Swan Light: A Novel by Phoebe Rowe

Author:Phoebe Rowe [Rowe, Phoebe]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lake Union Publishing
Published: 2023-04-30T16:00:00+00:00

The trip back to the cliff was quiet except for the plinks of steady rain, Swan keeping his eyes firmly on the road even as he felt Clara glancing at him again and again. Abigail’s words played over in his mind. Nico knew. Nico knew. Nico knew. All this time, he’d thought he was protecting his brother’s memory, harboring this decades-old grudge. He should have remembered that Nico had never needed protecting. That had always been Abigail. And Nico had always been the one to do it.

It wasn’t until the tower swung into sight, its stone gray in the lengthening shadows, that Clara spoke. “Are you okay?” she asked. “I wasn’t sure how long I should give you. Lou went to find something in his study, and Cort started being insufferable again, so I thought I should come check on you. And then I heard yelling on the last bit.”

“What did you hear?”

“Not much,” she said hastily. “And I was the only one close enough to. About Nico not having a daughter. Nico was your brother?”

“Yes.”

“And he married Abigail, and her father gave him the deed as a wedding gift, and he gave it to you?”

“Just for safekeeping,” Swan said. “Not that he ever would have needed it. I hadn’t thought about it since then. I left all of Nico’s things with our mother, when he died. And I’m sure Sophie Mettle cleaned it out when she moved into that house.”

“It is odd,” she said. “Cort could have asked for the deed years ago, same as he could have moved the light years ago. Why bring it up now?”

Clara lit the tower while Swan tied up the horse, and no sooner had they both returned to the keeper’s house than there was a knock on the door. Swan stood and opened it to reveal Lou Roland, bright blue eyes blinking owlishly in the dark. “Hello,” the younger Roland said.

Swan opened the door wider, cautious. Rain was falling harder now, slicking the boy’s dark hair to his forehead. And he was a boy: up close it was clear he was much younger than Cort, probably not much older than Clara. “What are you doing here?” Swan asked. Was this another ploy for the deed, already? “Did Abigail send you?”

“No, no,” Lou said. He was panting, winded. Swan didn’t see a cart; he must have run here, after them, alone, in the rain. “She doesn’t know I’m here; she probably hasn’t noticed I left. She usually doesn’t.”

“Why did you?” Swan asked.

“The study shares a wall with the kitchen, and I couldn’t help . . .” He trailed off, pushing his hand across his wet brow. “Is it true, what you said? Nico Swan wasn’t my grandfather?”

Swan felt cold and old and exhausted, guilt bubbling up between all of it like blood. Abigail’s past wasn’t this boy’s problem. He stepped back. “Come inside.”

Lou followed him into the warmth of the kitchen, where Clara had lit several logs in the oven. Lou nodded to her.

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