The Ice Swan by J’nell Ciesielski

Brooding. That was a good if not accurate word for Wynn’s current state. He’d never considered himself a moody man, rather enjoying jokes and laughter too much to spiral into sulking solitude. Standing on the wide hill behind Thornhill with a cloak of descending night above him and the sweep of wind from the moors below, he had no need of jests, so brooding it was.

It was no better than he deserved. A liar and deceiver. Not to mention possible murderer and utmost fool. How did he ever manipulate himself into thinking that not telling Svetlana was for the best? Because he was a fool, that’s how. He never should have allowed his desire to take her to his bed to overcome his duty to tell her the truth. But then she’d kissed him and begged him for one night together and he’d been helpless to stop himself.

He flicked his thumb across the pierced kopek he always carried and paced across the grass. The dead stalks crunched under his boots. He had a fine mind to grind them to dust beneath his heel. The memory of that precious night, of holding her in his arms in the ways he’d only dreamed of, was now tainted by the crushing weight of his lie. Four days she had shunned him after he tried again and again to see her, even speaking through her closed door. She answered him in silence and avoidance. He had only himself to blame.

“I knew I’d find you up here. At your spot.” His mother crested the hill and stood next to him. She’d ditched her customary scarf and diaphanous gowns and instead opted for sturdy boots and Father’s thick plaid drawn around her shoulders. “You’ve always come here to think.”

“It’s peaceful.”

She nodded, looking down the hill to Glentyre, nestled among the fading shadows of the rises beyond. “What has you troubled to seek peace?”

“Nothing too concerning.” More lies. “Hospital duties.”

“Duties you’d rather attend to than the ducal ones.” Mother held up her hand. “Ah, don’t give me that look. I know perfectly well which you prefer.”

“I’m sorry, Mother. I’m trying.”

“I know you are, but being duke wasn’t the path for you. You were always meant to be a great surgeon.”

His gut twisted. If only she knew. “It seems that path is now lost to me.”

“Nothing is ever truly lost if we fight to hold on to its importance. Being duke is a great responsibility full of trials and frustrations, but also fulfillment in helping those dependent on you. I believe your duty as a physician is much the same. Like every man before you, titled or not, you must find the balance between duty and personal desire.”

Wynn ground his toe into the frozen dirt. There was nothing left to balance after he’d mangled his go at being a surgeon. “Father and Hugh made it look so effortless. Duty was never a question for them because it was a role they were born to. I can never be Hugh.”

“No one expects you to be. Hugh was my stalwart sun, ever constant, but you, my dear boy, are my shooting star. My sons are both brilliant in their own unique ways, and I would never change that.” Tears glistened in her eyes. “You must find your own path forward and be sure to avoid the pitfalls of defining yourself as one thing or another, duke or physician.”

“That is who I am.”

Scoffing, she blinked away the tears and fluffed the plaid around her throat. “I shall pretend I did not hear that most pretentious claim and cling to the knowledge that you are smarter than to believe that. People are not mere titles, dear. Why, if I went around believing I only existed as your mother, life would be quite boring for me.”

“Have I not given you enough excitement as my mother?” He nudged her shoulder, eliciting a glimmer of amusement.

“More than enough for two lifetimes, and while I love you more than life itself, being a mother is only part of who I am. Don’t be a one-sided bore, Wynn.”

The truth of her statement dug into his core. He’d made an ivory tower of his ambitions, and when the walls had shaken loose, the bricks fell around him into a heap of disappointment all because he’d put the definition of himself into this one edifice. When the dust settled, he would have two choices. Let the bricks crush him flat on his face, or drag himself from the rubble and start building another life. Svetlana had done it, and if there was anyone to learn from about grace from ruin, it was her.

“I’ll do my best, Mother,” he said at last.

Reaching up, she patted his cheek. “I’m so glad you’ve returned home.”

“Me too. I only wish I could have returned Hugh to you.” He kissed her hand, then slipped his arm around her and drew her to his side. “I miss him. Somedays I look up and expect him to appear around the corner, or I go look for him in the library. Then I remember he’s not here.”

“His spirit is here now. At least we have that. And each other.”

They stared out over the dipping slopes and huddled woodlands dotting their estate. Far beyond Thornhill’s borders, the river rippled under the dying sun’s rays. Life still moved on, oblivious to the world’s woes.

“I should like to erect a monument for him. For all the boys who didn’t return. I believe it could help our people find peace with the losses we’ve suffered. So many of us never got the chance to grieve over a body.” Mother sniffed and wiped at the corner of her eyes with the plaid. “We need a place to honor them.”

“A fine idea. And very fitting. I think Hugh would wish to be remembered with the men he fought beside.”

The scent of burning peat rustled on the breeze as families settled into supper and their warm fires against winter’s chill. Wynn breathed in deeply. It was a unique scent, one he’d never particularly cared for, but it was of Scotland and therefore of home.

Mother shivered and drew her plaid close. “I best get back inside where it’s warm. My half American blood still has trouble appreciating this cold.”

“The cold lets you know you’re alive.”

“Spoken like a man who has the internal temperature of a furnace. Though I’m sure your wife appreciates that commodity, coming from a frozen land herself.”

The mention of Svetlana lanced pain across his heart. “The cold doesn’t bother her as much.”

“She’s a unique woman. Her manner may be a bit . . . stiff at times, but she has a kind heart, looking after her family and seeing to the tenants. I’m glad you’ve brought her to our family.”

The pain boiled and spilled down his insides, scorching him with regret. He’d been raised to honor the truth. Mother would be ashamed to know he’d broken his promise of honesty to his wife in the so-called name of honorable protection.

“Your approval means a great deal to me.”

“Then you have it and my support. Both of you. Be good to one another and the love will never die.” Burrowing into her plaid, Mother started her way down the path she’d come. “Don’t stay out here too long. Mrs. Varjensky is making something called goulash. It sounds dreadful, but the smell from the kitchen is divine.”

Wynn turned back to the hills. If Mrs. Varjensky was cooking, the offerings were likely to be delicious, but only he, Mother, Marina, and babushka would be sitting down to enjoy it. Svetlana had chosen to eat in her room these past few nights. No doubt the sight of him would give her acid reflux.

He flipped the kopek in the air, head over tails, and caught it. A choice to be made, fifty-fifty either way it landed. He’d never had difficulty choosing before, the path always confident under his feet, but the ground had shifted. He could no longer look at the world through the same lens with his future balanced on the edge of a scalpel because unwittingly he’d put that same blade in the hands of his peers. And for what? To prove to himself how great he was? To prove to them how much they needed him?

He flipped the coin again. When had this monolith of success entered the competition against the human beings he had sworn to care for? His patients and tenants didn’t require him to be the best in his field, and they certainly didn’t care a bit for the arrogance toted around with self-proclaimed prestige. Perhaps a tiny part of it had been for the glory, but what real change did glory mark in the universal scheme when he failed to put his talents to good use on the people entrusted to his care? His talent may never change the history books, but he could change lives worth far more than the opinion of a board of white-haired old men. Hang their opinion and his need for their approval. It wouldn’t stop him from serving those in need whether he received the praise or not.

At least that was one perspective he could change. Svetlana would take a wee more finessing.

Not brave enough to face that bitter pain yet again, he pocketed the kopek and hunched his shoulders against the coming darkness as the temperature fell around him.