The Black Swan (42 page)

“You do. And I understand I owe you an apology for some ungentlemanly behavior.” He eyed her as if he expected another sharp retort, but she said nothing. “Well, I do apologize.”

“And I forgive.” She gave him a long, sideways look. Now that he wasn't trying to be offensive, she had to admit that he was, in his way, as handsome a fellow as his friend. “I hope you didn't blunder into too many brambles.”

“Just enough to teach me my lesson,” he told her ruefully, and she laughed at his expression. “I don't suppose you could teach me that vanishing trick, could you?” he continued hopefully.

“What, so that you can use it to sneak up on unsuspecting maidens and spy on them when they think they are private?” she countered, and laughed, excited by the new sensations she was feeling. Triumph, pleasure, a tingle she suspected was due to the fact that she was actually
flirting
with the fellow in a way—

“The only way I can teach you is if you are willing to learn to swim,” she continued quickly, a bit of caution intruding, warning her not to reveal that she
could
become invisible. “There was nothing more to escaping your unwelcome attentions than that. I swam away and hid beneath a ledge where you could not find me. That is all.” She laughed at his crestfallen expression. “Surely this is not the first time you've been outwitted, mighty hunter?”

“By a pretty maiden, yes,” he said woefully, and she was almost embarrassed at how warm that word “pretty,” spoken entirely without the wish to flatter, made her feel. “My trouncing would be easier to accept if you'd done it with magic rather than cleverness.”

By this point, the rest of the maidens had left off their celebrations, attracted by the conversation. They watched and listened avidly, eyes shining in the moonlight. Odile had no hesitation in playing to her audience, and neither, it seemed, did Benno.

“So you do admit I defeated you?” She smiled so widely that the corners of her mouth ached. “Doesn't the victor customarily get a prize when a warrior is defeated?”

“Custom says you may have my mount, my weapons, and my armor,” he replied, falling in with the joke with a good humor she hadn't expected him to possess. He spread his hands wide. “Since in our contest I had no mount but my feet, no armor but my virtue, and no weapon but my wits—”

“Oh, pray, do
not
burden me with your wits, it will leave me forever at a disadvantage!” she cried teasingly, and he struck his breast as if she had hit him there with an arrow.

“Ah! Lady, you have not only defeated me, you have slain me with your cruel and clever words!” he cried. “See, I die at your feet!”

He slumped to the ground and sprawled out, groaning theatrically, which gave the other maidens a chance to swarm him and help him back up, fussing over him. Odile stood back, laughing, very much amused, and just a little jealous as they made much of him.

At that moment, a pang in her middle reminded her that none of them had eaten, and
she
was the only one who hadn't foraged as a swan. Let Siegfried and Odette live on love if they chose, but she had a duty to her charges, and to Benno as a sort of “hostess.”

The provisions in the tree would not do, here. While Benno was occupied with the others, she left the group and sought out a quiet place where she could fetch fresher and tastier viands from the manor. She made reckless inroads on the wine cellar, and plundered the pantry of ham and cheese, breads, honey, and jam, then attempted a more complicated conjuration that gathered the apples and pears, walnuts and chestnuts from the orchard before bringing them to her circle. The effort left her a little tired, but quite satisfied; she rejoined the group and gathered up the four little swans to help her carry the feast, then led them back in a glow of accomplishment.

“And here, sir, I furnish your funeral feast!” she cried, holding out a platter laden with food as they approached the group gathered like bees around a drop of syrup. When the others saw what they carried, to their credit they left Benno to help with the food and drink. They spread out the food with the grass serving as their table, and Benno sat back at his ease while the others waited on him, each one more eager to feed him some little dainty than the last.

He
did
keep glancing over at her, though, and now and again addressed a remark to her, which she tried to answer as cleverly as she could. There was no reason to feel jealous of the swan-maidens, really—how could they help themselves? They were all accustomed to centering their lives about
men
—they had been bred and taught that all their powers must be bent toward pleasing and serving fathers, brothers, husbands.

They've never learned to read or write, most of them—never thought of going beyond the bounds of the world they lived in all of their lives,
she thought with growing pity.
And now, for the first time in how many years—here is a man that they can give all their attention to! No wonder they're acting like little foolish children!
The pity grew and eclipsed the jealousy, especially when she noticed that the few remarks Benno addressed to
her
were clearly phrased to test her wits and her learning, while those he addressed to the others were empty, flowery compliments. That pleased her enormously, and made her warm with pleasure again.

Why has Father shunned the company of others all these years?
she wondered.
How can he have forgotten the enjoyment that there is to be had in simple conversation?
She revised her plans for the future.
I must, I shall show him that the life of a hermit is an empty one,
she decided, her resolve growing.
And with his powers, we should be welcome at every learned court in the world!
The idea of spending every night in brilliant and witty converse among courts both great and small, made her dizzy for a moment. Or was it the wine?

She checked the bottle at her side, and determined that it was barely touched. No, it wasn't the wine—it was intoxication of another sort. She cast a smile at Benno, and blushed to get a dazzling smile in return.

It wasn't until Siegfried and Odette joined them that Odile realized belatedly that the hours had sped by. The expression on Odette's face—a painful kind of joy—made her glance involuntarily at the sky. There was light both in the west and the east; the moon was setting, and the sun about to rise.

“The moon—” she said aloud, and conversation stopped dead, as the others followed her glance.

“It is about to set,” Odette said gently, and Siegfried squeezed her hand. “I came to warn you, lest you all be caught unawares.”

Odile stood, quickly, her eyes on Odette's. “I'm sorry,” she said impulsively, knowing that the princess would understand what she meant.

“You needn't apologize—this may be the last time, after all—” Odette tried to smile, but it was obvious to Odile that if anything, this transformation would be the most painful she had ever undergone. Odile impulsively went to her side and took her hand for a moment—the one not claimed by Siegfried. She would have said more, but she saw at that moment the shimmer of light and power that presaged the transformation drop over Odette like a veil. Odette felt it envelop her, and, dropping both their hands, stepped away.

For the first time, Odile couldn't bear to look; she averted her eyes as Odette and the others dropped to the ground and the shimmering power eclipsed their forms.

She felt something powerful driving her to act.
No! I won't let them go alone this time!
she thought defiantly, and like the others, dropped to the ground, her own power spinning the spell about her, blurring her vision and reshaping her form.

When the others rose as swans, so did she; with a single backward glance at the two men standing in the clearing, mouths agape, she followed the flock into the sky, dark silhouettes against the growing light of the dawn.

“So. Are you
quite
out of your mind, Siegfried?” There was more than enough light from the rising sun for the prince to read his friend's expression. It was compounded of equal parts of perplexity, astonishment, and disbelief.

Siegfried could only laugh; it was the single expression his full heart would permit him at the moment. Not even the finest wine had ever filled him with such sweet intoxication. “If feeling altogether unlike myself is being out of my mind, then that might be the explanation.” He put out his arms and spun around like a giddy child. “Jesu! I have never known such a woman! I could fight the whole world to be at her side!”

“Fortunately, you will only have to fight your mother and six disappointed princesses,” Benno replied dryly.

Siegfried stopped his spinning to grin at his friend. “Mother can protest, but I will be of age to make my own decisions. As for the princesses,
I
was not the one who promised that one of them would be my bride. In any case, five of the six would be disappointed no matter what, so what does it matter if one more is added to that number? What odds is it, anyway? I would give up the kingdom and make my way as a masterless knight, so long as Odette was at my side.”

Benno fixed him with such a look that Siegfried had to laugh again.

“You really mean that!” Benno exclaimed. “By Saint Valentine, you really
are
in love with this woman! I have never seen anyone so—”

“Happy?” Curiously, the question sobered him slightly. “Benno, if this is happiness, I have never experienced true joy before this.”

Benno sighed and shook his head. “Truly, you are not at all like yourself. Have you listened to yourself? You have been spouting the worst poetry I have ever heard in my life, and grinning as you do so! You must be in love; only lovesick loons can tolerate such twaddle.”

The words hinted at disgust, but the expression on Benno's face was a curiously soft one. Benno put one hand on his shoulder.

“My friend, be as lunatic as you wish,” he said soberly. Only that, but Siegfried heard more than the words, as he was intended to.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, then peered up at the eastern sky. The rest of the hunting party had already begun the journey to the palace; they would arrive just in time to dress for the grand fête to celebrate the prince's birthday, and to hear him name his choice of bride. “We'd better get back to the inn. I'd like a few hours of sleep before we make the trip back to the palace. Tonight—will be—”

“An event,” Benno replied dryly.

There seemed no better description than that, so Siegfried just threw back his head and took in a breath of the pure morning air that only added to his intoxication.

“An event, indeed!” he agreed. “So let us hasten to meet it!”

O
DILE had not thought she would be able to sleep when she returned in the gray dawn light to the tree shelter. Too much had happened, too many emotions had tossed her this way and that. But she went ahead and lay down in her bed, and the next thing she knew, she woke with a start, staring at bright sunlight beyond the open door. It was at least noon, perhaps later. How had she managed to sleep? She barely recalled lying down.

She hurried through her preparations and ran out into the sun to see how much of the day was left. It was just about noon, and she was relieved that she had not slept the day away as she had first feared.

What woke me, then?
There was nothing in the clearing in front of the shelter, and no sign that anything had passed there. She thought perhaps that von Rothbart might have come seeking her and caused her to wake, but there was no sign of her father.
Odd. I expected to find him waiting for me.

She searched all of the usual places where he would wait for her, and found them empty. Not a magical message, not a note, not even so much as a feather.

She was at a loss and began pacing the clearing uncertainly. If all went well, this was the last day that her father's spell would hold the swans. By tonight, Odette would be the prince's betrothed, and the transformation would never take place again.
How can I tell him if I can't find him? I know he's going to be angry with me if he doesn't find out until after it's already happened. . . .

She tried to tell herself that von Rothbart had only himself to blame, but that was not much comfort. He
would
find a way to place the blame on her, telling her, perhaps, that she had not used enough initiative.

Maybe if I don't think too hard about it, I'll have an idea of how to find him come to me.
Meanwhile, there was always the chance that he
was
laired up upon that island; she walked slowly toward the lakeshore, hoping that she might find some sign that he was there.