The Swan’s Daughter

The Swan

Araminta had no reason to suspect anything would be amiss with her hatchlings. For more than a hundred years, Araminta had hoped and waited and now, finally, it was happening and she refused to be anything but joyous.

In the manner of the veritas swans from whom she had descended, Araminta had brooded for six years.

Her long, golden hair grew ever more thick and lustrous until a terrible itch set into her scalp.

For a whole month, she paced the polished stone floors of Hush Manor.

Her husband, the wizard Prava, concocted all manner of potions to soothe her and for the first time, Araminta did not fight his draughts. But a dozen of them made no difference.

"This is simply how it is," she said miserably as she scratched at her head.

Prava was a monster, but he took his duties as a husband with uncommon solemnity. "What can I do to help?"

Araminta sighed and stared longingly through the carved windows.

If one were to look at Hush Manor from a distance, one might remark that it looked as though the manor had been built atop a pile of clouds.

Perhaps that person would shake their head in disbelief, convinced this was mere folly and a trick of the weather.

But as it so happened, Hush Manor was built upon clouds.

Long ago a handful of lazy cirrus and cumulus could not be bothered to stay in the sky and so they had dropped like apples into the Silent Lakes district.

Once there, they had slowly hardened until they were as sturdy as the surrounding black oaks and silver elms. But although they had made their home on the Isle of Malys, their nature was still that of the clouds.

In the evening, they thundered, and lightning skittered through their translucent blue-gray bellies.

And despite possessing no desire to move through the sky, sometimes they could not help but drift in their sleep.

One might look out the window before bed and see the Mourning Pond only to wake up and find oneself on the other side of the Soundless Mere by dawn.

This was where the wizard Prava made his home. In his mind, the location was a kindness to his wife, a reminder of the clouds that had once been her home. Usually, Araminta found it more of a cruelty than a kindness, but this particular week she was grateful for any reminder of the sky.

"I need a place to nest," said Araminta. "When our daughters hatch, I want their first breath to be only the sweetest and coldest air."

Prava took his wife's warm hand and kissed it. "My love, I shall have the most wondrous nest for you by nightfall."

Araminta harrumphed and kept scratching her head.

The wizard Prava hastened to his quarters, which took up the entire north wing of Hush Manor.

Here, he had his study, his room of experiments, his chamber of mirrors in which he conversed with other wizards of import, and, most importantly, his library.

The library lay beneath a dome of polished crystal.

The floor was nearly hidden beneath colorful rugs of woven silk and tufted armchairs.

Prava could not remember what the walls looked like, for the library's remaining space had long since been taken up by leather-bound tomes, vellum scrolls and a couple of unsettling novels printed upon thin slices of bone and bound with human hair.

The moment he entered the library, the books fluttered in excitement.

The novels, which tended to be anxious, shed a few pages—oftentimes prologues, for these were considered largely useless—hoping to gain his notice.

Some of his books did not even wish to be read, but longed to be used as tables for mugs of tea that might only be sipped from once or twice before being sacrificed in the pursuit of endless daydreaming.

"Settle, settle," said the wizard. "Araminta is brooding, and I must make her a nest. Which amongst you shall help me?"

The books quivered. A few of the cookbooks dustily settled back in their shelves.

After a few moments, a shy, slim volume of pure white drifted toward him.

The book was freezing to the touch and the pages within were delicate panes of frost etched in the small, crimped writing of the Aatos Mountains' scholars.

Prava opened the book and felt the secrets of the wind and snow rush through his thoughts.

He smiled.