Music ripples through the forest. I stir from sleep, opening my eyes to the forest. Sorrowful melodies envelop me, their echoes whispered from tree to tree. Yet amongst the mourning, brighter chords emerge, sure as the daylight raises the pitch of night. It isn't carefree and bubbly like the court's music. Instead, it's a hopeful optimism, the promise of triumph against all odds.

I rub the back of my neck as I listen. It's sore from pressing against the tree trunk all night. Minutes later, a realization hits me. This is the bird I hear every morning, starting the year my mother died. It's beautiful at the palace, but out here, it's captivating. The song has an undeniable magnetism. I push myself to my feet, testing my ankle. To my relief, it doesn't hurt as much as yesterday, so I hobble away from my sleeping spot.

Trying to pinpoint the sound's direction is hard, especially since it encircles me. But the volume grows with each step I take. More harmonies join in until a full symphony pulses through the trees. A burst of energy floods my veins, and I hurry my pace despite a limp for fear that the chorus may end before I reach it.

I don't know why I feel so compelled to find it. I only know that I must. Perhaps my brain hasn't fully awoken yet and doesn't know rationality. Or perhaps the reason runs deeper—an inherent tie to my mother. Either way, I don't stop, even when the voice begins to fade.

Pale wood arches in the distance, a portal from dirt to smooth stone, dense trees to a courtyard. I pass under, into a garden bursting with pastel flowers and satin-leaved bushes. A misty-blue castle rises beyond, and steps cascade from the elevated entrance to a lake shrouded in weeping willows. Clear, whistling notes emanate from it, piercing the still forest.

What is this place?

The air seems to sparkle, perhaps from fireflies, though if I didn't know better, I'd call them fairies. I follow the gray path that reflects the moon's final light. The cobbles wind through the garden, passing by a break in the trees. I stop to stare at the stretch of shining waters, at the musical spring I hear every morning.

I would've continued on my way, explored more, but suddenly, I can't move. A woman stands in the lake's center, surrounded by swans. White silk drapes over one shoulder and ripples into the water. Her sleek platinum hair spills to her knees as if the sky poured liquid moonbeams over her. She starts to turn around, and I duck behind a willow tree.

My body freezes, solidifies into bark. I can only stare at her as an aria pours from her lips. I fear my heart might stop beating too until I feel it quicken in my chest. That face—her blue eyes, diamond-shaped jaw, and petite nose—I've seen it. I know it.

I know her.

"Princess... Odeia?" I breathe.

I steal another glance at the singing woman. It can't be, yet there's no mistaking who she resembles. Princess Odeia, the long-lost heir to the throne, the one announced as dead, stands before me. She, or at least the image of her, is whom I've heard every morning for the past four years.

But how did she end up here? Where even is "here?"

Before I can stop myself, my feet step from behind the tree. The moon casts a mystical glow over the lake, onto Odeia's pure, blue eyes. Her irises land on me, and the song dies on her lips. Only the swans' accompaniment continues.

For a minute she seems paralyzed, a statue among the waters. Then, she clutches her soaked skirt and takes a step forward, then another and another, faster and faster until she reaches the shore.

"Aylo? Is that you?" Her voice is light and silvery, like she's singing instead of talking. I'm unable to respond. She's a ghost, pale as the swans. I'm certain I'm dreaming, yet I can't wake up. Reality never felt more certain.

Odeia stands before me.

"Y-you're alive?" I stammer.

"I—well, yes." Her eyes sweep the garden, then she pulls me to a marble bench. "How did you find me?"

"Your voice," I say. "Yesterday, Sigvard and I went hunting, and I got lost. When I heard you sing this morning, I followed it here."

Horror widens Odeia's eyes. "My singing is that loud?"

"Why, yes. You didn't, uh, know?"

Her white hair swishes as she shakes her head. "No one told me. In fact, no one's spoken to me for four years." Odeia pauses. "If I had known, I wouldn't have sung that loudly. No one can find me here. It's even dangerous for you to be here." She threads her thin fingers together in her lap to stifle a tremor. "You have to leave."

"But there's so much I want to talk about." I have to speak with her about the investigation. So many questions revolve in my brain. She could know something we don't, provide that missing piece to our scattered puzzle.

"Whatever you have to say, you must hurry. I only have a little more time as a human."

My brow scrunches in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I've been...hidden all these years as a shape-shifter. During the day, I turn into a swan to hide my true form. That way, no one will find me."

"But I found you."

"Most people aren't poking around the forest at night, and I need to stretch at some point. My muscles got too cramped as a perpetual swan, which made it hard for me to swim. The forest helps hide me, too. You've wandered far from where you ought to be to get here."

"What is this place?" I ask. "It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

Odeia beams. "It is. If I'm going to be in hiding, there's no better place than the ancient Saursi Palace."

"I thought it was destroyed," I say, recalling Lady Nyoko's history lessons.

"No, it was only shrouded deep inside this forest."

More questions press against my head, begging to be freed. "How did you escape prison and come here?"

Odeia's eyes shift from me to the ground. "I-I'm not sure if I should tell you."

"Please? I promise I won't tell anyone."

She releases a sigh. "By turning into a swan."

"What? How? People don't just turn into swans."

Several seconds tick by before Odeia continues more slowly. "I received help."

Excitement builds in my veins. It must have been the mysterious 'E' who sent her the letters. For weeks, I've been desperate to know the answer.

"From whom?" I ask.

Odeia shakes her head. "I can't say. In fact, we shouldn't be talking at all." She rises, dress flowing into a straight line to her feet.

"What? Why?" She can't leave, not when I'm so close to answers.

"I'm supposed to be dead," Odeia says. "If anyone discovers that I'm still alive...who knows what will happen to me."

I don't know what to say. She's right, as of right now, since she would still be convicted for my mother's murder. But I refuse to accept her fate. The heir shouldn't hide forever. It isn't right.

"What if you were proven innocent?" I ask.

"All these years later?" Odeia's eyes turn to glassy, distant water. "I fear that's impossible."

"Nothing is impossible." I push myself to my feet, standing at eye level with her. "In fact, we're already working on it."

Odeia's gaze snaps back to me. "Really? With whom?"

"Sigvard and Benno."

"Prince Benno of Riaca?" I nod. Odeia becomes more preoccupied with the willow tree roots than responding, and the swans' humming swells in her silence. I need a way to convince her to talk. She knows more than we do. As long as she doesn't guard information, we could collect the evidence to overturn her sentence.

"You're still the king's chosen heir," I say at last.

Odeia's head turns back to me. "What?"

"Not in official writing," I clarify. "But I found a letter declaring his wishes."

"Where was it?"

"In your journal." I shift, suddenly uncomfortable. I doubt I'd be pleased that someone read my deepest thoughts, no matter their intentions.

"You have my journals?" Odeia's expression stills, a crisp sheet of paper hiding invisible ink. I feel obligated to explain our situation fully before she shows any upset.

"The first one we found was by accident. But by reading it, we realized that you couldn't have killed our mother. We've fallen down a rabbit hole of evidence since then. The problem is that we don't know what it means yet, only that it clears your name."

A blush tints the slight concave along her cheeks. "I hope there's nothing embarrassing written in there."

"Don't worry, you actually sound quite smart. Definitely in your right mind, unlike what the court claimed..."

My statement falls into repose. It isn't right to question their decisions. It's the first step to uprising, and I want there to be a revolt. Saursi needs stability above all else. But can an unjust kingdom be stable? I don't think so, especially if a killer may walk the palace halls.

"I just don't understand why they accused me," Odeia says, her voice small. She sniffs, a tearful glimmer in her eyes.

"We think you were framed," I say. "Though I don't know why someone would want to kill my mother." Or you, I add silently. Surely whoever did it knew what Odeia's punishment would be.

"I don't either. She was a lovely person, inside and out. I wouldn't have wanted any other person as my step-mother." Sincerity shone through every word Odeia spoke, just like in her journal.

"Well, the only thing to do is to connect both deaths," I state. "I'm certain they're related, and once we find the motive of one, we'll know the other."

Odeia's chin shifts to the side. "What deaths?"

I suddenly realize she doesn't know. Once more, I grow stiff like the wise willows that see and know too much, the willows that sag from grief and weep at the water's edge. My throat constricts.

"Oh, Odeia." I can barely choke out the words. "Your Father... King Ivandor... he's..." My eyelashes send a tear rolling down my cheek.

"Dead?"

I nod, and Odeia lets out a gasping sob. Her legs give way, and she drops onto the bench. I sink beside her, wrapping my arm around her narrow shoulders. The melody around us morphs to a slow, sorrowful ballad. The notes drag more emotion from me until Odeia and I tremble with mourning. I haven't cried like this for Father yet. I had no one to share this level of grief with, not Sigvard, Uncle Rothbart, or even Benno or Clemaina.

The song recedes, just a little at a time. Our tears do, too, until all I hear are the echoes of our cries whispering through the trees.

"Was he murdered, too?" Odeia's voice scratches the air, nothing close to the silken words she first spoke to me.

"Poisoned, just like my mother." I realize now that she and I are the same. We're orphans, having lost both our biological parents.

"So much death," she whispers. Her swollen eyes turn skyward, to the sun breaking the dark. "It'll soon be dawn. I must join the other swans."

"But what are we going to do?"

"What do you mean? I'm staying here." She stands, wobbling on her feet. I clasp her hand so she stabilizes.

"But—"

Odeia faces me, though she doesn't see me. She looks through me at something beyond. "We can't do anything until you have evidence of the murderer's identity. Once you find out who it is, then we can figure out what we're going to do."

"Can I come back here soon? We have so much to catch up on, and I have a growing list of questions to ask." After all I've lost, I suppose I'm also clinging to the family I have left. "And Sigvard, he'll want to see you, too."

"I guess you can return," Odeia says with a sigh. "It's been forever since I've spoken to someone. But keep it discreet. Word can't get out that I'm still alive." An edge arms her voice, a warning. I refrain from telling her that Sigvard and I already knew she was alive based on the king's letter we found.

"Of course," I say. "How about two nights from now?"

"Fine." She allows a slight smile. "Admittedly, I will look forward to your company again." She wraps her arms around me in a quick hug. Then, she rises. Her long gown gives the allusion that she floats to the lake, and the water seems to part for her. In its center, the swans encircle her. Her mouth parts, allowing a stream of notes to pour forth, clear and bright like the rising sun.

A beam of light shines upon her, and her body shrivels into the water. Her dress' smooth fabric ruffles into a feathered coat across her shrunken form. Now a swan, Odeia flaps her wings in my direction. I wave back before returning to the woods, ready to travel deep into the endless brown and green. I don't care if I become more lost. No one can find me near here. I can't betray Odeia's secret.