The Black Swan (43 page)

But if her father was not waiting for her to awake, as she approached the water's edge, it was clear that Odette was. The regal swan with the golden band about her neck glided slowly up and down the bank, her posture stiff with tension.

Odile knew what she wanted the moment she saw the swan, without going through any of the mime she usually did to communicate with the others when they were in bird form. It was, after all, fairly obvious. “You want to follow Siegfried back to his palace, don't you?” she asked.

Odette's head bobbed up and down, her eyes fixed firmly on Odile's.

“Do you know how to find him? How to find his palace?” That worried her a bit; Odette was
her
responsibility, and it would be bad for everyone if she got lost.

Again the swan's head bobbed eagerly, her black eyes shining.

She and Siegfried must have talked about this last night. Of course! She knows when he plans to leave the village, and she can follow him from the air. Then she can find a place nearby, perhaps a pond in the garden where she can wait. As soon as the moon rises, she'll become herself, and Siegfried can make his announcement with her at his side!
It made perfect sense—and naturally Odette wanted to make certain that her “keeper” wouldn't prevent her from leaving, or somehow force her to return.

Father didn't say anything about keeping them from leaving, and if
he
wants them kept confined, he should have done something about it. I certainly don't have the power or the knowledge to establish such a perimeter.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” she teased. waving her hands like a goose girl shooing her charges away. “Go! Or even with wings you won't be able to get there before the moon rises.” She made a face, and laughed. “Wouldn't
that
make a pretty sight! You in your fine gown and your dainty shoes, trudging along a dusty road like a peasant!”

Odette did not wait for further permission; she revolved in place and with her back to Odile, spread her wings and took off. In moments, she was a white speck in the blue sky, beginning the turn that would take her over the village that had taken its name from this lake.

And in the future, will they call this place
Schwannsee
?
she wondered.
Will people come here to see the place where the tale began someday?
Ah, that was getting ahead of things; Siegfried still had to declare himself. Vows made in the dead of night sometimes looked odd in the light of day.

She sighed and sat down on the bank. It was then that another explanation for her father's nonappearance occurred to her.

Simply put—he didn't have to be present in order to keep an eye on all of them. He was an extremely powerful magician, and there was no reason why he couldn't be scrying them, watching them from afar.

But
—if that were the case, von Rothbart himself should arrive very soon to hear from Odile's own lips what had transpired, and woe betide her if she left out anything, or if her version differed from what he had observed.

Clothilde had planned a leisurely breakfast at dawn, followed by a pleasant ride back to the palace. Her plans were interrupted the moment she exited her pavilion.

One of the pages hurried to her side as soon as he saw her, and bowed clumsily. “Majesty, there is a visitor to see you. He says that he must speak with you.”

She raised her eyebrow and glanced up at the sky; the sun was barely above the horizon. What could be so urgent that it could not wait—and why had the page referred to the petitioner as a “visitor?”

“Majesty—” Now Uwe strode toward her, joining the page. “Baron von Rothbart wishes to speak with you before you make the journey back to the palace.”

“Ah!” Now she understood. “I will certainly see the baron.” She glanced around, realized that there was only one place where she could hope to have any privacy, and shrugged. “Uwe, tell the baron to come to my tent—and you, boy—” she addressed the page, “—have a servant bring me tea and bread to my pavilion to break my fast. Bring enough for three.”

The servant would bring far more than just tea and bread, if he had any sense.

She turned with a sweep of skirts, reentering the turned-back canvas flaps. Her maidservant scrambled to set up chairs and a small folding table, articles she had just collapsed in anticipation of packing up. As the queen took her seat, the same servant ran off with a fire-pot and returned with coals from a nearby cook fire which she tipped into the brazier she set up at the queen's feet. The warmth from the little brazier was welcome against the chilly dawn air.

Von Rothbart and her breakfast arrived together; she signed to Uwe that he was to join them, then signaled to the maid to leave and drop the flaps of the door behind her. The baron bowed deeply before her, and only took his seat when she graciously indicated he should do so with an inclination of her head.

He made no move to help himself to the pastries brought by the maid. “Gracious Majesty, what I have to say is brief, and I shall not delay your departure if I can help it. Your son has met my daughter, as I had planned.”

“Yes?” The queen had no intention of waiting another minute for her meal, and took a comforting swallow of hot, honey-sweetened herb tea. “Was the outcome a good one?”

The baron smiled broadly. ‘I believe I can say without any fear of being contradicted that your six lady guests will return home disappointed—unless, of course, they found someone other than the prince among your courtiers. In short, he was so enamored, so completely enraptured by the woman he met, that he declared himself on the spot.”

There was triumph in his voice, and for a moment, his eyes gleamed like those of a hunting owl's. The queen felt a strange chill as those eyes fell on her—and just for a split second, she wondered what she had bargained with.

She shook it off, and did her best imitation of a proud and pleased mother. “How wonderful! This will be a fine match for all of us, baron, I do feel certain. I must confess that I was growing concerned, for I had not heard from you directly, and my dear son showed no signs of interest in any of the young women I had brought here for the fête. I had
so
hoped for a love match for him; it is a hard thing for a young man to be bound to a bride in a marriage of expedience.”

“Believe me, if you had heard and seen him, you would have no doubt that his heart has been thoroughly captured,” the baron replied with a brusque laugh. “Now, I would like to bring my daughter to your masquerade so that he can make his selection known with her at his side. I trust that there is room for two more at the fête?”

“Of course, certainly!” the queen replied with enthusiasm. “I shall have a word with my servants before we leave this morning, and remind them to add your names to the list when we arrive at the palace. I shall make it my first order of business. Will you require masks, or—?”

“We have costumes, Majesty, but thank you. I think even you will be charmed by them. And there is one other small, very small request that I have to make of you. Could you arrange for all mirrors in your ball-room to be draped?” As he made his request, the baron gave her the strangest, and most penetrating gaze she had ever encountered. So intense, it felt as if he reached inside her mind and backed her into a corner—she found herself pressing her back against the back of her chair, and wondered if she had completely misread the man.

“Why, yes, we can do that,” she heard herself saying, “Uwe, see to it, would you?”

Then as if nothing out of the ordinary had ever occurred, the baron was his old, charming self again, with nothing more in his eyes than a gleam. Clothilde gave herself a mental shake; what on earth had so disturbed her about this gallant man? She must be suffering from lack of sleep. She vaguely recalled giving Uwe an order—

“Thank you, Highness,” the baron said suavely. “My daughter is shy, as I told you. She finds herself unable to look at her own reflection in a mirror without becoming intensely self-conscious. I want her to be poised, confident, show herself to be the fine lady she truly is. Of all times, this would be the worst for her to feel as if she would like to retreat into the corner!” He rose, went to one knee, and kissed her hand. “I must go—for we, too, have much to do to prepare for your fête. Until tonight, then?”

Clothilde smiled brightly. “Until tonight, Herr Baron.”

Von Rothbart rose and bowed himself out; Clothilde waited until she thought he was out of hearing distance before turning to Uwe.

“Now I see why my son was so desperately eager to go swan hunting again last night,” she said dryly. “And to think I was under the impression he was trying to indulge my fancies!”

Uwe only smiled sardonically, and helped himself to a slice of apple cake liberally dusted with sugar. “It would seem that we have this much; the prince must be obsessed with this young woman to have declared his intention to wed in so short a time.”

“Obsession is a good thing, for us,” the queen replied, making a mental inventory of the stillroom, and wondering if she had enough attar of roses to complete the love potion. She decided that she did, if she gave over her plans to make rose water for the cook and substituted violet instead, at least until she could purchase more. He was only going to make the winter's supply of rose pastiles anyway; violet was a perfectly good substitute for sweetening the breath.

Uwe gave her an odd sideways glance, as if he wondered what she was thinking. “Yes,” he replied, his voice betraying none of his thoughts. “Obsession would be very good for our plans.”

She laughed at him, laughed at his suspicions, even if he didn't voice them. “By all means, then, we must encourage these young lovers in their continuing devotion to each other. A swift wedding, I think, then a long honeymoon, free from responsibility—”

“I should think that the king's hunting lodge would be remote enough for them to have privacy,” Uwe said smoothly. Clothilde smiled. The hunting lodge was
so
remote that it might just as well have been in another kingdom, yet in her husband's day, it had been a gem of masculine luxury, and could be so again. Opened up, aired out, and refurbished, it could be ready in time for the wedding; staffed with her most trusted servants, neither Siegfried nor his bride would have anything to complain about. She would cheerfully sacrifice the best of her own furnishings to create a feminine bower in the midst of all that masculinity. She made a note to have it stocked with fine fabrics, embroidery materials, and so forth. An infatuated young woman often wished to create special garments to refurbish the wardrobe of her beloved; such work would occupy hands and mind and perhaps keep her from thinking that
she
should bear the title of queen. And if they found themselves snowbound from December to May, well, so much the better. If Siegfried grew at all restless, there was plenty of fine hunting, so odds were
he
would not mind the isolation.

“Well! If we are to have all in readiness, we had best get on our way!” she exclaimed, and rose with alacrity. She pushed aside the flap and walked out into the chaos that was really as tightly organized as any of her endeavors. Already half the camp had been packed up onto wagons, and the rest was well on the way to that state. Her servants had only been waiting for her to leave before starting on her pavilion; the moment Uwe stepped through the door a dozen servants swarmed it like mice swarming a crust. He hadn't gone a dozen steps before the furniture was out and the pavilion itself was flat on the ground.

Her horse and Uwe's stood ready in the hands of a groom; everyone else in the court cavalcade was in the saddle and ready to be gone—including the six princesses. She almost felt sorry for the poor things; they were so eager to get back to the palace and don their costumes for the fête, each of them hoping, no doubt, that evening's end would see
her
as Siegfried's betrothed. Little did they dream—

She stepped into the linked hands of a groom, and he boosted her into the sidesaddle. Arranging her leg over the horn and her skirts over the back of the saddle, she took up the reins and clucked to the palfrey, sending the little roan to the head of the procession.

She took a quick glance at her head groom, who nodded to indicate that everyone was in position; with that, she urged the horse into a fast walk.

Soon, soon, now—things were falling into place. It was almost happening too quickly—and yet, it could not happen quickly enough. Until Siegfried was firmly under control again, she would not feel completely easy.