisstandard joviality into his words, but Svana still did not look up at him. She simply nodded, keeping her face hidden,and her needles moving.

Ayden left her then, still sittingon the bench in the palace gardens. Justbefore re-entering the palace, he glanced back behind him towards Svana’s benchand saw that she had risen to her feet, her knitting forgotten for themoment. Her five swans wandered allaround her, poking their beaks into the reeds around the pond to look forfood. Yet Svana’s slim figure stoodstill as a statue. Her face was turnedin his direction, and even from this distance, Ayden could see herdisappointment and sadness as clear as day.