Chapter 7
KEEP THE SWAN ALIVE.
Waking early one morning, you step outside into a world made of mist. Five swans move like white ghosts across the lake. The sixth stumbles out the door after you, honking in despair because you didn’t wait for him.
Together, you follow the path into the woods.
Together, you check each of the traps you’ve set.
They’re all bare.
“No meat today,” you murmur. You run your hand down Favorite’s feathers, stained with blood and ooze from Gertrude’s blisters.
For a time you simply sit on the path, feeling sorry for yourself, feeling sorry for Gertrude.
While petting Favorite, your stomach rumbles, and you’re caught in that hard place between wanting to eat and wanting to chew on a mouthful of dirt so that you stop wanting to eat.
Then: the sound of horses.
Still crouching in front of the trap, you raise your head, searching the gray air for the source of the noise.
A small retinue breaks through the fog. Armored knights carry banners; between them, at the center, a crowned woman rides in a dress of vibrant blue.
Her beauty strikes you like lightning: all your words snap out of your body, which burns hot from head to toe.
Favorite tugs at your pant leg, but you cannot move.
“You dare obstruct Her Majesty’s path?” asks one of the knights.
Another dismounts. “You will bow for your queen,” he says. He looks ready to force you to your knees and leave you there to be trampled by the horses.
“Hush,” says the queen. Her voice is silken, silvery.
The hand she holds up is smooth, completely unblemished by the labor of curse-breaking.
“He’s only a child, can’t you see? And look.
He’s brought me tribute.” A smile cuts open her deep red lips, and she looks at you with bright satisfaction.
“How did you know I’ve been wanting a dress decorated with swan feathers? I thank you, sweet boy.”
The same knight that dismounted wrenches Favorite into his arms.
“Wait,” you start, “wait, no, he’s—”
Dead.
One thick hand twists around that fragile neck, and Favorite goes limp.
THAT CAN’T BE THE WAY THIS STORY ENDS.
(YOU DON’T WANT YOUR SINGLE SOURCE OF JOY TARNISHED BY THE KNOWLEDGE YOU KILLED HIM, DO YOU?)
Try Again?
The sound of horses.
In three months, you haven’t encountered anyone in these woods except for Gertrude. She fled here seeking a quiet place to break the curse in peace. Gathering Favorite into your arms, you hurry off the dirt path and into the brush, tucking yourself behind a tree and hoping it’s enough to hide you.
The horses get closer, and closer, then slow and stop.
“A snare, Your Majesty,” says a man with a gruff, clipped voice.
A woman’s voice answers, soft and sad: “Someone’s been hunting in my woods?”
“Probably still nearby. The tracks are fresh.”
“Find them and kill them. How dare they pilfer my woods.”
You could run. You could get to your feet and run with Favorite in your arms. You could, but you don’t, and when he finds you, he follows his queen’s command.
THAT CAN’T BE THE WAY THIS STORY ENDS.
Try Again?
The sound of horses.
In three months, you haven’t encountered anyone in these woods except for Gertrude. She fled here seeking a quiet place to break the curse in peace.
“Hide,” you whisper. You usher Favorite off the dirt path, into the underbrush, where his white feathers are stark against the green and brown. When he staggers behind a tree, you swallow hard and turn your head just in time to see a small retinue break through the fog.
Armored knights carry banners. Between them, at the center, a crowned woman rides in a dress of vibrant blue. Her beauty strikes you like lightning: all your words snap out of your body, which burns hot from head to toe.
“You dare obstruct Her Majesty’s path?” asks one of the knights.
Another dismounts. “You will bow for your queen,” he says. He looks ready to force you to your knees and leave you there to be trampled by the horses.
“Hush,” says the queen. Her voice is silken, silvery. The hand she holds up is smooth, completely unblemished by labor or curse-breaking. “He’s only a child, can’t you see?”
“A child with a snare,” says the knight who dismounted. “He’s been hunting in your woods, Your Majesty.”
“Oh, dear,” says the queen. Her gaze pins you. “Is this true?”
Remember: if you want to live, you have to be clever.
“Not hunting, Your Majesty,” you say. “Only trapping.”
“Only trapping.” She titters. Her teeth shine like sugar in her mouth; you feel sick looking at her, but you can’t look away. “Well, there is a distinction, I suppose. The punishment for hunting in my woods is death, but if you were only trapping… Perhaps you could pay a fine.”
“I have no money.”
“Then perhaps you could pay with service.” Her eyes, twin emeralds, sparkle despite the lack of sun.
“Since you want to hunt in my woods, you shall be my very own huntsman. You’re young, but I can see how strong you might become.
I would house you, feed you, clothe you… all I ask is that you hunt for me.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all, my sweet.”
My sweet. The gingerbread house, the spun-sugar window panes. Your stomach churns. “For how long?”
The glimmer fades from her eye. “Do you find my offer so unfavorable?”
If you say yes, she will kill you.
“It’s only that… My family, they’ll worry.”
“Of course they will. I’ll write to them myself to assure them of your safety.”
“May I at least say goodbye to them?”
“Surely they’re not nearby.”
“No,” you lie, because you sense you must lie, or else you’ll be putting Gertrude and Favorite and their five swan brothers at risk. “No, of course not, Your Majesty. I’d have to go home to them.”
“We simply don’t have time for that, my sweet,” says the queen. “I’m on a very strict schedule. You must either come with us now or atone for your crimes another way.”
You spare a glance into the underbrush, where Favorite is still hidden behind a tree. Goodbye, you say in your heart. Goodbye. I love you. When you’re human again, tell Gertrude what happened to me.
You bow your head to your queen.
“I’ll come with you,” you say, though it breaks your heart to say it.
To your great surprise, she offers you her hand. You settle in the saddle in front of her, and when she kicks her horse, you’re forced to gallop into a life you never, ever wanted.