A Captive of Wing and Feather A Retelling of Swan Lake - Melanie Cellier Page 0,70
an act of faith, I even put new sheets on for you.”
“It sounds delightful,” I said with a small sigh.
She turned to Gabe. “And as for you, you’re not going off to sneak into that inn. It’s the middle of the night. I’ll find a room for you here.”
“I don’t like to trouble you,” Gabe began, but she cut him off.
“It’s no trouble. We always have guest rooms set up and ready since we never know when someone might appear at our door. And truth be told, I don’t think that these young things could bear to let you and that book go so far away. You just wait and see—they’ll all be hounding you for answers over breakfast.”
Gabe’s lips twitched. “And I shall endeavor to have them.”
“Youth,” Cora muttered, with an upward roll of her eyes. “One day you’ll learn the value of sleep.”
We all dispersed after that, me hurrying as quickly as possible to my bed and sinking straight into its softness with a luxuriating sigh. Many of my things were still here, stored for me by Cora since I hadn’t wanted them with me at the lake, and it was mere minutes before I was ready for sleep.
But despite the comfort of the bed, sleep didn’t claim me. I kept reliving the moment of my imprisonment, as I had in the cupboard, and the moment of liberation when I smashed the bottle. Clearly my instinct about the bottle had been right—my pain-free presence here was proof of that. But something niggled at me.
My moment of liberation had come with no particular sensation, and the darkness had come only a second later. But I thought I had felt something as it fell—a lightening of pressure so familiar that I hadn’t even noted it at the time. But now it had returned to bother me.
I knew I was free of the need to spend my nights at the lake, but was I truly free? I had always been able to speak at night, so my voice was proof of nothing. Had it only been the darkness and not the smashed bottle that released my voice? Would I lose it again when daylight came? Only morning would tell me that, and it suddenly seemed unbearably far away.
I tossed and turned for what must have been an hour before getting up. I kept thinking of my swans. Had they already flown away, abandoning our lake forever to return to their natural migratory habits? Or were they waiting there—still bound to me and wondering what danger had befallen me? On the nights when I had been late to return, they had always come to find me. Were they looking for me now?
I thrust my feet into my boots and pulled on my overdress and cloak. I couldn’t lie here thinking such thoughts. If there was any chance my swans were still bound to me, I needed to know. And I needed to let them know I was fine. I could be there and back before Gabe delivered his report on Leander’s journal in the morning.
I crept quietly from the haven, not wanting to disturb anyone else, and hurried through the deserted streets of the town. I had brought a lantern with me but almost regretted the decision. It illuminated the trees nearest me, but it cast the rest of them into even blacker relief, giving the impression that I and my pool of light traveled through a terrifying, hidden realm.
I kept the light burning, however, needing it to avoid all the roots and branches that lay in my path. Only when I reached the lake did I abandon it on the edge of the trees. I didn’t need it here—the clear sky allowed enough moonlight through, while the water reflected it and increased its brightness.
I hadn’t noticed I was holding my breath as I set the lantern down until it released in a long sigh. Seven sleeping shapes floated on the water. They were here and safe.
But they weren’t searching for me. My breath caught again. So I had been wrong. The enchantment was fully broken, after all, my link with them gone. The release had happened as night fell, so it shouldn’t be a surprise that they had chosen to spend the night on the familiar lake. No doubt in the morning they would depart.
“Adelaide!” Gabe’s voice shattered the stillness of the scene as he came into view, illuminated among the trees by the lantern I had left on the ground.