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Swan Princess : Grey Skies and Ill Tidings (Chapter 1)
🕑 Added 2021-08-30 12:16:48 +0000 UTCChapter One
Grey Skies and Ill Tidings: A Welcome Invitation
A crow cawed somewhere outside, but it sounded wrong.
Aver used her green skirts to hide the motion when she crossed her legs at the ankle. It wasn’t correct, strictly speaking, but she had never gotten in trouble for things she didn’t get seen doing.
‘Is it inside?’ She wondered.
No one else reacted to the discomfiting sound. It was as if they didn’t even hear it.
Aver didn’t outwardly react either, of course. Her head high and proud, she kept her gaze trained on the supplicant explaining why taxes in the southern region would be delayed. Floods had wiped out a road. Even after the water receded, the area was impassible for horses with carts.
‘With our main trade impacted, we needed those taxes… We’re going to have to spend money to get the taxes. Are we going to have enough?’
The king listened gravely. “We understand.” His deep brown eyes pierced through the supplicant, a middle aged man with sweat absolutely dripping down his red face. Aver knew from experience that being the focus of the king’s attention was uncomfortable. “Wait in the courtyard. The steward will bring you some soldiers. They are to assist in clearing the road.”
His hat nearly escaped when the representative of the merchant’s guild bowed low. “Thank you, your Majesty. By your leave, your Majesty.” His relief was palpable. The sound of his cane tapping on the tile was the only break in the oppressive silence as he fled.
“Isn’t there a village in that area?’ Aver wondered. ‘The road passes by… I think it’s the village of Hart’s Fjord. Father didn’t mention it. Did he forget? Can we not afford to help with that, too?’ She kept the question and discomfort off of her face. Her father was open to all of her questions, but not in front of the court.
After reception was over and she was allowed to retire to her rooms, she posed the same question to her handmaiden Elys.
“I believe that’s correct,” she answered after a thoughtful pause. “They must have sustained flooding.” Elys looked a little troubled as she bent her head back down to the fine Pointe de Malines lace that she was making. The pillow she was using was the same rich blue that Aver was using, a gift from a fashionable foreign lady.
Aver nodded, eyes focused on her own project. That was what she was worried about. She stopped mid-motion as she passed one thread over another, frowning at the pattern. Had she made a mistake?
“We just don’t seem to have any luck this year,” Elys said. When Aver glanced up, she saw that her companion was staring motionlessly at her work. Her eyes were distant. “It’s like we’re cursed.”
She felt her jaw tense. Elys was not wrong. Aver wanted to deny it, but she couldn’t even say that they all still had their health. Aver reached out and squeezed her friend’s hand. Then she turned back to her own work wordlessly.
Worthwhile endeavor or not, she and Elys kept at it until the church bells rang for prayer. She carefully set the collection of bobbins aside, looking glumly at her progress. There was such a long way to go. The new fashion plates showed bodices with rows upon rows of frothy lace. She and Elys were too high status to not be at the forefront of fashion, so they needed to update gowns as quickly as possible.
After the midday prayers, Aver had Elys help her change into more comfortable evening clothes. The layers of wide skirts were replaced by a relatively simple and light two layers over her drawers and chemise. The red gown was fashionable enough to pass muster, with embroidered flowers on the white muslin visible through her split sleeves.
“Tea is in 20 minutes,” Elys reminded her quietly. She made her own minor costume change, taking off the modest hair covering.
“We could run away to the kitchens and make our own tea,” Aver said back, just as softly. The servant waiting outside would run ahead the instant they left, informing the kitchens about timing.
Elys sighed. “I don’t think anyone will believe that we forgot.”
“I don’t think they ever believed it,” Aver pointed out. She covered a yawn, not at all looking forward to more social duties. “Maybe we just aren’t cute enough for indiscretions to be ignored.”
“I remain as cute as ever, my lady.” Elys tidied up the room while Aver put their lace making materials into a case for travel.
They stepped into the hall and the servant bowed and went off at a fast pace. They followed, heading to a social salon that Aver was hosting. The guestlist was thankfully small- Elys’s mother, the bishop’s sister, Aver’s maiden aunt, and Lady Pophana.
Pophana was the first to arrive with a curtsey and a silver box with a curious-smelling black powder. Aver tried not to eye the lace already on her bodice when she accepted the gift. “This is very new,” she said, in a tone that didn’t quite manage to sound modest. “It’s the fashionable thing on the continent. Shall we have this instead of our tea?”
Aver’s aunt Bonite, a lover of tea, frowned.
“Of course,” Aver said, “How delightful.” She raised a hand and the valet leaned forward. “Please tell the kitchens to bring us all a serving of coffee, in addition to our tea.”
Bonite relaxed. She settled onto a chaise, tucking her brown skirt to the side.
Aver sent the valet off with the silver tin of valuable and fragrant powder. Elys’ mother Lady Syles arrived at the same time as Madame Devon floated in on a cloud of perfume and the smell of old cheese.
‘Bathe,’ Aver thought at the older woman. ‘Go home and bathe.’ Her smile did not waver. No matter how badly she smelled, no one could reproach the Bishop’s sister. Perhaps if the Bishop visited the family home, he would tell her. Aver determined to add that hope to her nightly prayer.
“Princess, I hear there was a reception this morning,” Lady Syles said. Her gaze flicked to her daughter, who had not been invited to attend. “How was it?”
“It went well,” Aver said, trying to remember if anything of note had happened. “The king sent soldiers to clear roads in the south. I understand that the river overflowed.”
Madame Devon tsked. “It has been dreadfully rainy lately,” she gravely pronounced. “Nothing but grey skies and ill tidings.”
“It isn’t so bad as all that!” Lady Pophana cried cheerfully. “I heard that the Cyrlians launched a new type of ship, faster than anything the continent has. They had a marvelous water pageant. Isn’t that exciting?” She glanced around the room. “I wonder if it will come here.”
“Perhaps,” Aver said, thinking it wasn’t very likely. Trade with Cyra was not going well. They had cut back on the amount of textiles and tiles they would send, after a disease had ravaged the sheep that would normally produce the fine wool that the kingdom usually exported. Motion caught her eye. “Oh, is that our drinks?” She straightened her back as liveried servants came in with trays. It apparently took 3 to serve both coffee and tea. They set up a pretty little service, with the coffee in silver cups to match the prettily wrought box it had come in. The tea was in white china.
“Oh, I am so excited,” Pophana said. Her grey eyes were practically sparkling. “You’ll love it, I know that you will. Oh- more sugar than that, I think. You’ll want cream. I love it with cream.”
Aver took a sip of her micro managed beverage and had to use the cup to hide her mouth. She suppressed a whole body shudder.
“How delightful,” Lady Syles said, putting her cup down. “An interesting novelty, Pophana. Thank you for introducing us.” She picked up her teacup.
“Oh, it certainly is something,” Madame Devon said, frowning into her cup. “My word. What is it?”
Pophana twisted her hands in her lap. “It’s made from a bean.”
“A bean?” Madame Devon swished the liquid around in her cup. “How bizarre. Who would think to drink a bean?”
“I think it’s quite lovely,” Elys said brightly, putting down her empty cup. “Thank you. You always have the most interesting things. By the way, Lady Pophana, your lacework is stunning.”
“Oh, this old thing?” She smiled widely and fanned herself. “It was my mother’s. Thank you so much.”
‘No. That’s new. It isn’t discolored at all, and the pattern.. That’s far too fashionable to be from Pophana’s mother.’
The smile felt sour, but Aver complimented Pophana on her inheritance.
It was an attempt to be gracious, after all. Pophana had probably been conscious of the financial situation at court. She was aiming to be modest, because it was obvious that the princess herself could not afford to buy lace or silks or cloudlike Dhaka muslin.
They spend the rest of the salon in light conversation while working on needlepoint and lace. When it was finally done, Aver said goodbye to Elys and went to her rooms.
With no one to see her, Aver laid out on her bed like a starfish and looked up at the stone ceiling for a while.
She was tired. She was tired of things going wrong. Her engagement had been cut off, her mother was ill, her father was distant, and her kingdom was somehow both bleeding money and rich in natural disasters. She was going to inherit the responsibility of guiding a sinking ship.
She closed her eyes and allowed herself a few minutes for self pity. Aver wanted things to be how they had been before, when her only task had been learning and she’d been free to play. She didn’t feel like an adult, much less a crown princess.
‘If I want to talk to Father tonight, I need to send a messenger.’
Duty got her up off of her bed and to flag a page. While she waited for a response, she gritted her teeth and worked on the lacework yet again. She needed to finish this because she needed to look the part.
Her vision was blurred by the headache she had by the time the messenger returned to invite her to visit Father in his study.
The hall she passed through was chilly, even though it was only the tail end of summer. He was facing away from the door when she entered. His normally proud frame was slightly slumped over his mahogany writing desk. The fading light coming in the grand window was slightly red tinted by the shards of colored glass.
“Good evening, Father,” she said. “I had a question about the reception today.”
He straightened slowly and turned around. His normally hard face softened at the sight of her. “What was that, Averia?”
She crossed the room to stand next to him. Even when he was seated, she could rest her head on his shoulder. “The flooding concerns me. The merchant didn’t mention the village nearby.”
“Yes, Hart’s Fjord,” the king agreed. He sighed and rubbed at his temple. “No one has asked for assistance. Without a request, I hesitate to send troops away from the capital. Tensions are high.”
“One of the ladies mentioned the Cyrlian navy today.” Aver worried at her lower lip. “Lady Pophana seemed to think it was fun. However..”
“No navy has ever made warships for the amusement of Lady Pophana,” her father agreed. He had a wry, slightly bleak smile, but his gaze was miles away. “I do not think we are on the brink of war. However, our relationship is getting worse. I get the impression that the Chancellor thought we were concealing superior shipments, not that we had less to export. And they have never been on good terms with Jessamine. We might be in the way of that.”
“In the way?” She repeated. Aver frowned. “That sounds specific. Is there something going on that I don’t know about?”
Her Father looked her in the eye and managed to turn his smile more genuine. “Nothing for you to worry about. I’m glad that you came by. I have a letter from your aunt Jessamine about you.”
“About me?” Aver leaned around him to peer at the desk. Her eyes found an envelope with the seal of Her Majesty Queen Jessamine the 3rd. “What is it? Is it an invitation?”
“It is, as a matter of fact.” He handed her the letter. “She’d like you to spend a year in her court. You could make contacts and learn how to conduct your own court.”
“Oh, that sounds like a useful experience.” Aver snatched the letter and scanned her aunt’s familiar handwriting, grinning at the green ink. “I love staying with Aunt Jessamine.”
Her father hmmed. “Well, I think there will be fewer plays and horseback races.”
“No, we will definitely do that,” Aver disagreed. She took the letter with her and curled up on the sofa. “And go swim in the sea, and throw a summer festival.”
He sighed, but the mood was light. “Aren’t you a little old for those things?”
“Is your sister?” Aver asked flippantly. “If you think she is, please inform her and relay her response to me.”
Father snorted. “I won’t waste my breath.” He paused. “Having said that, I did want to hear your thoughts regarding your engagement.”
That got her full attention. “It’s back on?”
He grimaced. “No, no. That deal is over. I’ve been looking at new candidates. Before make a choice, I think that we need to find our priority. Do we consolidate your power and family influence? Or, in light of our financial difficulties, is it preferable to make a meaningful connection with a strategic partner who might bring wealth through marriage?”
Aver wrinkled her nose. “I.. might prefer a person who won’t get in my way, but it is a lot easier to rule a happy country with more resources.”
Her father hummed. “For that, then, I thought of the second son from Spain. He has a title and land and retinue, and the love of his parents.”
“I’ll work harder on my Spanish,” Aver said in undertone. She raised her voice again. “I understand. I would probably meet him on the Continent, were I with Jessamine?”
“Oh, certainly,” he agreed. “She would make it so.” He re-adjusted in his seat. “She will probably ensure you meet all sorts of influential lords and ladies in your age range whether you express interest in them or not. It is far better to have personal relationships with your peers before they are solid in their ways.”
Aver nodded her understanding. She read through the letter’s most interesting points a second time, tilting her head to the side. “Who was your other favorite candidate?”
It took a moment for her father to answer. “What- oh, you mean for marriage, in the aim of consolidating influence.” He cleared his throat. “Do you remember Viscount Edrelle?”
She squinted, trying to think. “Not really.”
“Well, he is my third cousin. His wife had a son from her first marriage. He’s not going to inherit anything, would probably come with a horse and one guard, if any retinue at all. However, he’s supposedly a clever lad, only 2 years your elder, and it would strengthen the ties between branches of the family. He was raised with his half siblings and it would gain you the benefit of their influence.”
Aver leaned back and pulled her socked feet up onto the cushions as she thought about it. “He’s not royalty by blood, so he wouldn’t have any aspirations of being King Regnant here.”
“You could just keep him as Prince Consort if you have any suspicion he’ll try to exert influence,” her father agreed. “I could claim it was a condition of marriage to protect your interests.”
She hummed. “I don’t hate either of those suggestions, Papa.” She put her feet back on the floor as she remembered that she wasn’t in her own room. “I suppose the best thing to do is to meet both of them and see if one of them annoys me terribly.”
“Or see if one of them is charming and kind,” her father pointed out. She could hear the smile in his voice as he said, “I don’t think it’s too much to hope for good traits.”
She wrinkled her nose doubtfully.
Her father laughed and put up both of his hands. “You’ll go to your aunt, then?” At her nod, he reached out and ruffled her hair. “Go tell your mother, then. You’ll have to leave soon to beat the storms.”
“Wait, soon? Soon soon?”
“I’ll speak with the court magician,” he said, instead of a real answer. At her obvious dissatisfaction, he shrugged. “I don’t control the weather, Averia!”
“Send me with a magician who does!” she faux-ordered, waving her hand imperiously.
He snorted. “You look like your mother when you do that.”
Aver curtsied on her way out of the room.
The visit with her mother was short. The Queen was sitting up in bed with a scarf twisted around her head. When she had to go to court she wore a wig to cover her thinning hair, but she spent so much time resting that it was better not to bother on most days.
When the door was closed, Aver did not bother with formalities. She crawled onto the bed and laid her head on her mother’s lap. She explained the situation while her mother ran her elegant fingers through Aver’s dark hair.
“You’ll behave for your Aunt?” Mother said, only nominally a question.
Aver grinned sunnily up at her. “I will be every bit the lady that the Queen is.”
Mother rolled her eyes. “Heaven help us, you’ll be arguing with courtiers in public and fencing on the streets.”
“Did she do that?”
“When she was younger than you,” Mother said sternly. “So please do not attempt to solidify it as a family tradition.”
“I don’t know how to fence, anyway.” Aver squirmed. “Why does aunt Jessamine know that?”
“Oh, it was popular for a time. For a few seasons, 4 at least.” Mother stopped her movement and let her hands just rest on Aver’s head. “In any case, you’ll need a retinue. Little Elys, of course, and perhaps her mother.”
“I think she’s afraid of ocean travel,” Aver pointed out. It was true, but she was mostly thinking of stifling it would be for poor Elys to have her mother over her shoulder, trying to spot a good match.
Mother sighed dramatically. “Very well, then. Madame Gorgonzola Cheese?”
“Mother,” Aver said, appalled. “You wouldn’t do that to me.”
“You need proper supervision. A widow or married lady, to safeguard your reputation,” Mother said mildly. “The Bishop’s sister is highly regarded, you know.”
She scrunched up her nose and thought about it. “Lady Pophana?” Aver suggested. She seemed to be up to date on current events, so she would probably be eager to be someplace so fashionable. And she would be a good source of information.
“Very well. Then a maid, two footmen for a carriage, and a guard…” Mother trailed off. “This is going to be expensive. Can we afford to update your wardrobe?”
Aver grimaced. “I’m mostly done with a lace project,” she said. “I can stitch that on the blue dress, so I don’t look like a total country maid.”
“A good start, but I think we can do a little better than that.” Her mother frowned. “Bring me your peach gown. I’ll sew pearls to the sleeves. Give the green to Elys-no, sorry, she’ll have her own wardrobe to work on.” Mother thought for a moment. “Bring me all your court gowns, and that old silk cap. I’ll have my handmaidens see what we can do to bring you more in line with the new fashion plates.”
It took two weeks of furious needlework, but Aver and Elys looked much more like young ladies of culture than slightly backwards island maidens by the time they were loaded into a carriage. Aver was a little sorry to see the chest of glamourous clothes shut and latch. She kept a gloved hand on it protectively as they went down the bumpy road.
However bumpy the road, the sea was worse. Aver was sick all 3 days of the trip. At her side, Lady Pophana clung miserably to the railing. The large black feathers in her red hair were a bit droopy. “Imagine if we were on that Crylian ship,” she said wistfully. “We would have been there yesterday.”
“It might have been worse faster,” Aver pointed out. Her stomach growled painfully, but she didn’t dare to eat.
When they arrived on dry land, they delayed a full day in the home of a city notable in order to recover their energy and spirits. They set off again, with 3 slightly more cheerful noble ladies and an increasingly less shy maid inside the carriage while the footmen rode out front with the guard.
“Have we been gone long enough to eat the pastries they packed for us?” Lady Pophana asked in a sly undertone.
“I have been very aware of the lemon tarts,” Elys agreed. She sniffed the air.
Aver waved her hand. “I think so. We don’t need to stop, do we?”
“Please let me,” said the maid, who was visibly uncomfortable if anyone addressed her by her name, which was Pollyanna. “Here you are, my lady. What wine will you take?”
“I’d like-” The lemon treat in Aver’s hand went flying and hit the back of the seat when the carriage came to a violent, sudden stop. All 4 women cried out, but they could still hear the men out front shouting.
“Get out- I mean, please move from the road!” Called an extremely exasperated baritone. “We very nearly hit you, man.”
“Pardon, but we did not see you walking out.” Someone was much more polite. The carriage moved slightly as someone got off. “Sir, I’d like to ask you to move to the side a bit.”
Aver looked at the other ladies, feeling her brows pull together. She held a finger up to her lips and then drew open the curtains. She and Elys leaned out slightly, Else ducking down below Aver’s chin.
A man was standing still in the middle of the road. Her eyebrows shot up at the sight.
His dark trousers were skin tight, which would seem old-fashioned were it not for the strangely glossy finish. His black shirt was largely open, exposing a thoroughly indecent amount of chest. It was decorated with feathers, in a very brave sartorial choice.
“Lady Pophana, this man has stolen what must be your feathered cloak,” Aver said quietly.
Pophana made an offended sound and poked her own head out. She paused. “I do like that.”
“Sir, I must ask you to step aside.” The guard was standing in between the stranger and the carriage, with a hand at his hip in a subtle warning.
The stranger cocked his head to the side. His eyes found Aver, without a single bit of interest in Pophana or Elys. “I don’t think so.” He lifted his arms and feathers fell off.
There was a horrible, sudden cacophony of caws and shrieks.
‘Oh,’ Aver realized. ‘It wasn’t feathers falling. Birds? He had birds in his cloak?’
The sky went black.
___________________________
One day, the King received a letter from his sister Jessamine. He opened it to see a banal and terrifying sentence, after the obligatory greeting.
“Averia has yet to arrive. Did her plans change?”
