and the boy heard the tumblers in the lock. He crossed the room to discover that he was free to leave the chamber. He looked back in astonishment at the man, still crouched down where he had stood. The man smiled and gestured to him to go. Trymman gladly followed his bidding, for he had always yearned for the adventure of exploring the palace. He glanced back from the threshold to see the man approaching his mother’s bed. The stranger’s expression was tender as he looked down at the sleeping queen, and Trymman knew all would be well. Then the door closed, seeming with a will of its own, and Trymman heard the lock turn again.
By the time he had avoided the cook, raided the larder, eaten his spoils, explored the palace, fetched more from the kitchen for his mother and returned to the chamber, the moon was high in the sky. To his disappointment the stranger was gone and the chamber door was standing ajar again. When Trymman entered the room, the door swung closed behind him, then audibly locked.
But he had been on an adventure and he had brought back as much food as he had been able to carry. His mother slept with a smile upon her lips, a smile of such tranquility and beauty that Trymman could only wonder what had happened in his absence.
Neither of them knew that the stranger also visited the witch and the brigand. He looked upon them while they slept in her hut, then poured out the tonic the witch drank each day to ensure that she didn’t conceive. The stranger put plain water in the bottle instead and replaced it, as if it had never been disturbed.
The stranger came three times, at regular intervals, though Trymman and his mother never spoke of him in his absence. On his third visit, he gave the queen the ring that was on his finger, a silver ring graced with that large gleaming stone. The swan prince’s ring was too large for his lady’s hand, but she wore it on a chain around her neck and often closed her fist around it as she slept. By midwinter, the queen’s belly rounded and she wept with joy when she told her youngest son that he was going to have another sibling. She bade him keep it secret from the brigand king, for he had not visited her bed in years and he would know it was not his child.
The brigand king’s attention was occupied, though. He shouted with pleasure when he told his men that he had bested the witch’s dare and gotten a child upon her—the stores of ale were deeply diminished that night in the hall as the men celebrated with the brigand king. The witch, however, was less pleased. Not only did she fear that the brigand’s attention would stray from her and she would lose influence, but she knew she would have to pay a debt she had never anticipated would come due. The tonic she drank to keep from conceiving had been created by a great Fae sorceress, Maeve. The price for the tonic was that the witch would have to surrender any child she conceived to Maeve. She had thought this wager a jest, since the tonic would ensure that she didn’t bear a child, but now she fretted about the fate of the babe in her womb. She knew enough of Maeve to doubt that the Fae sorceress had any kind plan for the child. She had given her word, though, and she knew that Maeve would collect. Her fears affected her pregnancy, for her stomach twisted and turned, she slept little and she ate poorly.
On midsummer’s day, wife and whore labored in unison, though none outside the queen’s chamber knew of her condition. The queen delivered of the daughter she had always desired, a girl of radiant beauty with a rare light in her eyes. Her hair was as fair as the moonlight, her eyes were as blue as a robin’s egg, and she was both delicate and lovely. Her mother and the youngest brother looked upon her with awe.
“How shall we hide her?” Trymman whispered and his mother had no answer.
“Her name is Rania,” she said instead. She took the chain with the ring and placed it around the child’s tiny neck, for it was her legacy from her father.”
“Rania,” Hadrian said, looking at the ring again. “My mate’s name is Rania.”