13. The Swan Test
The Swan Test
I’d spent all evening scratching my skull as to why Dezeeves might want all Rhavnans together in one room like this.
Now I see this dinner wasn’t an attempt to show off how effective his conversion work has been to his most senior officers. Maybe it wasn’t even an attempt to test Drake and me, for our own Integration.
Maybe the only reason we are all here is to be mocked.
To kill a swan, let alone skin it, roast it, and eat it…
In Rhavna, it would be seen as the highest form of treason. As if you’d killed and eaten the Queen herself.
My eyes flicker around the room as I try to grasp what’s happening here – why there haven’t been mass outbursts of hysteria and outrage from the Rhavnans. Had they already known what was under the lid?
The young Rhavnan woman I’d noticed now has her head rested in her hand. She’s relaxed, watching this with almost humour.
Is this funny to her? What kind of conversion would make such an act against the country of her birth amusing?
Rike, at least, looks unhappy by what he’s seeing. I get the feeling he’s trying not to look.
But why does no one feel the same rage I feel? It’s bubbling through my veins. I fight off white lights in my vision, the buzzing that is awakening in my head. I hadn’t felt that in a while. Now, it’s cresting like a wave. Might knock me right over.
“Swan,” Dezeeves says, as if we hadn’t already realised. “Not an easy bird to find, these days. But we managed it. You will find the carving knife to the left. In a gesture of trust, we welcome you to make the first cut.”
I study Drake. There’s a curve in his broad back. He’s watching Dezeeves intently.
It’s just like how he’d looked before pouncing on Cosmer on his ship – and earlier, on the mat.
He looks down at the silver, engraved knife right in front of him. I stare at it, too.
The blade is long and sharp. Reflects the light as if emitting its own.
We could cut the meat.
Or we could use it as the weapon it is.
My body tenses. An image forms in my mind so fast it momentarily blinds me.
An image of the knife flying, hitting Dezeeves in the chest and lodging there.
I look up. Drake’s eyes are already on mine. They seem to gleam. I never knew dark eyes could be so bright.
The sound of a chair screeching back gets my attention. Cosmer, up ahead, is on his feet.
“Dezeeves,” he calls. “This is an insult, to their culture. To the culture of many in this room.” He sounds breathless. “It should be removed from the room at once...”
“Cosmer. Please be seated,” Dezeeves says. He hasn’t even turned. “Or I will have you removed from the room.”
My heart seems to lunge. I’m reminded this is just as dangerous a situation for Cosmer as it is for us.
Ephraine is on his feet now, too, removing his jacket. Stretching his neck. Preparing to fight? Only in his shirt now, I can see how honed his square, hard body is.
Movement.
Drake’s fingers are inching along the base of the silver plate, towards the knife.
In a gesture of trust, Dezeeves had said.
And I realise, then, what a terrible idea it would be to try to fight.
Don’t take it, I silently will him.
They could hurt us.
They could hurt Cosmer.
Drake’s fingers go to wrap around the knife, but, as if he’d heard my thoughts, they stop dead in the air.
I exhale.
Thank the Sisters. He’s changed his mind.
He looks up.
I shake my head at him, once, tightly.
Just wait there. Don’t say anything, I will him with my eyes.
His own eyes widen. His mouth parts.
But he doesn’t speak.
I turn my back on him.
Choosing my next words carefully, I take a breath, and speak for the both of us.
“Dezeeves,” I say loudly, calmer than I feel.
“We appreciate the hospitality you have shown us. We have had an… enjoyable evening. But I’m afraid we cannot eat this.
I know you must not have realised, but the swan is considered sacred in our country – a messenger for the Sisters, who are our gods, and rule the stars, which are our fates. The Queen keeps many, in the dome.”
I’m aware Cosmer is still on his feet. But my gaze remains fixed on Dezeeves. I don’t even blink. It might be seen as weakness.
“I really am sorry,” I conclude, not wavering.
Everyone seems motionless. The only thing I can hear is the clock, still ticking.
But then harsh noise fills the air.
Dezeeves is… laughing.
It seems to go on for a long time. Rings out in the otherwise quiet room like a bell. Each peal of it sounds rough and phlegmy. Some of the officers join in.
“Of course!” he booms, his laughs subsiding.
“I should have considered that this particular meal might have been inappropriate.” He beams wide as the room.
“I can only apologise to you both. Alas! Not to worry. A good host – much like a soldier – always has another plan, for contingency. Please,” he says, indicating our chairs beside him.
“Be seated. Thank you for your patience.”
He calls for the cooks, who cover the swan and take it away.
They wheel in another couple of carts. These are laden with plates of pre-cut beef, tubers and greens.
Once the plates are laid out, the officers and FIs begin to eat heartily and resume their chatter.
As if the last ten minutes never happened at all.
Later, while some have finished their main course and others are still eating, and more rum is being poured from decanters, Dezeeves wanders over to the other table, striking up animated conversations with some of the other FIs and officers there.
I take the opportunity, now we are alone and Ephraine is in conversation with the younger Rhavnan woman across the table, to turn to Drake.
“Was that the test all along?” I ask him quietly. “Get us to send away the swan?”
He barely looks at me.
“It would seem that way.”
“But what would doing that prove?”
“I understand all this as much as you do.” His mouth tightens. “But, if I had to make a guess…”
“Yes?”
“We didn’t fight them at the first opportunity. It made us look weak.” His eyes glaze. “Pliable. Which I can imagine are good traits for conversion to work.”
He looks, really, not much different to how he always looks.
But somehow, I believe there’s a silent rage inside him right now. I can sense it warping the air around him the way the flames in a fire might.
I face him fully. “You couldn’t have fought them.”
He scowls. It’s about the most emotion I’ve ever seen his face reveal.
“Couldn’t I?” He turns his gaze to Dezeeves’ hunched back. “I have excellent aim. I wouldn’t have missed.”
“That may be, but you’d have been killed too. Just look at Ephraine. He looks built to assassinate.”
Drake glances over at Ephraine. But doesn’t look particularly impressed. Just takes a sip of his drink.
“Besides,” I continue. “Did no one ever tell you more wars are won at the dinner table than on the battlefield?”
He swallows, rather forcefully. A muscle ticks in his jaw.
I… don’t like it.
“What?” I ask.
“Did you have many conversations with the Queen, while you were living in the Palace?”
I flinch. “No. Never. Why?”
He speaks stiltedly, eyes fully on me again. “I believe the line you just said was one of her particular favourites.” He pauses. “And I’ve been listening to you. The way you were speaking to Dezeeves. The way you sent away the swan. It made me believe…”
“Made you believe what?”
He leans in further. “Ara. You cried out when our hands touched.”
I nod.
“You felt what I felt.”
“The sparks.” I nod again. “I’ve felt them when we touched before. But you didn’t seem to. Until now.”
“Do you have talents?”
Blood magic.
“None,” I reply. “Other than the language ability.”
His voice ripples out slowly. “But you didn’t know about that, until Dezeeves told you.”
“No…”
“The Queen has a unique talent,” he states, in the same quiet, careful tone. “Not known to many.”
“What is it?”
Drake flicks his eyes like throwing a stone, indicating an area opposite us. I follow his line of sight. See Riss, who has turned to face us.
She’s clearly listening. Her pale forehead is furrowed, deep in thought.
I hadn’t thought about her. I should have considered that she would be able to eavesdrop.
“I can’t say, here,” he replies, now speaking in Rhavnan. “I’m not sure of the full nature of it myself. But just be cautious. Of things you think you know.”
He sets his drink on the table – just as Cosmer’s tall, lean frame plops down into Dezeeves’ seat.
“What are you two whispering about?” he asks forcefully.
“Ask Riss,” Drake says. “She heard every word.”
Cosmer’s voice is cool. “Yes. She said you two were scheming about something. That’s why I came over.”
“We’re not,” I tell him, sincerely. “We’re just trying to get through this. Pass the test. And we don’t know if we did.”
“You must have done. We’re all still alive. Dezeeves seems happy.” Cosmer shuffles in his seat. “Good thing it’s over, really. When they brought out the swan with the knife, I thought…”
His words – their meaning – are like a slap to me.
“Thought what? That we’d throw it?” I ask, flat. “Or start trying to stab you all? Which is it? Because I’d love to know.”
He opens his mouth, then snaps it shut. His freckles seem to scrunch into each other.
“We’re not that stupid,” I spit, picking up my glass. “And I thought you would have had a better opinion of me and my character, Cosmer. Since you were my friend for two years.”
“Ara. That’s not… You’ve misunderstood me.”
I finish my drink in one gulp.
“I understood you perfectly. You can go back to your seat now.” I throw, as a parting shot, “Leave us dirty Rhavnans to our scheming.”
Cosmer’s eyes linger on me a second.
But his back arches, and he gets up.
I try not to stare at him as he goes back to his table. Since the moment I came here, it has seemed impossible to not be aware of wherever he is in a room.
I hope it will pass.
“Funny,” Drake says beside me, softly.
I snap to him. “What?”
“You acted as if the thought had never crossed your mind. You made him think it didn’t.”
I narrow my eyes. “What thought?”
He speaks with almost relish. “The thought of killing them all.”
I freeze.
“I never thought that.”
He smirks.
“Didn’t you?”
My pulse spikes. I feel the way a mouse must feel, bleeding out in a trap.
Because, he’s right.
And I’d be lying to him – and myself – if I tried to convince him otherwise.
It’s beside the point. We can say nothing else to each other, as at that moment Dezeeves resumes his seat, another drink in his hand, and the world moves on.