A Captive of Wing and Feather A Retelling of Swan Lake - Melanie Cellier Page 0,93

terracotta pots holding a variety of plants. The most impressive was a small tree, large enough to bear odd-looking fruit almost like dates in appearance, although they couldn’t possibly be dates.

Nearby, a large open hearth contained a banked fire, a sizable iron pot hanging above it. Cora put Juniper down with a stern instruction not to touch anything and strode over to the pot. She peered inside and then looked back at me.

“There’s liquid in here,” she said. “And I don’t see anything else that could hold liquid.”

I scanned the room before joining her and looking into the pot myself. Several shapes floated in the watery substance in different stages of disintegration. I glanced back at the potted tree. It looked like whatever strange fruit it bore was feeding this unknown concoction.

“Seeds,” I said, making Cora look at me in confusion. “Leander kept talking about seeds and fruit—I thought he was talking metaphorically, but now I think he was being literal.”

I stared at the tree. I had heard of types of fruit that were godmother objects, but I had never considered that if someone planted the seeds from one, a tree might grow. But what had tainted it so badly that it would grow such fruit as this? Can you not guess? whispered a voice in the back of my mind. I had seen first-hand an entire kingdom poisoned by the kind of evil that led someone to kill their own family. I shivered.

“I intend to destroy what’s in this pot and that tree along with it,” Cora said.

“Personally, I’d feel more comfortable if we destroyed everything in this room. Just to be sure.” I met her eyes, and we shared a grim nod. “And I suggest we work quickly.”

She probably thought I meant that we might be interrupted, and it was a legitimate concern. For all I knew, Leander might already be aware of my escape and searching the Keep for me. But the real reason for my rush was my own state.

The weakness had invaded every one of my bones, turning them heavy and cumbersome, so that each movement cost more energy than I had to spare. But I was determined to live long enough to complete this task. Leander had done me a favor by bringing Cora here—I could never have lifted the pot on my own.

She took it down from its hooks without hesitation, setting it on the floor away from the fire.

“I would recommend not breathing in anything that’s coming off that,” she said, and I nodded fervent agreement.

Kneeling, she prodded the fire in the hearth to life, feeding it kindling from a small box beside the fireplace. As soon as it had taken, the flames leaping higher and higher, she sat back on her heels with a satisfied sigh.

“Let’s get it in,” she said. “All of it.”

“Can I help?” Juniper asked.

“No!” Cora and I exclaimed at the same time.

“Don’t touch anything,” Cora added, with a stern look for the girl.

“You shouldn’t either,” I said to Cora. “Who knows what enchantments might be on these things?”

Cora frowned at me, but I shook my head at her.

“There’s nothing that can hurt me now,” I whispered.

“What do you mean?” Junie asked, staring at me.

“Hush now, young one,” Cora wrapped her in her arms, her eyes full of sadness. “We’ll talk about it later.”

“But I want to talk about it now,” Juniper said, but I had already turned my focus to the rest of the room.

Scooping my skirts into a makeshift basket, I moved along the benches, slowly sweeping anything I could find into them. Papers, plants, wooden sculptures, clothes—all of it went in. As I worked, I wondered why the bottle binding me to the lake had been downstairs when it would have been more at home up here. Had he needed it in view? Had it somehow changed when I was away from the lake at night? It might explain how he had always managed to appear, and why he had kept it in view. But I would likely never know the full truth of it.

When my weak arms could no longer take the strain, I hobbled back to the fire and let everything I carried tumble in. The flames roared, consuming the items far faster than seemed natural.

“Here, I’ll help.” Cora formed her own skirt into a similar receptacle.

I hesitated, but we would go much faster that way, and she wouldn’t actually have to touch anything. Moving more quickly, we threaded our way up and