Siegfried took his time in cutting slices of chicken he didn't want and pouring wine that he did. Benno looked ready to burst, but he took his time in drinking down a full goblet and pouring another before he began.
"I found the swans," he said abruptly.
"And?" Benno's voice rose in pitch with indignation, "You didn't chase everyone else out just to tell me that you found the swans and missed your shots or discovered you couldn't shoot them!"
"Well—partly. I found them, and I couldn't shoot them— because they weren't just swans." Choosing his words with care, he told Benno everything that had transpired; it wasn't difficult, for every moment was etched into his memory so clearly that he doubted he could ever forget it. Benno forgot his meal, forgot his wine, forgot everything as he leaned over the table to fix Siegfried with an unwavering gaze. Siegfried found the look in his eyes a bit disquieting, however, since there was as much alarm as excitement in it.
When he finished, he downed another goblet of wine and poured himself a third, feeling very much in need of it. Benno didn't touch his and finally leaned back and toyed with the chicken on his plate, frowning.
"I don't like it, Siegfried," he said, his frown deepening. "I don't like it at all. This smacks of witchcraft, black magic—you shouldn't go back there tomorrow night."
"I know it's dangerous—" Siegfried began dismissively. Benno interrupted. "It isn't the danger to your body I'm worried about, it's the danger to your soul!" he countered. "What possible good could this do for you? If you just want a girl to bed, there's plenty right here in the village; why go chasing after some fey half-swan half-woman? There's something very nasty about all this, and I don't trust any of it, not one bit!"
Siegfried laughed incredulously, for this was not what he had expected to hear from Benno. "That's a fine statement, coming from you! Have you suddenly turned priest on me, to be so concerned about my soul? I thought you were the one who always wanted to see magic at work with your own eyes!"
But Benno was not to be deterred by mockery. He leaned forward over the table, his meal forgotten again. "Siegfried, I'm serious. I don't trust any of this. It's too much like a trap, and the only thing I can think of is that somebody wants your soul or worse, if that's possible." He shook his head vigorously as Siegfried started to laugh. "Look here, friend, I'm trying to think in a responsible way! This could be an attempt on your land! What if some enemy wants to take you captive, or even kill you? What if this is a plot to keep you from choosing a bride? What if—"
"What if, what if, what if!" Siegfried exclaimed, all of his own concerns vanishing in a sullen anger at his best friend's apparent betrayal. Why was Benno the doubter all of a sudden? What was Benno risking? Nothing! This was Siegfried's adventure to pursue or not, and Benno's cautions only made him more determined to meet Odette tomorrow night. "What if the sky falls? What if I were to die in my sleep? If anyone wanted to interfere with me, they've chosen an awfully roundabout way of getting to me—- anyone able to turn girls into swans could just as easily turn me into a wild boar when we're out hunting!"
"Well, what if that's what they plan?" Benno asked stubbornly. "Witches need your hair or something in order to cast a spell on you, and maybe this swan-maiden is supposed to snatch some of your hair for just that purpose!"
"Then I'll take my chances," the prince replied, beginning to feel more exasperated than angry. So Benno was worried about him and wanted to wet-nurse him; fine, maybe all this business of picking a bride had begun to wear on both of them. "Come, be of some help, Benno! Have you ever heard of anything like this in your life? If I had not been standing on my feet, I would have been certain I was dreaming!"
"Well—other than children turned into gingerbread by wicked witch, no," Benno said darkly. "Or men into pigs by th enchantress Circe. And I think you're being foolish to make joke about it."
Siegfried closed his eyes for a moment, summoning patience "You didn't see Odette," he finally said quietly. "I have never seen another woman to compare to her, and if I had to fight my way through a hundred Circes to get to her side, I would do it "
He opened his eyes again to see Benno staring at him, slack- jawed with amazement.
"If I didn't know better," Benno finally managed, "I would say that you sounded as if you were—enamored."
"Enamored?" Siegfried lifted one corner of his mouth in a lopsided smile. "Don't you mean lovesick?"
Benno frowned fiercely, his eyes clouding with anger. "Dammit, Siegfried, this is not funny! You're acting as if you're already under an enchantment! Are you sure this woman didn't get some of your hair? Or did she get you to look into a mirror, or something?"
He stifled the urge to tell Benno that he was under the enchantment of Odette's eyes, and held his tongue. "No hair, no mirror, and at this point if you were to ask me if I had fallen in love with Odette the moment I saw her, I would have to admit to it. So, what do you think I should do? And don't tell me not to go out there tomorrow night, because that is not an option, would like some advice, though."
"You let me look the place over tomorrow in the daylight, and you let me come with you tomorrow night," Benno replied immediately. "If I can't make you see sense, I can at least try to protect you—from yourself, if not from this woman."
The notion of Benno trying to protect him was ludicrous but Siegfried nobly refrained from laughing at him. "All right he agreed. "I can't see any objections to either. She didn't tell me to come alone, and if there are two of us, she might be a little more forthcoming about herself and why she's here. Who knows? With you along, she might look different to me. I doubt it, but there's always a chance."
Benno's snort showed what he thought of that statement. He made no other comment, but drank down his wine in a single gulp and held out his goblet for Siegfried to refill. The prince did so and now found that the appetite he thought had deserted him was back with a vengeance. He attacked his chicken ravenously, while Benno watched.
"If this paragon of yours can convince me that she's no witch, I promise I'll leave you alone together," he finally said, though he looked as if the words had been wrung from him unwillingly. "But I warn you, it's going to take a great deal of convincing."
The prince pushed his plate away, taking only a soft roll to play with, pulling bits of bread from it and rolling them into little pills that he piled on the plate, "If you can manage to clear your mind of your suspicions for a moment, can you think of anything that might help, here?" he asked, trying not to show his own impatience.
Benno shook his head, but his irritation softened. "Look, Siegfried, I know that what you want to hear from me is—'go ahead, my friend, she sounds like just the woman for you! Woo her, win her, and carry her off to your castle!' And I—I would love to tell you just that, but it isn't that simple. We're not in a tale. You know yourself that you have duties and obligations to your pother and to your kingdom, and I never thought that I would be the one to remond you of them! Just because a woman's a half magic creature, that doesn't mean she's a fit bride for you or will be a fit queen when you're king. You don't even know her! What if she's a peasant? I know that you'll say it doesn't matter, but it will matter to Queen Clothilde, and it will matter to the fathers of the girls you reject in favor of her. I feel as if I'm betraying you in some way—" he sighed, "—but I know I would be betraying you in a worse way if I didn't play devil's advocate right now. You always tell me that you need me as a friend because I tell you the truth, and I'm trying to tell you the truth now."
Siegfried's irritation melted. "Just—promise to keep your mind open to every possibility," he said at last. "That's all I can ask of you."
Benno drank his wine, and set the empty goblet on the table "I can promise that," he replied with a nod, "I can definitely promise that—if you promise to listen to me when I give you advice,"
"I will promise to listen," the prince responded.
But in his thoughts were other words. I will promise to listen to your advice—bu
t I won't promise to act on it.
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 Clotilde'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 campfiires. Since there was no place large enough for the queen 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 roundances 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 a least a week—following which, they would have begun schemes of their own to wrest some of that power and control from hands for themselves.
They taught me well, Clothilde thought with some amusement.
And as for experience—well, there was something to be 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 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 were 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.
Chapter Fifteen
ODILE 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 moon- rise.
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 to occupied to watch for Odile's missteps and mistakes and as a consequence, she thought she was ma
king 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?
For that matter, the servants could only have been in Mother's quarters; I certainly never left them until after she was gone. And once there was no reason to keep them, Father probably got rid of them as soon as he could, and never wondered if I would have been better off with some companions.
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