Page 21 of The Unlikely Heir

“I would love that,” I reply.

I let out a deep breath as I follow Jessica out the door with a handful of photographers following at a respectful distance. I can handle this. I can follow Jessica around the reserve and ask some questions. It’s totally within my skill set.

My legs still feel wobbly as we head out on the stone path.

“So, how long have you been open?” I ask.

Jessica tells me the history of the wildlife reserve and how it started with taking in injured birds. I find myself so engaged with her story that I forget to be nervous, and our conversation flows naturally.

She points out red deer grazing happily in a field and a pond with otters diving in and out.

We reach the next enclosure, consisting of muddy grass, a cluster of tall reeds, and a small pond.

“There’s a pair of swans in here. Larenn has been with us since she was a signet. Unfortunately, her damaged wing means we’ve never been able to reintroduce her into the wild. We put Joshua, a swan that was found injured by the side of the road, in here a month ago. Larenn can be quite picky about her companions, but it seems to be going well so far.”

We both peer into the enclosure, but there is not a swan to be seen.

“Oh, there’s Larenn,” Jessica says finally, pointing to the edge of the pond where a white swan sits among the reeds.

Jessica makes some clucking sounds with her tongue, and Larenn stands and lumbers in our direction like a drunk. Swans are infinitely more graceful on water than they are on land.

“Did you know that Greek philosophers believed the singing ability of a swan increases when they are close to death? That’s where the phrase ‘swan-song’ comes from,” I say.

“No, I didn’t realize that.” Jessica seems genuinely interested in my random fact, which is a better reaction than I get from most people.

Larenn waddles over to the fence.

“Larenn’s really friendly. You can feed her by hand if you want,” Jessica says.

I flick a glance at Raymond.

“You feeding the wildlife would make a great photo opportunity,” he says.

“Okay.” I glance at the photographers, then give a wide smile to hide my nerves. I haven’t interacted much with wildlife before. All the poultry-related insurance claims I’ve processed start circulating in my mind as Jessica opens the gate.

I follow her into the enclosure. Larenn shuffles toward us, an ominous look in her black beady eyes.

I find myself backing away. I know swans are not carnivorous, but I can’t help feeling like the gleam in Larenn’s eye is evaluating how much meat is on my bones.

My backward steps end when I feel long reeds brushing against the back of my legs.

Larenn goes berserk. Birds are descended from dinosaurs, and suddenly, Larenn seems to be channeling the spirit of a pissed velociraptor, her wings beating as she squawks at me.

And then there’s another swan, looking like Larenn’s evil twin, and it’s hissing like it’s possessed by the devil, flapping its wings and advancing in my direction menacingly.

My heart pounding, I scramble a few steps back.

My back foot hits mud and slides out from under me. I tumble backward, my arms flailing as I try desperately to catch my balance.

The world spins around me in a dizzying blur, and I hit the surface of the pond.

Oh, holy shit.

The cold shock of water takes my breath away. My clothes immediately fill with mud, dragging me into the murky depths of the pond. I flail wildly, trying to find my footing on the bottom, but it’s like I’m swimming in molasses.

Finally, I manage to stand on the slippery bottom, gasping for air. I’m covered head to toe in muck, along with a sprinkling of pond weed.

The first noise I hear above Larenn’s and Joshua’s ominous hissing is the frantic clicking of cameras.