Then a weaselly sort of smile stretched across his jaw.
I twisted the chords in my lap. “Youpromisednot to laugh,” I said.
“Ifyou called me Cyrus. Though, I’m glad you did not, as I cannot believe you’re mostprizedpossession is adirty old feath-”
“Spare me!” I spat. Miraculously he stopped. “It wasn’t adirtyfeather. It was agift.”
“Uh-huh,” he said. “From a boy.”
“Yes.” I did not look at him, fearing he would somehow read my mind and pluck Ser Willem from its depths. But he already knew.
“Theostler’sboy,” he said.
“No!” I lied.
“Yes!”
“Gah! Must Ibegyou not to conjure him?”
Mr. Evergreen lit with the way that humored him so heartedly that only after a minute ofadmiringmy pain could he say, “How could I not? He’s the only thing you ever talk about!”
“He isnot!”I said.“He’snotthe only thing I talk about! I speak of many things. Many topics. Many places. Many people. It’s not like-! Stop laughing. I’m trying to—Stop it!”
“Now you’ll try and convince me he’snotthe boy you kissed?”
“Swans mate for life!”I cried. “I took the feather as a sign he believed us to besoulmates,Mr. Evergreen. So yes. I-” I lowered my voice. “Ikissedhim for it. You will take that to your grave!”
“Isthatwhat you thought of the gift?” he asked, elated. “That he was calling you hissoulmate?”
“What other motive would he have?”
“I couldn’t be too sure,” Cyrus wheezed. “I haven’t been a young man in many years.”
“Swans are dangerous!”
“Oh, I know,” he said.
“Willem risked his life for me! He was a romantic!” I said.
“A romantic, was he? And are we ignoring the fact that your name isliterallythe Old Oreian word for swan, with an ‘a’ at the end of it?”
“What?”
“I don’t think he was romantic. I think he was making a joke at your expense. He probably didn’t realize how psychotic they were until he got there. Seriously, love. Had you been named Dove, Sameer, and his father would have spent a fraction of the copper they did for ice for your ball.”
“I–” I puffed my chest. “You think Will was what? Insincere in his affection for me?”
“No,” he said. “No, I just don’t think the boy was being purposely romantic at all. I think he knew you liked birds.Soulmates!”he teased. “My God, Swan. Such a thought. How old were you again?”
I pursed my lips at him. “Oh, hush!” I said though I had begun to question the boy’s devotion. “You’re a cynic.”
“Oh, definitively,” he said. “But I’ve always been this way.”
“And you’re jealous,” I dug.
“Soulmates,” he muttered.
“You can taunt me all you want, Mr. Evergreen, but I know what I know, and I know that Will loved me and that I—” I stopped.
