The Black Swan Read online

  When he had that pledge from the queen, he made no objections, and now, at long last, he rode his palfrey to the head of the procession, surrounded by the chosen maidens, each of whom had probably arisen before dawn to dress and primp to show herself at her best. Finally, the entire cavalcade passed through the palace gates and onto the open road.

  The queen followed behind them, pleased to allow the prince to ride in the vanguard. Wolfgang was somewhere behind, with the wagons; no great surprise there, since given the choice between a horse and a wagon, he would always select the latter.

  Benno rode with Siegfried at the prince's urgent invitation. He didn't fancy being left to be the sole focus of all of the six women.

  Just at the moment, he was trying to get all of their names straight. It wouldn't do to miscall any of them.

  Fortunately, most of the heavy wagons and baggage had gone on before them last night; by traveling through the darkness, urged on by the truly tyrannical wagon steward, they should have arrived at the village by now—or if they had not, they would in a few hours. That would give them time to set everything up before the royal party arrived. By that time, pavilions would have been pitched, the camp established, and dinner would be waiting for them. Siegfried, Benno, Wolfgang, and Arno would be lodging at the inn instead of a pavilion; the accommodations might be of a more primitive quality, but he wouldn't have to endure the shrieks of maidservants finding insects among the bedding, or the flirtatious attempts by the princesses to get him alone for a moment. That could be very unfortunate—he could only choose one, and any of them could claim he had made a secret pledge to her, if she could have a moment with no witnesses. Not that any of the six were bad choices, but he wanted the choice to be his, as promised.

  As the royal party finally got out of the palace grounds and turned off onto the main road, the six maidens each vied for his attention. There was room for only two to actually ride beside him, but each of the six was determined that she would have one of those two prize positions. As he made no attempt to indicate a preference, they maneuvered with the determination of a falcon with prey in view, "accidentally" jostling each other, or causing a horse to start forward or lag back.

  Finally, after half an hour of this, the queen stepped in. She invited four of the ladies to ride with her, leaving Siegfried and Benno with only two—the implication being that she would see to a fair rotation of time spent with the Prince.

  He sighed with relief, though he did his best not to show it, and waited for the two singled out to urge their horses to his side.

  To his right, in a habit of garnet wool trimmed in satin, was Ysabeau von Andersburg, her golden hair surmounted by a fine hat with a cockade of rooster plumes, and caught in a net of garnet beads and gold wire. Tiny, rosy, blue-eyed, she handled her spirited Spanish Barb mare with expert skill he would not have expected in a girl who looked like a child's toy.

  To his left, Angelique Fortescue chattered like a magpie, rattling on about her delight in the countryside, the outing, the prince's companionship, the queen—if Ysabeau's tactic was to smile demurely, say little, and allow her looks and her riding impress the prince, Angelique apparently planned to batter his reticence with a barrage of words. Just as golden-haired as the other girl, Angelique had all the statuesque beauty of Aphrodite, with classical features, marble complexion, and ample proportions. Her chosen color was a tawny gold, with jewels of gold and topaz, her hair confined in a coiled braid held in place by golden pins beneath her riding hat. Her mount was a placid bay gelding of no particular breeding.

  Behind him were the other four, who no doubt would take their turns at charming him: Gabriela von Bern, a plump, cheerful maiden with hair the color of her chestnut stallion's coat, garbed in a warm brown and bejeweled with amber—Ursula Brednesi, wearing a small fortune in sapphires, raven-haired and clothed in blue, with the eyes of an angel and a body that would tempt a saint—Honoria von Hansberg, who hid her hair completely beneath a coif of snow-white linen embroidered with silver thread and pearls, but whose violet eyes and heart-shaped face, combined with a body clad in velvet to match, with tiny waist and generous bosom, made hair-color seem irrelevant—and Evangeline de Luchen, for whom black pearls were the gem of choice, clothed from head to toe in the finest deep brown leather, a bare shade lighter than sable, whose fierce black stallion, handled with skill and strength, matched her hair and eyes, and whose piquant and clever features were more handsome than beautiful.

  Each one had her own particular beauty. No doubt, each one had her own particular faults. And he had only days to discover them—although he did know one thing already. Although he had gazed into the eyes of each of them, hoping for a sign, for a special spark to spring up between them, lighting a fire in both hearts at once, there had been nothing. Nothing to show that there was anything more in the ballads of the minstrels than fantasy; nothing to show that there was such a thing as love, overwhelming, striking all unexpectedly and at first sight.

  Or if there is such a thing, it is not to ignite between me and any of these women, he thought with a stifled sigh.

  Well, if he could not choose one for love, he could at least choose by process of elimination.

  As Angelique chattered on, he decided that he did know at least one other thing. He would grant Angelique a second and even third chance, but if she showed no signs of different behavior, she, at least would be out of the running.

  Because, beautiful as she is, if she isn't able to bear a silence without Ming it, two weeks in her company would drive me to take holy vows and flee to a Benedictine monastery, Just to escape her chatter!

  Chapter Eleven

  ODILE woke slowly to the sounds of birds and an empty "room."

  She stretched lazily, considering the slant of the sunlight outside the door, left open by the departing swans. She had slept the night through and long into the day; she guessed, as she rose from her bed of bracken and used a touch of magic to freshen her dress, that it was probably mid-afternoon at the earliest.

  She brushed a few stray bits of grass off her skirt, and went out into the daylight to see what the lake looked like under the sun. If this is going to be our home for a while, I hope it isn't as grim as it looked last night.

  Though sunlight and birdsong helped, the scene she surveyed from the shelter was not particularly welcoming. Around her, the forest seemed empty, without the little sounds of life that small creatures made, scurrying about the underbrush. The lake's dark waters did not shelter much in the way of waterfowl, either. The forest surrounding the lake was predominantly of black pine— tall with heavily drooping boughs and needles of the very deep green that gave them their name, for at any distance, they looked lack. There were other trees growing amid the pines, more oaks, some hazels, chestnuts, walnuts, but they were decidedly in the minority and didn't do a great deal to disperse the general air of solemn gloom. The clearing she now stood in actually extended right to the shore, though not to the spot where the low bank had allowed them to clamber out of the water. Her view out into the lake was thus unobstructed, and included a picturesque, high cliff at the point where this arm of the lake joined the main body

  The flock was nowhere in sight, but Odile wasn't in the least worried that they had fled. This was the place where Odette would have her chance to win them all free of von Rothbart's spells; wherever they had gone, they would be back, for that chance alone.

  Probably they're off foraging, but I don't think they'll have a great deal of luck. There wasn't much sign of the water plants and wild grains they needed for real feeding on this arm of the lake, and Odile rather doubted that the other arms would prove any different.

  And speaking of foraging. . . . She turned back to the shelter, her stomach grumbling. There were more than a few things she needed to fetch from the manor, and after the first decent sleep in weeks, she finally had the strength she would need to get it all done in a single afternoon.

  But first of all, food. I could eat a pine
bough at this point!

  She didn't want to waste any time, however, so after she appropriated a good stock of commonplace foodstuffs taken from the manor's pantry, she made a portable luncheon of chunks of bread, sausage, and cheese that she could eat while continuing to work. Within an hour, she had brought more creature-comforts to the shelter, linens, for one. She'd made real beds of the bracken, by tucking a heavy sheet over the bracken to make a mattress and pillow, and she'd added folded blankets to the foot of each bed. When she stepped back and looked her handiwork over, she chuckled; because she had made the beds of roots, or rather, rootlets all twined and bound together, the beds actually resembled large baskets. With the sheets smoothed over the bracken, they looked like a row of laundry baskets waiting for maids to hang out the clothes.

  After consideration of the damage that pests could do, she called a trunk-sized storage cabinet from the manor to seal the food into, and she next brought an assortment of cups, plates and cutlery and stacked them atop the cabinet. Although she planned to bring fresh foodstuffs every night, if something happened to exhaust her, or if any of the flock hungered when she wasn't available, she wanted to have some basics on hand. There was also the possibility that something could happen to her, for magic did not render one immune from illness; it was better to be prepared and not have the need.

  She also brought a couple of buckets for fresh water, then soap, towels, and a basin—though like the flock, she could wash as a swan and it would carry over to her human form. Small things made a difference, though, and she remembered all the wistful wishes of the journey, so the combs, brushes, hairpins, and the like she also brought would make all of them feel less disheveled. And lastly, she created shelves within the hollow oaks to place all these things on, and a curious cupboard to hold her personal possessions.

  Then she brought what, for her, was the most important of all; her books and the magical apparatus she thought she might need. There wasn't a great deal; she had gotten beyond the point where she required apparatus to create magic. Like her father, she had entered the realm where only concentration, words and gestures created whatever she needed.

  Last of all (and after a rest), just before sundown, she brought in bags of the grain the swans ate, storing most of them inside the oaks. She dropped one in the clearing, near the shoreline, taking it open so that she could spread it out where the flock would see it easily as they returned "home." With that final duty accomplished, she felt justified in simply sitting with her back braced against a sun-warmed boulder, watching the sun set, with the pines circling the lake making a jagged black fence against the flaming sky. It was a dramatic and beautiful sunset, though its beauty had a touch of the uncanny about it. It's like a woman, a stunning and breathtaking sorceress without a heart—you have to stare and marvel but you can feel the ice where her soul should be, and you know there are going to be storms wherever she goes. That didn't stop her from admiring the view, although she could have wished for a softer setting for her temporary home.

  She watched the clouds take fire and burn, let her muscles relax, and thought about what she would bring for dinner. And then, of course, when all the work was done, her father appeared.

  He walked out of the forest with no warning; he just appeared out of the shadows, like a shadow himself, shrouded in his owl- feather cape. He looked around the clearing with somber approval, even entering briefly into the shelter and emerging to join Odile at the side of the lake.

  She rose slowly to her feet, and waited silently for his judgment. For he would cast judgment on what she had done, and never mind that he hadn't bothered to contribute even a little to her efforts. For a moment, she clenched her jaw and fought to master her resentment. I don't know what he's been doing, and I have no right to ask. This is my father's duty, and he allows me to share it.

  "Very neat, Odile," he said, after a moment of gazing at the sunset beside her. "Very efficient. It did not occur to me to make furnishings of the oak itself; that was a thrifty and wise use of power."

  I didn't have much choice, given how little I had left last night! she wanted to shout, but instead, she bent her head and replied with a soft, "Thank you, Father." For all I know, he was more exhausted than I.

  "I see that I can leave you in charge of the flock with no misgivings," he continued. "There are things that I must pursue; I will need your eyes and ears here, during the moonlit hours when the flock becomes human. You are an integral part of this trial."

  She perked up a little at that; this was real responsibility, and exactly what she craved. "Give me your orders, Father," she said with more enthusiasm. "You know that I will follow them as you wish."

  He smiled—a very small curve of the lips, but a smile all the same. "Obviously, while the flock are swans, you need not concern yourself about them. Nor need you concern yourself with the movements of the young man who will provide Odette with her test, for I will be marking his path and actions when he is not with her. But I do wish you to observe the two of them together, and Odette when she is alone but human, and mark it all well so that you may report it fairly to me." At her nod of understanding, he continued. "If the young man should sight me, he would no doubt regard me as his enemy and attempt to attack me. He cannot possibly harm me, of course, but such encounters would accomplish nothing and waste his time with Odette. You, on the other hand, will not be seen as a threat; he will concentrate on Odette and nothing else if you are the observer. Other than that—keep yourself and the flock tended and fed, and that is all I shall require of you."

  She dropped to the grass in a curtsy. "As you will, Father," she said, bending her head in submission to his orders. And when she looked up, he was gone.

  She didn't rise again, for weariness fell over her shoulders like a too-heavy cloak. Instead, she occupied herself with a task so simple and ordinary that she didn't have to think to accomplish it. She unpinned her hair from its heavy coil at the back of her neck, unbraided it, and began to comb it out.

  She didn't often have to tend to her own hair, for at home the invisible servants appeared to take care of it as soon as she removed the first pin. But there was something soothing in letting it down now, and combing it out, so long as she moved very slowly and took the time to untangle knots with exacting patience. I think I see why so many girls can do this for hours on end. It's hypnotic. Perhaps I ought to do this the next time I want to meditate or enter a trance.

  She hadn't thought about how long her hair had gotten before she undid it; the servants did little more than comb it out, braid it up, and occasionally trim the ends, and they were so deft that they were finished binding it up in minutes. She simply hadn't noticed its length; it reached far past her waist now, which made it difficult for one person to handle.

  As the sun dropped below the trees and the sky darkened from flame to rose, from rose to cobalt, a movement, a flash of white across the sky, caught her attention, and she looked up to see the flock circling above, coming in to land.

  An unaccustomed feeling of contentment came over her, despite being so very tired. Everything is ready; if they haven't foraged enough, there's grain, and if they want to nibble a bit as girls, they can share my dinner. They'll have real beds and some comforts tonight. I do believe they'll be surprised and pleased.

  She continued to comb out her hair, pulling the locks she had brushed out over her shoulder to lie across her breast and lap. In the last light, it looked like raw, unspun silk, cobweb-fine and silver-blond. A strange color, given what a violent red her father's was.

  Then again, he could make his hair any color he chose, and mine, too, for that matter. He could have changed mine when I was a child, and I would never know. He might not have wanted it to be so obvious that I was his child. An enemy could have taken me to use against him. She considered a moment, and reflected that if he had changed her hair color, it was probably a good thing. I don't think I'd care for flaming hair. I'm too pale, I've no color at all. Better to look like a spirit t
han to look like a bleached little stick attached to a red mop.

  The swans glided into view, swimming swiftly across the still mirror of the lake led by Odette; they crossed Odile's field of vision, and disappeared behind the trees. A moment later, however, she heard the muffled padding of their feet as they moved toward her across the grass in a stately progression, necks straight, and heads held high. The others went straight to the grain and began eating, but Odette paced close to Odile, keeping her round black eyes fixed on the sorceress until she was certain she had Odile's attention. Then she bowed her head in an unmistakable gesture of graceful thanks, and only then joined the rest.

  As full dark settled on them, the swans shimmered in the starlight, and the lake lapped softly against the shore, sparks of starlight caught in the tops of the wavelets and thrown back at the sky. Odile finished combing out the last lock of hair and leaned back against the tree, watching as the stars came out and glistened in a way no mere gem could match in the soft, ebony sky.

  And then, just as a lone nightingale started to sing, the moon showed its first sliver of pearl above the treetops.

  Odile started as someone took the comb from her loose grip.

  "Here," said Odette, with the same oddly kind tone in her voice she'd had last night. "Let me finish that for you."

  Odile felt herself flush, but nodded. "Thank you," she said, feeling awkward. "I had no idea there was so much of it; the Silent Ones take care of it at home. It's such a bother to do by myself—"