If Siegfried and Odette had been truly dead and gone, she could not have revived them; she knew that. But they were not— quite—dead; their spirits had not escaped their bodies, and she could use the tether of lingering life to drag them back, use their love to call each to the other.
Two chests began to rise and fall; with the returning breath, a bout of coughing drove the last of the water from their lungs, and they began to stir. Siegfried was the first to revive; he groaned, turned on his side, and opened bloodshot, dazed eyes. Then, when he saw Odette, he sat up abruptly, taking her into his arms just as she opened her eyes.
Odile released the remaining power back to the rest of the flock, who in turn began to stir weakly. She staggered to her feet, weary almost to death herself. She was so cold she couldn't even shiver, drenched and dripping, land wanted nothing so much as a warm place to lie down.
Fortunately, there was one very near at hand.
Using tree trunks to support herself, she staggered the few feet to the tree shelter, collapsing in the darkness and warmth onto her own bed.
After a long interval of simply lying in the darkness immersed in the most basic sensation of all, that of knowing she still existed, she finally regained the ability to put a simple thought together.
I just killed my father.
She lay unmoving as she absorbed the full knowledge of that thought. Then, at last, her own tears began.
She wept as she had never wept before, mourning, not the death of the sorcerer, but the loss of the father she had thought she had.
He never was. And now, he never will be.
She cried for herself, that she had been lied to, manipulated, and used all her life. That she had never been more than an object, a possession, of no more importance than a cup or a vase, valued not for what she was but for what purpose she could serve. Just as easily discarded, just as easily broken.
She sobbed, unconsoled, for all the things she had never had, yet had believed that she had. She cried for the loss of her innocence, and with it, the loss of what had been, for her, a comforting and comfortable world. All illusion, all delusion, and now, all of it gone. Worst of all, the knowledge that all of it had been one more lie.
Finally she ran out of tears. She lay with aching eyes and burning cheeks, and stopped thinking about what she had lost— remembering, instead, what she had won.
Freedom. Hadn't she been willing to do almost anything to keep freedom, once she had tasted it? Well, she had. And now she need answer to no one but her own will and conscience. The whole world lay before her, and if she faced it alone, she also faced it as herself, not someone else's puppet or shadow.
Friendship. True, she might have lost the friendship of Odette and the other swan-maidens, but there were more people in the world than the flock. She could find other friends, other companions. She had learned how to do that, after all; learned how to give, and how to accept, how to ask instead of demand. She had learned that respect was not the same as fear, and that it was much more to be desired.
Knowledge, of herself, as much as anything else.
I have gained—myself. And that is no small thing.
She got up slowly, for her arms and legs ached cruelly from all of the unexpected exertion. Her damp dress was ruined, the ornamental wings no more than tattered stubs. She tore it from her with distaste, shaking off the last rags, and dropped the jewels atop it. Standing naked and free of the last remnants of the fetters her father had put on her, she felt a small part of her burdens lift from her.
I am no longer his creature.
When nothing of what her father had created remained, she toweled herself off roughly until her skin tingled, then took the clothing that waited for her on the shelves above her bed. She took down her hair, removing the rest of the jewels from it and discarding them, combed it out roughly, and twined it into a simple braid.
Now I am myself.
Only then did she walk back out into the clearing.
The first gray light of dawn painted the sky above the clearing; the storm had passed, and the last flickers of lightning illuminated the towering clouds on the horizon with orange flashes. As the sun rose, the moon was setting. The maidens of the flock stood in little clumps, singles, and couples, watching the moon go down with anxious faces, Siegfried and Odette, shivering, clung to each other, as they, too, watched the moon. Siegfried had proven his faith to Odette, even to the point of death; was the spell broken, or had von Rothbart lied as he did so easily? And von Rothbart himself was gone, dead beyond doubt—but would his will and his magic persist beyond his death? When the last moonbeams vanished, would the maidens become swans once again?
If they do—I'll find a way to break the spell if it takes me the rest of my life.
Odile had no idea that she had spoken that thought aloud until she realized she was the focus of every eye in the clearing. She shivered, and looked back at them all with eyes that asked for forgiveness. Her part in this had been unwitting—but how could they know that?
Although Siegfried looked at her with some doubt, Odette squeezed her hands and smiled warmly on her.
"If the spell still holds us, it does not matter," Odette said boldly, much to the startlement of the rest of the maidens. She laughed at their expressions, and shook her head. "No, truly, what can it matter? The sorcerer is gone, he rules us no longer! Odile, dear friend, you have done so much for us already. Do not drive yourself into a wraith just to keep us from sprouting a few paltry feathers! If we are swans by day and maidens by night, at least we are free!"
"And any man who truly loved you would guard you by day for the sake of the hours he could spend with you at night," Siegfried added, putting his arm fondly and protectively around her shoulders, "I will undertake to keep you all safe, if that be the case."
"Until I find the cure," Odile replied stubbornly. "I will, I swear it, for I owe you all that much. What my f— von Rothbart did, I shall undo, though I cannot restore all the years he stole from you, nor give you just retribution for what you suffered."
"Look!" Katerina interrupted, her voice full of incredulous joy as she pointed at the horizon. "Oh, look, all of you!"
The moon had set while they spoke, and not even a hint of it remained above the horizon; the sun arose in a sky made glorious by the remaining clouds, which caught the golden rays and reflected them back in tones ranging from silver to rose. The moon had set—and the maidens were maidens still.
With little cries of joy, they celebrated, each according to her nature. Elke, Ilse, Lisbet, and Sofie spun around and around in a mad dance until they were dizzy, the others embraced, or, like Jeanette, dropped to their knees in heartfelt, thankful prayer.
Siegfried and Odette fell into each other's arms.
Odile alone watched the sun rise, soberly.
And now what? The end of the tale? And they lived happily ever after? No one ever explains how one manages that. Siegfried and Odette will, surely, but what of the others? And what should I do now, to live happily ever after. . . .
She heard the hoofbeats of approaching horses long before anyone else did. She turned, and the others gradually became aware that there were people arriving. Many people; from the sounds, there might be a hundred.
Threading their way through the forest, and led by Benno, was a crowd of folk on horseback, with several riderless horses in tow.
Despite their bedraggled finery and exhausted faces, Odile recognized them with a sense of shock. Clothilde's courtiers—the guests from the fete—
But they no longer looked so festive. Their garments, stained with soot and rain, storm-tattered and torn, were no longer fit for a feast. Their eyes, full of fear and sunk into their pale faces, told of a long night full of horror, spent without sleep. Their faces were lined with fear and the terrible knowledge that a world they had thought stable and unchanging had come down about their ears—and they had not yet found a new center for it.
Only Benno looked anything like his old se
lf, and his face overflowed with anxiety that transmuted magically to joy when he saw Siegfried. Then he stood up in his stirrups and whooped, waving his hat in the air, before vaulting out of the saddle and running to embrace his friend.
Self-consciously, Odile withdrew to the side of the clearing, feeling very uncomfortable and at the same time wishing with all her heart that she did not.
How wonderful it would be to have a friend like that—and a place to belong. The thought of the manor, empty now, but full of the memories and contaminated with von Rothbart's magics, filled her with nausea. Of all the places in the world, that one, now, was the last to be called "home."
The others dismounted slowly, but seemed very much relieved to find their prince alive and well. Quiet and subdued, they let Benno do all the talking. Which he did, at a high rate of speed, interrupted by Siegfried and Odette who related their side of the tale.
"Siegfried, this is like a miracle!" Benno laughed at last, holding his friend at arm's length. "Dear God, we were so afraid, with you running like a madman into the night and—" Then his face fell abruptly. "Blessed Virgin, I forgot. Siegfried, you are the king now. Your mother—the sorcerer was not content to drive you into the storm—he had some business with the queen as well. Lightning struck part of the Great Hall; the wall above the dais collapsed, and she was under the worst of it."
Siegfried paled, but Benno wasn't finished. "So was Uwe." His face darkened with anger. "But he didn't die until he'd told us the truth; he was afraid to die with such sins on his soul. Siegfried, she was in league with that sorcerer, and he was the intermediary! She intended to keep you from the throne forever—by beguiling you with women if she could, by arranging an 'accident' with the sorcerer's help if she couldn't. Once you had sired a son, she intended to be rid of you."
Odile bit her lip as the last piece of the puzzle fell into place for her. That was why we came here, why it was Siegfried and not some other prince. That was how von Rothbart knew the doings of the court. And that was what drew him here in the first place—the chance to catch, not a young maiden, but a queen, a woman already heavy with the sins of betrayal. She watched as Benno explained the little that the minstrel had confessed before dying, watched Siegfried's face reflect so many changing emotions that she wondered which one he would settle on.
It looked for a moment as if anger and hatred would win—but Odette placed her hand on his arm before he could speak, and put in her own soft words.
"If it had not been for her, the sorcerer would never have brought us here," she reminded everyone. "That, to me at least, balances some of her greed and vanity; we would never have found each other if it had not been for her. Let the past bury the past, let her answer to God and not to us for her sins, whatever they are; I for one do not intend to waste a moment's more thought on her." She turned a face full of soft wonder and pure happiness to Siegfried. "It would be one more sin to waste time on her that we could have spent in joy!"
Siegfried's expression softened, and he nodded. "God alone may judge her," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Let her be buried with the honors of her rank and estate as queen regent; let the rest be as God wills, for we have no way of knowing her thoughts or her heart."
It was as if a burden had been lifted from the hearts of the courtiers; their gloom fell away, and Odile wondered at the wisdom Odette had just shown. And Siegfried, too, in following her lead—
I should take the same advice. Let my father answer to God; I have a life to find. It would be difficult advice to follow—but wouldn't it also mean that she, wrested a little more of herself away from him?
That declaration set off a torrent of activity in which Odile found herself caught up with the rest. The weary courtiers surrounded all of the maidens, even Odile; before she knew what she was about, she found herself lifted up by one of the young knights to perch pillion-wise behind Benno on Benno's horse. Siegfried appropriated one of the led horses, and took his place at the head of the procession back to the palace, with Odette on the saddlebow before him.
By the time Odile thought to protest, they were underway, forcing her to hold onto Benno's waist to keep from falling off. No one had asked her if she wanted to go back with the rest!
"Wait—" she protested unsteadily. "I don't—"
"Don't you want to see Siegfried and Odette wed and crowned?" Benno asked, over his shoulder. "From all I understand, you've been rather helpful in all of this. I should think you deserve to take part in the celebrations."
"Yes, but—"
"Have you anywhere else you need to go?" he continued, as if she had not answered.
That was a very good question, and she thought it over. "Not immediately," she replied, still trying to get used to this entirely novel mode of transportation. She had never ridden a horse before—and being perched sideways on a pad behind the rider was a bit precarious, to say the least! "At least, I don't think I have anywhere I need to be."
"Good." Benno seemed to consider it all settled. "The others want to stay with Odette, why don't you do the same, at least until the celebrations are over?" He managed a charmingly crooked smile over his shoulder. "I think you'd enjoy it. Siegfried's people are very good at contriving entertainment. I can't imagine that the swans held very many fetes, did they? It would be a bit difficult, I should think, and the menu likely to be limited. Water-weed, corn, and grass don't seem festive to me."
She was both taken aback and rather amused by his flippant assessment of the situation. "No, you're right; there were no fetes, if I recall correctly," she responded, trying to sound dry and proper, and not certain she had succeeded.
"Good. Then stay a while, until you make up your mind about where you want to go. Odette wants you to stay. Siegfried does too. And—" he added, with a lift of his eyebrow, "—so do I. You're the most intriguing lady I've ever met. And—"
Was he blushing? Yes, he was! The back of his neck was a distinct scarlet!
"—I want you to teach me how to swim."
Chapter Twenty
IT turned out to be a winter wedding, after all,
Siegfried was crowned immediately, in a sober ceremony attended only by a handful of the most important courtiers, the ones he had appointed as his Privy Council. Since the funeral of his mother had preceded it by no more than an hour, anything more elaborate seemed inappropriate.
And a proper royal wedding took a great deal of time to organize, as well. Siegfried was determined that his Odette have the finest celebration ever seen, and the swans were just as determined as he that this celebration be an occasion to be remembered for generations.
So the wedding took place on Twelfth Night, as a fitting conclusion to the festivities of Christmas. On a crisp, clear winter morning, with fresh snow lying like swans-down over everything, Siegfried made Odette his bride, and the Swan Queen in truth. The feasting began in mid-morning, with tables spread in the courtyard for anyone who cared to enter the palace gates, and every space in the Great and Lesser Halls taken. No less than four sets of musicians, six jugglers, two acrobats, and two real minstrels entertained. The dancing began when dinner was cleared away, and didn't end until dawn.
Odile had contributed her part as inconspicuously as possible. She'd helped with the rebuilding of the Great Hall; with careful and near-invisible use of magic. Claiming she knew something of glass making, she'd had the shards of the windows taken to a deserted workshop, then melded them back together with magic when no one was about. The stonemasons reset the panes, and no one seemed to notice that the quality of the glass was much higher than it had been—and no one noticed that it was now virtually unbreakable. She'd "assisted" with the lifting of the stones from a discreet distance, then made certain that the mortar set hard, and in half the usual time, once the stones were in place.
When repairs were completed, she joined the household in their frantic preparations for the wedding—and took a great deal of amusement from her invisible help. Bolts of ornate silks were "discove
red" among the common woolens; trims, beads, ribbons, and the like appeared in the most unlikely places just when they were needed. At the Harvest Fair, when Odette and her ladies went shopping among the cloth merchants, their purses never seemed to have a bottom . . . every coin spent was replaced by a mate, until the Fair was over.
All of this wealth came from von Rothbart's manor, of course. The invisible servants, released by von Rothbart's death, were no longer there to keep it up, and Odile had decided that, whatever else befell, she was not going to reside there. There was a great deal of wealth in the place, however, and why should it go to waste? Why should gorgeous draperies, fine carpets, and luxurious furs gather dust, moths, and fall to pieces, when she could give them all new homes?
So silks and trims and ribbons made their way, a bit at a time, to the stores of Siegfried's castle, either taken from the stores of the manor, or plundered from the "linens" and furnishings. Von Rothbart slept on silk, but why waste perfectly good fabrics on beds and curtains no one would ever see again? Odile knew every inch of the manor—except for the master's tower—as intimately as any housemaid knew the palace. She took the gemstones and beads from the tapestries; the gold and silver threads became little coils of bullion for embroidery. Coin from her father's hoards ended in Odette's household purse. The fur bed coverings and rugs turned up in the queen's solar and other chambers. As she had brought food from the manor to feed her swans and herself, now she plundered the riches of the place to provide for Siegfried and Odette and the rest of the flock.
She thought, from the sly, conspiratorial glances Odette gave her from time to time, that the queen knew what was going on. And if Odette knew, so did Siegfried. At least once a day, one or both of them would go out of their way to give her quiet but nonspecific thanks, which was exactly what she felt most comfortable with.
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