Reading them, she remembered something Aífraic had told her once: that some swans had human speech, those that had been enchanted into their bird form rather than born into it, but as part of their curse, they could speak only poetry. “Why would that be a curse?” she had asked. “Who ever listens to poetry and believes it to be true?” Aífraic had smiled his answer, but it was a smile like a knife, sharp-edged and keen.
