The Black Swan (37 page)

With dinner over, the dishes whisked efficiently away, and the tables and chairs rearranged for entertainment, the large pavilion took on a quieter aspect. Clothilde was altogether pleased with the refurbishment of this pavilion, which had been commissioned for her wedding to Siegfried's father. Windows screened with cheesecloth had been let into the sides, and a frieze of flowers and vines painted on the canvas around them. New banners and streamers decorated the exterior, and clever lanterns suspended from the roof lit the interior. A carpet beneath Clothilde's chair served in place of a dais, with the rest of the seats arrayed in a half-circle on the plank floor on either side of her. Uwe sat on a stool at the queen's feet, and played for the enjoyment of the queen and those guests who still remained—mostly female. The male guests for the most part had long since departed for the heartier entertainment to be found around their campfires. Since there was no place large enough for the queen to entertain all of the bridal candidates at night, once the feasting was over, the men deserted the feasting tent, leaving it to the ladies and a few indolent or elderly men. The women danced round-dances with each other, when so moved.

Clothilde had been a bit disappointed that Siegfried hadn't at least made a token appearance tonight, but since he didn't yet seem to be taken all that much with
any
of the young women, perhaps that was to be expected. If she knew her son, he would spend his time hunting rather than courting any of these maidens, knowing that the one he selected would be, as betokened by her appearance here, a willing and even eager bride. Why work to obtain something he already had? Siegfried had never been inclined to put more effort into anything
he
hadn't planned than he had to.

There is still the enchanter's daughter,
she told herself.
Siegfried has yet to meet her, and I must admit that she is far more attractive than any of these young ladies.
She already had doubts about the suitability of a couple of them, anyway. There had been hints in the behavior, disturbing glances cast her way, that made her reconsider Uwe's assessments. Princess Honoria, for instance, although she seemed uninterested in anything but her hawks, showed all the indications of having a very strong will of her own and a disinclination to be led. Not all of them were going to be as tractable as Uwe had thought, and she decided to do what she could to cull those out herself.

Not overtly, of course, but a hint or two to Siegfried about a tendency to nag, a hint of a sharp temper—that would take care of the problem before it became one. She, of all people, knew that Siegfried was not to be forced into anything, and if one led him, the reins had better be invisible. It was better to coax, cajole, or—better still—make him think that whatever you wanted him to do was all his idea in the first place.

She watched the girls carefully, without seeming to watch anything. There were definite signs there that more of the girls than Honoria had minds of their own; a couple of them watched Clothilde even as she watched them, though not as skillfully, their manners betraying them. Those two would
not
sit back and accept the position of mere princess. By all rights, whoever Siegfried married could and should be queen, and Clothilde could and should retire to the minor position of dowager—they clearly knew their rights, and would not sit by tamely while Clothilde ruled after the wedding. They would use whatever weapons they had, their youth and beauty not being the least of those weapons, to urge Siegfried to claim his throne from his mother. If they were clever, they would point out that a man of eighteen, a warrior and knight in his own right, should no longer be ruled by a mere woman. She had no doubt that such words, murmured gently in bed by crimson lips, would find receptive ears.

Never, my dears,
she thought silkily, wondering if
she
had ever been so transparent. She rather thought not. After all, one of the reasons that Uwe had chosen these six was that in his estimation none of them was a match for her in intelligence.

They were, all of them, gently reared in the bower, far from throne and council chamber.
She
had learned the craft of governance at her father's side and the craft of guile at her mother's. It was too bad that her mother had not lived to see her wedded to a king, nor her father to see her become queen regent in her own right, but they would both have been proud of her for at least a week—following which, they would have begun schemes of their own to wrest some of that power and control from her hands for themselves.

They taught me well,
Clothilde thought with some amusement.

And as for experience—well, there was
something
to be said for increased years and the knowledge that came with them. Whatever time stole from the face and body, it at least compensated with additions to the wits.

Uwe glanced up at her briefly, so briefly that only she read the message in his eyes.
So. The enchanter has put in an appearance! Good; it will only be a matter of time before Siegfried encounters the girl.

It occurred to her at that moment that she might have something to fear from the enchanter's daughter. What if the girl was a sorceress herself? What if
she
would not be content with the title of princess?

Clothilde watched her guests swaying together in a gentle pavane as she considered these possibilities, then smiled, as if in pleasure at the pretty picture they made, when a solution came to her.

She still had her little book of “herbal recipes” from her mother. One was the recipe for the love potion that had gained her this throne in the first place; by making sure both Siegfried and whichever maiden he chose drank it together on their wedding night, she would inflame their passions and fix their interest on each other for a time. Another was the fertility drink she had downed faithfully for a month until she conceived the prince; a woman in the throes of passion would happily agree to anything to give her man an heir, and a pregnant woman concentrates on the well-being of her child-to-be to the exclusion of all else. Then—

Then we see.
It amused her to think that the daughter of a sorcerer would be vulnerable to a simple love potion, but that ability to look for unexpected weaknesses was one of the things that had made Clothilde queen. It had certainly worked against her husband.

She smiled again in recollection; it had been a perfect plan, perfectly executed. She knew where the young king hunted and where he generally paused to refresh himself. She had simply surrounded herself with a party of her homeliest maidservants and arranged for a hunting excursion of her own. The king stopped to admire the hawks and the huntress, and she coyly, charmingly offered him wine from her own flask—well-laced with the love potion.

A week later, the betrothal of the daughter of Graf Hohentaller with the king was proclaimed to all the kingdom. In a month, she was queen.

The prime indication for her that none of these beauties was her match was that none of
them
had tried to slip Siegfried a similar potion. Surely, they'd had ample opportunity by now.

Ah well,
she thought, sitting back into the comfortable embrace of her chair.
This latter generation is no match for mine in any way. This is just one more proof that it is I who should be holding the reins, and not my son.

O
DILE stretched in her narrow little bed and yawned, blinking at the entrance to the tree house. The swans had pushed the door open when they left, and of course had not shut it after themselves, but she didn't really mind. The fresh air was pleasant, and the light didn't bother her.
Full daylight; early afternoon, I think. Good! Plenty of time for myself before sunset and moonrise.

She'd been sleeping less of late, feeling less tired, since she'd finally completed all the work she wanted to do to make this place a comfortable dwelling. She was even sleeping less than she had at home, which meant she had more hours free for practice and study.

Von Rothbart was gone most of the time, although she suspected he wasn't far off. And while it made her feel guilty to admit it, his absence was a relief. She didn't feel compelled to second-guess her actions and decisions, nor to look over her shoulder to see if he was watching her. Whatever he was up to, it kept him too occupied to watch for Odile's missteps and mistakes, and as a consequence, she thought she was making fewer errors.

As usual, she was alone. The swans were all out foraging or drowsing at this hour. It would have been nice to have an invisible servant of her own to fetch and carry for her, but Odile didn't quite have the nerve to try summoning one. As gentle and tractable as von Rothbart's had all been, Odile had learned from her reading yesterday that if they were not firmly bound, they would exact revenge on whoever tried to enslave them. According to a new book she had begun perusing, they weren't
precisely
demons, but. . . .

But it's not worth the risk to try to subdue them. Not to me, anyway.
This book clearly was a tome of gray magic—not white sorcery, but not quite black, either. So far, everything Odile had learned or created was simply useful magic, the exercise of power that harmed no one. She wanted nothing to do with anything dubious, and she had sent the book back to the library without a second thought.

It made her wonder why her father went to so much trouble and danger to have the services of silent spirits, when he could get the same service at no hazard from human serfs. He could even put a simple spell of silence on them if he didn't want to have to hear other human voices, and as for obedience, who would dare to disobey a man with von Rothbart's powers? Granted, a spell of silence might annoy the servants and make them rebellious, but surely he could
command
simple silence from them, couldn't he?

Odile had very vague recollections of things being different when she was very small; there
had
been human servants when her mother had been alive. Was it only her mother's death that had given her father such a distaste for humanity? Or had he only tolerated human servants because she had wanted them?

That thought brought a flash of anger. Abruptly, she shoved aside her light coverings and got out of bed; that was enough daydreaming for today. She had work to get to, and there was no telling what might turn up to interrupt it. Outside forces over which she had no control were in motion now, and the outside world was sending visitors, even intruders.

Possibly even a lovesick prince looking for Odette.
As she took a gown out of the closet she'd made and shook it on over her head, she made a face of distaste. If Siegfried showed up before his appointed time, she would just avoid him altogether. Her duties of keeping an eye on Odette did not include playing reluctant hostess to her suitor.

Getting her hair braided and pinned up without help was too much of a bother, so she sat down in the sunlight bathing the doorway and brushed it out, then left it loose. It wouldn't hinder her reading, nor her magical exercises, and since there wasn't much of a breeze it wouldn't end up getting tangled in every leaf and twig if she just tied it back with a ribbon and ignored it.

As she picked up her book from the shelf where she'd left it last night and walked out barefoot into the afternoon sunshine, she had an unexpected revelation that made her smile, the muscles at the corners of her mouth stretching in a way that felt odd.

I thought I was going to hate it here—but instead, I'm going to regret having to leave!
Odile had never thought she would actually come to take pleasure in the wilderness, but there was so much to watch and learn, and so many new things to try, that she wondered how she was going to be able to bear being back in her father's lands. She hadn't seen much of daylight at home, since she kept the same hours as the swans and her father, and the carefully controlled and manicured grounds of the Rothbart estate were so tame that virtually everything inside the manor and outside showed the sorcerer's heavy hand. She had more than once thought that the sculptured trees and bushes took the place for him of furniture or artwork, and the grass was certainly a substitute for carpets.

And although the invisible servants made life effortless, they were also spies that could move about without detection. For the first time there was no sense that her father had eyes watching her even when he wasn't there; she could do whatever she pleased so long as she obeyed his simple orders. Freedom! That's what this was. And if living in a shelter formed from the trunks of a grove of trees and cooking or summoning meals and clothing was the price of freedom, she'd pay it twice over and call it cheap.

I might feel differently in the dead of winter,
she reminded herself as she sat down in her favorite spot, cradled in the roots of a huge willow, where she could put her back against the trunk and dangle her feet in the water.
Keeping everyone warm and fed would be no joke, and we probably wouldn't be able to leave the tree most of the time.
She wrinkled her nose at the thought of being crowded into that small space with dozens of restless, claustrophobic swans. Swan leavings were slimy and smelly at best, and nervous swans made lots of leavings.

That made her wonder where
he
was, when he wasn't taking her reports. Now and again, she had sensed his presence although she had not seen him—but always after darkness and moonrise. Where was he during the day? And what was he doing with his time?