Cigno

Scène Trois

Wolfgang's flanks were warm under her legs. He nickered , trepidation moving his head side-to-side. Madrigal patted his neck and murmured nonsense words to him, feeling taut muscles beneath his sable skin. They flinched at the call of an owl and the various sounds of creatures in the woods. 

His fear was palpable, a thundercloud of paranoia and anxiety. It had hung over the two of them since they had entered the woods, refusing to dissipate despite Madrigal's constant reassurances. She sympathized; all she'd wanted to do was bury her head in his mane and forget about this stupid idea. But the nighttime cries could not be ignored, and neither could her mission. 

During her escape, it had seemed like a solid plan. Find the magician and have him save her happy ending. All that it required was a bit of deception and secrecy. It had been simple enough to dismiss the servants and any prying eyes which pledged allegiance to Lady Danseur. Because of the hunting trip, a skeleton crew of servants manned the estate. Those who weren't conscripted were either groundskeepers, kitchen staff, or personal attendants. And of the remaining staff, only three were of danger to Madrigal.

Compared to Lady Danseur's training, faking a migraine had been child's play. Her ladies' maids had been hesitant at first to leave her side. They offered massages and herbal remedies, but her insistence on solitude had won in the end. She smiled at the memory; they were nothing if not loyal. At least their concern for her was true.

Her original plan had been to sneak down the servant's corridor to the stables, but her maids had foiled that with their dutifulness. They had stationed themselves outside her quarters should she need their assistance. Under normal circumstances, Madrigal would have found it endearing. But tonight she found it annoying.

Stymied, she'd almost lost hope—how else was she supposed to reach the stables undetected?
At that moment, Benno and Odile had erupted into a series of squawks and chirps. She'd gone to quiet them, but stopped short when she saw what had upset them. Perched along the balcony railing was Odile's longtime fan, the nighthawk. It cocked its head and locked its silver-rimmed gaze with hers. Then with one flap of its wings, it had disappeared. 

Madrigal went to the spot where it had been, tracing her fingers along the railing. The bird hadn't stayed long enough to warm the metal. Behind her, Benno squawked once more, followed by Odile's soothing chirps. 

Her fingers snagged on the vines wrapped around the balcony. Thick, sturdy vines, almost ropelike in their strength. She couldn't count the times the groundskeepers had attempted to cut down the vines which crawled up her balcony. Each attempt had ended the same: broken shears and bloodied hands. Saints-cursed, the groundskeepers would spit afterwards. Impossible. Better luck next year. And so the cycle would repeat, either until all the gardening tools were mangled to pieces or the groundskeepers admitted defeat. 

In the darkness of the moonless night, shadows obscured the full length of the vines. From what Madrigal recalled, the vines climbed the entirety of the manor's wall. If their growth went uninterrupted, they'd soon devour the manor whole.

If they were strong enough...could she actually...was the fall worth it?

I was tricked out of my own happy ending, mi cigno. Do not make the same mistakes as I did. Do not underestimate those who would see you suffer. 

The loneliness of the past months struck Madrigal in full. She stifled a gasp as she remembered the hours locked in her quarters, bending to the wills of others. Of being surrounded and seen but never listened to. Of seeking a familiar face, a comforting hand. Of being turned away, ignored for another. 

She was at her wit's end. There was no one who could help her, no one who cared enough to see what she was about to lose. No one within the kingdom's border that is.