I stared at her. Linn had drunk her fill, and now lay down in the sun, tongue lolling. There was a little silence.

“Save them?” I whispered after a while. “You mean—this spell can somehow be undone?”

“It can,” said the Lady, “but it will not be easy. You are the only one that can achieve this, and so you must be extremely careful, for she suspects this and will seek to find you, in order to stop you. Your brothers’ warning saved you, but they could not save themselves. Only you can do that.”

“But she told them—she said, there is no remedy.” I could hear the words now, like a death knell.

“She wished to leave them without hope, thinking always that they had failed, not just to save themselves but to protect you and to redeem their father. Without hope they will be vulnerable, less able to survive. Or so she believes.”

“That is cruel,” I said. “Why does she do this?”

“It is her nature,” said the Lady tranquilly. “According to her whim, she makes mischief of one sort or another; some harmless enough, some petty. This is a grand plan; but she has not learned that there are other patterns older and larger than her own. You can undo her work, this time, if you have the will.”

I felt a small glow of hope within me. “What must I do?”

“It will be long, and arduous, and painful, Sorcha. Are you strong enough?”

“Yes! Yes! Tell me what I must do.”

Her eyes were compassionate as she moved to seat herself on the bench again. “Sit here beside me, daughter. That’s better. Now listen carefully. You must fashion a shirt for each of your brothers. The thread, the weaving, every stitch of these garments will be your own work.”

“I can do that, I can—”

“Hush. That would be an easy task indeed, even for a wild little thing such as you. But there is more. From the moment you leave this place till the moment of your brothers’ final return to humankind, no word must pass your lips, no cry, no song, no whisper must you utter. Nor will you tell your story in pictures, or letters, or in any other way to living creature. You will be silent, mute as the swans themselves. Break this silence, and the curse remains forever.”

“I understand,” I said quietly. “And what more? How do I find my brothers, to clothe them in these shirts?”

“Ah, not so fast,” she said, and she took my hand in hers. “This is still too easy. The shirts will be made not of wool, nor of flax, nor of skins. They will be spun and woven from the fibers of the starwort plant. The barbed stems will cut you, the spines will tear at your flesh. There will be no brother to comfort you and bathe your ruined hands. You will weep in silence, biting your lip not to cry out in pain. Can you do this?”