“But your birth also had to be reported to the new royal archivists,” Dmitry said as he tapped the other book. “So they gave you another surname. The name they took when they went into hiding.”
I read the simpler entry, “June fourteenth, 1986, male child born, Mikhail Alexeiovich Vasiliev.”
“It was ballsy of them to give you that patronymic,” Dmitry said. “But Alexei is a common enough name, and no one noticed. Not until Lord Timofey started putting it all together. The missing records, the attack on Kirvenia, the inaccurate military log, and you, Your Majesty. Your name. Your face. Your swan.”
“My swan?”
“When they came to this planet, the Black Larchs originally settled in Australia, but then they saw what our people had built here and coveted it,” Valeriya said. “They came first as visitors, offering alliances and friendship. Talk of trade between us. We welcomed them and when our defenses were lowered, they made their move. Their king led an attack in the middle of the night, slaughtering our soldiers, most in their beds, and taking control of the court.”
“Their king? Then Nikolay is a true king,” I murmured, my mind still processing it all.
“Yes, just notourking,” Dmitry said. “His father tried to wipe out all memory of yours. He killed everyone who wouldn't swear fealty to him and take a vow to never speak of the real Lebedevs. He burned the portraits and every book about them that he could find. He even covered the murals of the Lebedevs in the temple, ousted the holy ones, and made that sacred place into a theater. But he missed a few things.”
“The paintings,” Kon said. “Remember how you said swans are often painted that brilliant white?”
“Yes.”
“That's because it's a tribute to the royal line. The true Lebedevs.”
“I don't understand.”
“The proof is in your plumage, Mishen'ka,” Valeriya said. “The Lebedev line breeds Larchs with swan forms of the most brilliant white, so white that their feathers appear to glow from within. So white that even in man form, that brilliance shines through.” She waved at my hair. “They say that the Lebedevs are more aligned with their dual forms than any other Larch. Hair like snow in man form and feet like hands in swan form.”
“Feet like hands? You mean my five toes? That's a birth defect.”
“A birthmark, not a defect. Mishen'ka, you shine with royalty. From the top of your head to the bottom of your feet, you are a king. It's undeniable to any who know what to look for.”
“But . . . no. If it's so undeniable, wouldn't Nikolay know who I was?”
Everyone went still.
I searched their faces before settling on Konstantin.
“He knows, swanling.”
“Then why bring me here?”
“We don't know why he did it,” Dmitry said. “None of us who remembered the old monarchs even noticed you until he brought you down to the village one day. There was no mistaking that hair and those eyes. You have your father's eyes—kind and steady.”
“It was a dumb move to foster him,” one of the men I didn't know said.
“Who are you two?” I asked, looking at the strangers.
“My husband and son,” Valeriya said. “Fedor and Grigory.”
“Oh, hello. Thank you for coming.” I felt stupid for saying it, but the propriety just came out.
They bowed to me.
“You have been a beacon of hope to us,” Dmitry said to me. “Even raised by that monster, you are your father's son. You help us, protect us, and have even inspired us, Your Majesty. We have gathered under your name and formed a rebellion. The White Feather.”
An image of Gleb's gift popped into my head. The White Feather. Holy shit.
“Hold on.” I held up my hands. “I'm no king.”
“Yes, you are, swanling. You've always been the King,” Konstantin said. “I know you sense it. You feel the truth of this.”
“But . . .” I whispered and looked around at all the hope on their faces. Hope in me. That I could do something miraculous. Save them. But I was just a man.
