The Black Swan

by Mercedes Lackey

  Siegfried's people, with the exception of Benno, were uneasy around her—not that she was at all surprised by their reaction! She was a magician, a sorceress, and they all knew it. So until the wedding, she decided that her best course of action was to appear to be just like any of the other maidens. . . .

  Almost like any of the other maidens, anyway; to her chagrin, she discovered that she was the only one of them who didn't actually know how to perform the most basic of "female" tasks— how to sew! It was such a novelty to find that there was something that she couldn't do, once she got over her embarrassment, she took a great deal of amusement in acquiring that skill.

  There were other things she didn't know how to do, as well. She couldn't ride, or hunt, and Benno took particular delight in teaching her to enjoy both. Like him, she preferred to hunt, not for the quarry, but for the pursuit. On clear winter days, a company of them would go out riding, and if she came home without actually shooting anything, no one commented.

  Odile gradually made another change in herself; she stopped wearing black. With the rainbow of fabrics being worked with for the wedding, and a court full of ladies more than willing to advise her and help her, she finally escaped the last vestige of being her father's daughter.

  It was the oddest thing, but once the flock ceased to be swans by day, they lost that pallid, transparent appearance. The change was greatest in Odette, whose hair had deepened in color to a true pale gold, and whose cheeks and lips now warranted the poetic descriptions of "roses and cherries." Only Odile retained her transparently pale complexion, her spun-silver hair.

  As a consequence, most of the colors that looked marvelous on others of the flock made her look like a corpse. Anything warm- colored, from red to gold, looked hideous, and pale tints only made her look bleached and faded. Brown was impossible. Black still suited her perfectly—but black was the last thing she wanted to wear.

  Ah, but deep cool colors, emerald and sapphire, did look just as well; those were expensive colors to dye, but what good was being a sorceress of you couldn't manage a paltry color change in your wardrobe?

  And so she shed the last mark that von Rothbart had put on her, and she found that a change in wardrobe had an oddly uplifting effect on her spirits as well.

  When she met Siegfried's tutor Wolfgang, however, her real cup of pleasure overflowed. Here was exactly the sort of person she had dreamed about meeting—learned, scholarly, even witty at times—conversant in Latin and Greek, acquainted with the writings of the ancient scholars. As Siegfried became more and more occupied with the business of state and the concerns of his kingdom, it was Odile who joined Benno and Wolfgang in late- night conversations that ranged from philosophy to alchemy, from the poetry of the Greeks to the rhetoric of the Romans.

  Wolfgang certainly knew what she was doing; how could he not, when new volumes appeared in the palace library every day or two? She plundered the manor library as ruthlessly as the rest of it, with the magical tomes going into her personal hoard, and the others into the shelves of the palace. Some of the books would not make the journey; she had come to recognize the "feel" of them from a distance, a kind of residue of her father that suggested the magics within were too contaminated to use safely. And, of course, she had no intention of taking anything from his tower. But the rest were useful, and Wolfgang was in transports of joy, having so rich a treasure trove suddenly spread at his feet.

  But it was Ilse, one of the "little swans," and not Odile, who made the real change in Wolfgang's life and status.

  One night, not long after the wedding, when the guests were departed and only the king's household gathered about the fires in the Great Hall in the evening, a storm set in that brought everyone to the fire especially early. The winds howled around the walls of the palace and it seemed that winter would never end; with all of the entertainers gone, the evening bid fair to be tedious. Then Ilse suddenly jumped up out of her seat by the fire and skipped over to where Wolfgang sat. "Master Wolfgang," she said, with an impish parody of officiousness, "we have all heard each other's stories so often we know them by heart. You, so they tell me, are a learned man—and you never help to entertain the rest of us. Tell us a story!"

  The other three joined in her demands, as the older swans laughed, and the courtiers hid smiles. "Yes! Tell us a story! You must know hundreds that we haven't heard!"

  Ilse sat down on a cushion at Wolfgang's feet, and looked up at him with a face full of mischief and expectation.

  At first, Wolfgang was a little confused, then embarrassed, but at last he gave in to Ilse's pleading and cleared his throat self-consciously. "Well," he said—and fortunately, he did not see the bored or incredulous expressions of the courtiers, only the eager ones of the four youngest maidens, "I have never told a tale before, so perhaps I should tell a short one,"

  "And if we like it, you must tell us more!" Ilse demanded instantly.

  Hesitantly at first, then warming to his subject, Wolfgang began to relate the story of the youth Narcissus. Odile was quite familiar with the tale, of course, but it was entirely new to most of the company, and Wolfgang proved to be astonishingly adept at storytelling.

  Perhaps he learned more than just the stories themselves from all those years spent listening to others, Odile thought, as she watched even the courtiers who had been the most bored begin to lean forward in their seats, the better to hear the old man.

  When he was done, it wasn't just Ilse who demanded more, and within a few nights, Wolfgang had gathered the nerve to embark on a multi-evening recitation of the saga of Odysseus, beginning with the contest of the goddesses and the theft of Helen by Paris. With every night that passed, Wolfgang's status rose in the minds of Siegfried's court. It was apparent now that he was a great deal more than they had thought—and their new regard had an unexpectedly good effect on Wolfgang as well. He gradually ceased to drink; the intoxication he found in the faces of his listeners was much sweeter than that in the bottom of a bottle.

  As spring neared, and courtiers actually began seeking the old scholar's advice (feeling that anyone who knew that much would at least have the wisdom of the ancients at his fingertips), Siegfried proposed that Wolfgang be added to his Privy Council. There were no dissenters, and Wolfgang took his place among the king's advisers in a ceremony that delighted all his friends.

  And that, in turn, meant another change for the old man and, indirectly, for Odile.

  Directly after the ceremony, when Wolfgang was closeted with Siegfried and the rest of the councilors, Odile found Ilse sitting all alone in the chimney-corner of the library. Since Ilse couldn't read, that was a very strange place for her to be—and since the girl's face was full of woe, Odile knew that there must be something wrong.

  She hesitated a moment, and thought about going back to her own room before the girl saw her, but something in the girl's expression made her decide to say something. "Ilse, you look as if you just lost your best friend!" she said, walking into the library. "Did you quarrel with Sofie? Can I help?"

  Ilse, of all the little swans, was the most direct, and the one least likely to hide anything from anyone. She took one look at Odile, and burst into tears.

  Odile dropped to her knees and took the girl's hands in hers, seriously alarmed now. This seemed more serious than a simple quarrel with a friend. "Blessed Virgin, Ilse, what on earth is the matter!"

  Ilse never thought before she spoke—so her words came straight from her heart. "I—I—I—" she sobbed "I w-w-want to m-m-marry W-W-Wolfgang!"

  That was the last thing Odile would ever have expected, and she stared at the girl for a moment in sheer astonishment. "You do?" she managed, incredulously. "Then why on earth don't you?" She warmed to the idea, and continued, "I think that would be wonderful for both of you! Wolfgang is very fond of you!"

  That only brought forth a torrent of tears. "I h-h-haven't any dowry!" she wailed.

  Oh, my— Odile was torn between sympathy and laughter, and had to stifle the l
aughter lest poor Ilse be further traumatized. Instead, she comforted the girl until she stopped crying, dried her tears, assured her that the idea of a young girl like her marrying an old scholar like Wolfgang wasn't absurd, and sent her off to wash her face. She made no promises—not yet.

  But she did lie in wait for Wolfgang until he left the Council chamber, and came directly to the point with him—feeling absurdly like a gossipy old village marriage broker.

  To her great relief, Wolfgang was not only not horrified by the idea, he went as red as any peasant boy, and stammered out a confession that he thought Ilse was the most delightful girl he had ever seen. "But she can't want to shackle herself to an old man like me!" he protested. "She'd waste her youth—she's so sweet, so pretty—there must—"

  Odile stopped the flood of protests with an impatient shake of her head. "She was once betrothed to a miserly, miserable old bastard who beat all his previous wives and worked them to death," she pointed out. "She thinks you hung the moon—and that a great thinker like you needs someone to take proper care of him. If you can manage to scrape together enough courage to propose to her tomorrow, I will take care of the rest today."

  Wolfgang agreed, and went off in a kind of glowing daze. Odile went straight to Odette's chambers, where she was fairly certain of finding the entire flock, sewing and gossiping together.

  She was right—and even more fortunate in finding that, for once, there were no "outsiders" among the ladies. That meant she could post a page at the door with orders that the queen and her friends didn't want to be disturbed. This shouldn't take too long, for after all, it was bad news that was long in the telling, not good news.

  Then she went in, took a seat off to one side, and waited for the conversation to come to a lull before clearing her throat. By now the rest were so comfortable in her presence that conversation no longer ceased when she entered a room, and the current topic was an interesting one for all of those here—Ilse, and her infatuation with Wolfgang—so it took a while for the buzz to die down.

  When it did, she coughed to get everyone's attention. She got it, in no small part because she usually did not spend afternoons in the queen's solar with the rest of them. "Majesty," she said, with a little bow to Odette, "this situation with Ilse has shown me that there is at least one more thing I can do for the flock to make up for what you all endured." She met the eyes of each of the maidens in turn, and sighed as she saw only friendliness and curiosity. "I'm sure that you know—or surmise—that the baron was a man of wealth. As chatelaine of his household, I know where that wealth was kept. There is no reason why his hoard should not be divided among you to provide dowries."

  Well, that certainly put the cat among the pigeons! She had to wait for the excited babble to die down until she could continue, but she flushed with pleasure and a little excitement herself as she waited. Finally Odette signaled for quiet, as the only way to get the babble under control.

  "This is going to take time," Odile warned them. "I can't bring a great weight at once, and coin is heavy. You saw me bringing food and corn, so you know what I'm talking about. It will probably be a month or more before I have enough for everyone, and if there's no objection, I'd like to fetch over enough for Ilse's dowry first."

  Ilse went pink, then red, and for the first time since Odile had known her, was left completely speechless. Odette answered for the flock.

  "I think that would be perfectly correct," she replied, with a gentle twinkle in her eyes. "And if there are any more of you who have—how shall I put this?—potential suitors?—I think that a hint that I am to stand in place of your parents as the person to ask for permission to court would not be amiss."

  Given the number of pink faces, Odile was fairly certain that the surplus of unwedded young knights among Siegfried's train was about to take an abrupt drop. Hiding her smile, she absented herself, and set to work on her latest task.

  When spring truly arrived, in a torrent of flowers and birdsong, there were so many weddings being planned that it was decided to make them double and triple ceremonies, so as not to encumber the priest and the chapel overmuch. There was a new priest; the old one had been less than understanding about the presence of the swan-maidens. After he had sent two of the girls running from the confessional in tears, and had made the paramount error of calling Odile a "witch" to Odette's face, Siegfried had turned him out of his place and had found a more reasonable man. The new priest, a gentle old man with a fine sense of humor, was a better match. What he lacked in energy, he made up in wisdom, tolerance, and understanding. When he could, he often joined in the late-night discussions.

  It was with spring well in flower that Odile sought a private audience with Odette. The arrival of spring had reminded her of a queen's duty to her kingdom—"an heir and a spare"—and she wanted to give her friend a little help with that before she left. She could not stay here forever, after all; sooner or later, she would cease to be a welcome guest.

  "I have—a little something for you," she said, with a touch of shyness. "Two somethings, actually. My belated wedding presents." She held out two pendants; one of silver, with a modest sapphire, the other of gold, set with a pearl, "This—" she held up the gold ornament "—is a—ah—fertility charm. This—" the silver, "—is the opposite. Wear the one you want constantly for three months. If you change your mind, don't wear either for a month, then switch." She found herself with burning ears, as Odette regarded her with a look of curious surprise. "It took me a while to find spells that were—gentle. Men seem to want things to happen all at once, and they don't seem to care what harm that does. These work, though, and they won't hurt you at all. I tried them on rabbits."

  Odette accepted both, placed them carefully on her dressing table, and surprised Odile with a spontaneous embrace, "You keep doing so much for us. Odile, isn't there anything you want for yourself?"

  She shook her head, and the arrival of a page gave her the excuse she needed to leave.

  She went out onto the walkways on the walls of the palace, and chose a spot where the wind was in her face and she had a good view of the countryside. It was time to think about her own future, now. She had done all she could for the flock; she had done her best to make up for what von Rothbart had put them all through. The rest was up to them.

  What do I want for myself?

  The truth was, she didn't know. If a home was a place to live, she had that, and she had already decided to let it molder away— though it was more likely, given that von Rothbart had brought other sorcerers there on occasion to impress them, that once word spread that he was dead, some rival would come to take the place for his own. That was a good enough reason for her not to be there. Contesting with another sorcerer of von Rothbart's ilk for possession of the manor would serve no real purpose now that she'd gotten everything she wanted out of the place.

  Whoever takes it, is welcome to it—though if they're anything like von Rothbart, I hope the traps he set for trespassers still work. A malicious wish, perhaps, but the world would be better off with fewer sorcerers like von Rothbart.

  She could travel, as she had considered doing, and there was a certain restlessness that the spring had set off in her. Impulsive acts were just not in her nature, though; she couldn't imagine just taking off to see the world without a clear plan in mind.

  The sound of booted feet on the walkway made her glance to the side. She expected to see a guard come to ask her courteously if she required anything; she did not expect to see Siegfried. He smiled at her and nodded, but said nothing at first, only leaned on the wall beside her and gazed out at the countryside, his eyes half-closed against the brilliant, warm spring sunlight. It was only after they had both watched a hawk make a stoop on something in one of the distant fields that he spoke.

  "I come up here all the time," he said idly, "The wind seems to clear out my head. Especially after Council meetings, when I've had to do more mediating between two stubborn old goats with opinions instead of ideas than I have
been doing decision making."

  She laughed, and brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. "I can see that you would need fresh air after that. Isn't Wolfgang any help?"

  "Wolfgang is occasionally part of the problem. Not often, but occasionally." But he laughed anyway, and shook his head at the folly of "stubborn old goats." "I could use—no, that's not strong enough—I truly need—someone to act as a mitigating force in my Council. Furthermore, there is no one on my council with any actual experience of magic, and given the antecedents of my beloved Queen, I begin to think that could pose a serious weakness."

  She turned her head and saw that he was looking at her with one lifted eyebrow. "Are you preparing to flout all custom and insult your other Councilors by having a woman on your council?" she asked incredulously.

  "Why not? Once you're on, they won't dare object to having Odette as well, which I also want and need." He shrugged. "Odette reminded me this morning that you have a remarkable ability that very few people possess, and I don't mean sorcery. You don't look at a situation and see what can't be done, you look at it and find solutions. As a ruler, I find that talent rare and useful, and I wouldn't care if the person who had it was a man, a woman, or a blue-faced ape." He made a sour face. "Actually, a blue-faced ape would probably be equally useful in breaking up arguments by flinging things at the offenders. I don't suppose you'd care to do that, would you?"

  Now she was forced to laugh. "I doubt it would be as effective—but you are serious, aren't you? You want me to become a permanent part of your court and Council?"

  "And I'm not the only one." He made a little signal with his hand, and up the stairs came Odette, Wolfgang, and Benno.

  "Please stay," Odette said, reaching out and taking Odile's hand in both of hers. "Sooner or later, all of the rest of the flock will go off with their young men as wives and chatelaines of their own keeps, and only return to court on state occasions and fetes." Her huge, dark eyes were wistful as she gazed at Odile. "That's only right; they need to be where they can raise families, and they can't do that if they're dancing attendance on me. But—" she gestured helplessly with her free hand "—the ladies that Clothilde gathered to make her court—they don't understand—"