Dearest by Alethea Kontis

Author:Alethea Kontis
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

10

Swansbody

TRISTAN COULDN’T BELIEVE his ears. “But . . . you just sat there and did nothing?” She would have felt the cruelty in his words. His anger didn’t let him care.

“It was not my place,” said the princess. “When it comes to the politics, I am merely a piece on this game board. I must act—or not act—accordingly. There would have been no wisdom in showing my hand. Or my heart.”

“But how could you? Perhaps you have no heart.” No one believed these words, but Tristan said them anyway. He needed to lash out, and thanks to this wretched curse, his hands were tied. He could do nothing but sit back and wait for Friday to report the news to them. That she had sat there and said nothing . . . done nothing . . . He should probably be praising her composure under such duress, but deep down he just wanted to smash things.

Friday turned and walked away, crossing the room to collect Elisa’s materials so that she and her squire could deliver them to the dungeon. Tristan seethed. He wanted to march down those steps and give Mordant a piece of his mind—right before he put a dagger in his brain.

“Stop it right now.” Sebastien grabbed Tristan by the arms and shook him out of his spiral of hatred. “You’re being rude and inappropriate, and you’re scaring Odette.”

Tristan glanced over to where his brother’s swan-lover smoothed her feathers fitfully in a crude nest of rushes. “What do you care?” he spat. “You don’t even want to break the curse.”

Friday might not have punched him for his nastiness, but Sebastien had no such qualms. To his elder brother’s credit, the pain did help Tristan focus. Somewhat.

“Better?” asked Sebastien.

Eyes watering, Tristan nodded and rubbed his jaw. If he spoke, he might have fought back, and he did not want the anger to overcome him again. Satisfied, Sebastien retreated to Odette’s pathetic makeshift nest.

Tristan caught a glimpse of Philippe, hovering in the shadows against the crumbling wall. His perpetually furious almost-twin smiled sardonically.

The Elder Wood door opened slightly and three more staves of nettle fiber slipped politely through.

The true twins ignored their brothers and addressed Friday over the sack of food she’d tossed them upon her arrival. “You want us to keep spinning?” asked Bernard.

“Please, if you don’t mind. Conrad can return later to collect what you’ve done. This shirt is almost finished, and I’m hoping Elisa can finish another while she’s . . .” The words didn’t need saying. Even if Elisa was allowed to weave in her cell, the shirt she might complete this night would still leave them one tunic short.

Sebastien’s dark form curled around his nervous swan-love; he smoothed her feathers and spoke in soft words. A shortage of tunics might leave him free to remain a swan, Tristan realized. Free of the responsibilities of the heir to the throne of the Green Isles. Free as a bird.

But the brothers needed a leader. Sebastien was the most mature, the most logical, and the most ruthless.

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